Magic, Mayhem, and Mystery: 8 Tales of Magical Paranormal Mysteries
Author: Deanna Chase
Date: 2017-07-30 04:00:00+00:00
Description: Get 8 tales of magical paranormal mysteries by eight New York Times and USA Today bestselling authors. Southern Spirits - Angie Fox When Verity Long unwittingly traps a ghost on her property, she discovers the power to commune with the spirit world. Now Ellis Wydell needs her help evicting some undead tenants, but his estate holds a long-buried secret… An irresistible mystery from a New York Times bestselling author! One Tequila - Tricia O'Malley From a New York Times bestselling author comes a paranormal page-turner: Psychic Althea owns a potion shop in the magical town of Tequila Key. When h
Publisher: Bayou Moon Press, LLC

Wicked Magic

Dire Straits by Helen Harper

Dog with a Bone by Hailey Edwards

A Demon Bound by Debra Dunbar

Influential Magic by Deanna Chase

Forbidden by Selene Charles

All for a Rose by Jennifer Blackstream

The Keepers by Donna Augustine

Copyright © 2015

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imaginations or are used factiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced. All rights retained.

Table of Contents

Wicked Magic

Dire Straits

Chapter One: Of Blood and Bonds

Chapter Two: Family Ties

Chapter Three: Clean and Call

Chapter Four: Bruce Willis

Chapter Five: Knowledge

Chapter Six: Martinis and Mistakes

Chapter Seven: Hacker

Chapter Eight: Room by the Hour

Chapter Nine: Doctors and Nurses

Chapter Ten: The Offer

Chapter Eleven: The Tail

Chapter Twelve: The Cell

Chapter Thirteen: The Car

Chapter Fourteen: Fear

Chapter Fifteen: Bloody PowerPoint

Chapter Sixteen: Truth and Lies

Chapter Seventeen: Showers and Heels

Chapter Eighteen: Love and Blood

Chapter Nineteen: Betrayal

Chapter Twenty: Vodka

Chapter Twenty-One: Red Sky in the Morning

Chapter Twenty-Two: Truth

Chapter Twenty-Three: Spa Treatment

Chapter Twenty-four: Nancy Drew

Chapter Twenty-five: Playing Possum

Chapter Twenty Six: The Clock Face

Epilogue

Dog with a Bone

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

A Demon Bound

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Epilogue

Influential Magic

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Forbidden

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

All for a Rose

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

The Keepers

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Dire Straits

HELEN HARPER

A half-dead daemon, a massacre at her based PI firm and evidence that suggests she's the main suspect for both ... Bo Blackman is having a very bad week.

She might be naive and inexperienced but she's determined to get to the bottom of the crimes, even if it means involving herself with one of London's most powerful vampire Families and their enigmatic leader.

It's pretty much going to be impossible for Bo to ever escape unscathed.

This is the first book in the urban fantasy Bo Blackman series, by the author of Blood Destiny.

Chapter One: Of Blood and Bonds

I sit in the driver’s seat, sipping at my overly sweet – and now very cold – tea. It’s been forty-seven minutes since Devlin O’Shea entered the house and I’m starting to get itchy. A few cars have driven up to the crossroads behind me before turning either left or right, but none so much as slowed down. Considering the neighbourhood, I’m not surprised at that. In fact, I know that if there were anyone around, they’d be startled to see a lone woman sitting here. This isn’t the kind of street where anyone should spend time lingering, let alone someone on their own. I don’t feel I have much choice, however.

I take my eyes off the peeling green paint on the door frame and scan ahead. There must be at least forty more houses in front of me before the road finishes in what I already know to be a dead end. If any of the buildings are occupied, their inhabitants are staying well out of sight. There’s not even the barest twitch from any of the dirty curtains hiding the houses’ interiors from sight. In front of each dwelling, there’s a small patch of garden where the grass – if it can be called that – is either hopelessly overgrown to the point where you’d need a machete to cut a way through to reach the doors, or blackened and dying. There appears to be no pattern to whether the grass at each house is healthy or diseased, although the fact that the one O’Shea has disappeared into is fronted by deadened blades rather than a glory of jungle green seems to make sense. My attention drifts back to his building. There’s nothing. No sign of life.

I sigh. I am tempted to fiddle with radio dial, if only to hear the buzz of static filling the empty space. O’Shea isn’t a pure-bred triber. His hearing won’t pick it up. But I have no way of knowing who – or what – else is inside that house with him and I dislike taking unnecessary risks. It’s unlikely there’s anyone else there … but still. I take another sip. Twelve more minutes to go.

A collection of dry, browned leaves skitter across the potholed road as the wind picks up ever so slightly. I flick a glance towards them, just in case, but there’s nothing sinister. I’m getting too jumpy. I chew my lip and focus yet again on the house.

It’s the very definition of nondescript. The red bricks were probably pretty once upon a time. Now, however, there are too many grubby stains from city pollution for them to look anything other than grimed and crumbling. There are a few tiles missing from the roof but the house is probably still water-tight. Except, that is, for the broken window on the first floor which looks as if someone has punched a hole through it. Whatever lies behind is dark and indistinguishable.

I check my watch again and feel my insides tighten. It’s still not time. I loosen my fingers from the polystyrene cup and flex them, one by one. I shouldn’t have accepted this job. Cheating spouses are easier than errant half-breed daemons. Then I amend that to quarter breed. O’Shea’s grandmother was pure Agathos but the rest of the blood flowing through his godforsaken veins is bog-standard human. I should be thankful that he’s not a quarter Kakos, I suppose. But then, if he were, I wouldn’t be here right now.

Seven more minutes. I drain the last of the tea and toss the empty cup onto the floor of the passenger side along with the other rubbish. Then I grimace as I feel my bladder tighten. Damn it, now I need to pee.

I consider my options. I was instructed to wait a full hour before breaching the property and confronting O’Shea. If I entered now, it would probably take me at least five minutes to locate him – by which time, I reckon an actual hour will have passed. Or almost anyway. I decide it’s good enough. I can still catch him in the act. I’m still hoping he’s on his own.

I zip up my leather jacket to stave off the cold and carefully open the car door, trying to remain as quiet as possible. I probably shouldn’t wear leather; it tends to have a mind of its own, groaning and creaking of its own accord whenever I make a move. Plus, its distinctive earthy smell can give away my presence in a heartbeat. But anything which has senses that are so attuned will know I’m coming from half a mile away and I like the fact that it makes me look kind of bad-ass. It’s difficult to appear threatening when you’re just over five feet tall so I’ll take whatever help I can get. The jacket is far too large for me and, if it wasn’t so elaborate in its embroidery and zips, it’d probably look ridiculous. I ‘borrowed’ it from an old boyfriend of mine called Zupper who I’d spent one sensuous, long summer with, zipping around on the back of his motorbike. He took off around Europe to find himself. I just took his jacket.

I step out, shooting a speculative look at the keys which are still in the ignition. I have a bad feeling about all of this and I’m starting to wonder if I need to be prepared for a quick getaway. To be fair, no one has come this far up the street while I’ve been here; I don’t even think a single bird has flown overhead. And it’s not as if my rusting heap of junk is particularly desirable to even the most desperate jacker. If I leave the keys where they are, I have a better chance of vamoosing out of here at warp speed should I need to. If someone appears from nowhere and nicks my car, however, I’ll be pretty much screwed. Aside from the fact that then I’d have zero way to get out of this graveyard of a cul-de-sac, I simply don’t have the cash to replace it and my insurance is virtually worthless.

I err on the side of caution and pocket the keys. I haven’t had much time to research O’Shea but nothing I’ve learned points towards him being physically dangerous. Yes, he might have less friendly companions inside and, yes, the prickles on the back of my neck are far from comforting, but balancing an extra five-second fumble with the threat of ending up entirely car-less leaves me with no choice. I really should look into some proper alternatives for future encounters though. I silently add it to my ever-growing list of things to do.

I glance up and down the street. It’s still deserted so I cross over quickly and jump the pathetic foot-high gate into the so-called garden, where I pause for a couple of heartbeats, cocking my ear for any sounds. Even though I’m barely a few metres from the front door, I still can’t hear anything.

The grass looks worse close-up. It even smells of decay. In the far corner there’s a one-eyed, blonde-haired doll, forlornly waiting for a long-since departed owner to return. Its sole iris stares at me emptily. I look away and move to the entrance, placing one cupped ear against it. I think perhaps I hear a dull thud from within, but I can’t be sure.

The property has been sitting empty for the last eighteen months since its previous tenant ended up on the wrong side of the law so technically I’m not trespassing, but I still can’t stop myself from checking the street again before I twist the knob and the door creaks open. Then I step over the mouldy envelopes with the tell-tale red of final demands peeking through their transparent windows and cross the threshold.

I pause for a moment, sucking in the stale air and listening carefully. I have no way of knowing which floor O’Shea is on, so I sidle against one wall and shuffle carefully along, making sure I avoid the centre of the corridor where the floorboards are more likely to creak. Although my aim is to confront him, I don’t want to alert him to my presence before I’m ready. I unzip my upper pocket and pull out a small canister of pepper spray. In the unlikely event that he’s armed and feeling twitchy, I’ll be able to get the jump on him.

The door to the left is ajar, which makes my life easier, so I peek through the gap just to be sure. Even though I can’t scan the entire room, my senses tell me that it’s empty. I move forward towards the kitchen, wincing as my foot crunches down on something, and I freeze at the sound. Fortunately I seem to have got away with it as the silence continues. I gently lift my foot and look down, raising my eyebrows when I see the dull glint of a used syringe. Interesting. From the previous occupant’s criminal history and my rushed research, I’ve learned that he was staunchly anti-drugs. So either he was an untidy diabetic or some vanished squatters took up residence temporarily after he left. Or there is something about O’Shea that Tam failed to tell me.

Pursing my lips, I kick the broken needle carefully towards the stairwell and out of my way. Now is not the time to start worrying about how I should have been better prepared before confronting O’Shea. I’m here. It’s already too late. I edge up to the kitchen instead, pausing where the carpet curls up at the edges. The door is hanging off one rusty hinge and the odour coming from inside is so bad I can imagine someone has died inside and their rotting corpse is lying there in its own putrefying juices…

There’s nothing more than a few bin bags filled to the brim with empty takeaway cartons and crumpled aluminium tins of lager. Upstairs then.

I back out, picking my way round to the front of the stairs, and peer upwards into the gloom. Annoyingly, the carpet on the stairs is gone, leaving scuffed bare boards which will make it harder for me to stay quiet. I step up, keeping on my toes to avoid making any more sound than I need to. I clutch the sticky banister and creep noiselessly upwards. When I reach the top, I stop for a moment and wipe my hand on my jeans. I’ll need to scrub myself down with disinfectant as soon as I get home.

I’m about to ease open the first door when I hear what sounds like a gargle emanating from the room furthest away. Considering the state of this place, I doubt that O’Shea is taking time to worry about his dental hygiene. Then I hear a low moan. If I didn’t already know better, I’d assume it came from something of the spectrally challenged variety of being. But this building is less than fifty years old and, smell in the kitchen aside, no records indicated that there has ever been a death on the premises. So it is something else. I bite down on the inside of my cheek and tiptoe forward.

The door is firmly closed. Bad for me. At least the two remaining rooms are also firmly barred, so I’m likely to hear anyone sneaking up from behind before they get too close. O’Shea has to be inside. I reach out for the steel door handle, drawing back with a hiss of breath when my skin touches it. It feels clammy and unpleasantly damp. Sniffing my fingers, I detect the faintest whiff of rose petals. Huh.

I pull the cuff of my jacket over my hand and try again, slowly pulling the handle down and opening the door, wincing at the sound. I give up the pretence of silence and kick it open the rest of the way. It bangs heavily against the wall, bouncing back towards me but I leap through, yanking out the papers from my inside pocket.

‘Devlin O’Shea!’ I deepen my voice and direct it at the dim shape in the centre of the room. ‘You are hereby served.’

The shape doesn’t move but there’s another indistinct moan from its direction. I squint through the gloom. O’Shea may not be performing the illegal magic it has been suggested he would be, but there is still something very, very wrong here. I can smell vomit and urine and something else besides.

‘O’Shea!’ I shout again.

The figure droops. Skirting round it, I go to the windows and yank open the heavy curtains with one hand, keeping the pepper spray outstretched in front of me. Light floods in. I gape. Tied to a wooden chair, his face a bloody pulp, is one very badly beaten daemon. I realise that the other smell I couldn’t identify is fear. He moans again. What in bejesus is going on here?

It’s impossible for me to positively identify him as O’Shea; for all I know O’Shea’s the perp who’s attacked this guy. But I have to deal with what’s in front of me, regardless of my almost overwhelming misgivings. The dark stain soaking the floor beneath the man indicates that he’s losing a lot of blood. Staunching the flow is my priority.

I stuff the pepper spray canister into my pocket, ensuring it’s still within easy reach but not about to fall out when I need it most, and immediately start searching the limp body for wounds. He starts gurgling again and I curse aloud. ABC, I tell myself sternly. Airway, breathing, circulation, in that order. I need to get him into the recovery position.

I realise that his hands are secured with an old-fashioned set of steel cuffs. I keep my own pair, passed down from my father for old times’ sake, but I prefer using plastic ties these days, like most people. The fact that he’s been tied to a chair with a cumbersome old set means something. Not that I have the time to muse about it right now. The cuffs are looped around the wooden bracket at the back so I lift my foot on to it and kick downwards. Thankfully the chair is as rickety as the rest of this godforsaken house and it snaps with one blow, allowing the daemon’s arms to fall backwards. I extricate the hanging piece of wood and chuck it to one side, then yank him off the seat and onto the floor as quickly as I can, manoeuvring his body and neck to force his airway clear. He coughs weakly and my face is sprayed with a mist of blood droplets, letting me know I’ve been successful. Then I return to searching his inert form for the wound.

There are two: one piercing his side, just to the left of his upper rib cage, and one higher up at the base of his neck. Clearly it’s the neck wound I should be most concerned about. Using the base of one hand, I press hard to try and slow down the pulse of blood that’s pumping out. With my other hand, I dig out my phone and tap out 999 with my thumb. I lift it to my ear and, as it starts to ring, the daemon’s eyes snap open, orange slitted pupils taking me in through a glaze of pain. Well, it’s definitely O’Shea.

‘999, what’s your emergency?’

O’Shea shakes his head.

‘I’m in a house on Wiltshore Avenue,’ I say.

‘No.’

‘Number 23,’ I continue. ‘I need an ambulance immediately.’

He moans. ‘No. Stop.’

‘Is that Wiltshore Avenue in Belvedere or Trockston?’ enquires the voice.

O’Shea reaches up and grabs my wrist. Given the state that he’s in and the blood loss he’s suffered, his grip is surprisingly strong. ‘Tell them,’ he rasps, ‘and we’re both dead.’

I stare down at him. Death threats are nothing new in my line of work; daemons, even quarter-daemons, bleeding out in front of me, are. His eyes implore me.

‘If you don’t get to a hospital in the next five minutes, then you’re dead anyway,’ I tell him.

I can hear the emergency responder repeating her question. The futility of the situation hits me. We’re in Trockston, the worst end of Trockston, no less. No paramedic is going to rush to get here. They’d rather take their time so that whatever is going down has gone down by the time they arrive. Which means Devlin O’Shea won’t make it.

‘False alarm,’ I mutter into the receiver and hang up.

O’Shea blinks gratefully at me.

‘Don’t,’ I say, kneeling down and shoving him onto his side, then pulling out a pick so I can undo the cuffs and free his hands. ‘Don’t thank me. You’re about twenty breaths away from rejoining your maker down in the depths.’

I’m surprised at the ease with which I manage to unpick the lock. The cuffs fall, one steel circle hanging loosely from his left wrist. He mumbles something into my ear.

‘Nope,’ I reply with as much forced cheeriness as I can muster, ‘you’ll need to speak up if you want me to hear you.’

O’Shea doesn’t bother responding. I heave him onto my back in a piggyback and force his uncuffed hand up to his throat so he can continue to press on the wound. His weight drives my knees and shoulders downwards, but I do my best to ignore it and stagger to the door and on to the landing. I haul both myself and him down the stairs, this time thumping loudly with every step.

We’re barely at the bottom when my watch beeps, indicating I should at this point be entering the property to find him, not leaving the property with him. And certainly not with him half dead. Those last seven minutes felt more like a bloody hour.

I nudge open the front door with my toe and edge out. The vacant one-eyed doll stares at me as I shuffle back through the garden with O’Shea’s heavy body. I can feel his warm, sticky blood seeping underneath the collar of my jacket and connecting with my skin and I try to speed up. He can’t have long.

Stepping over the garden fence is like scaling Mount Everest. I try to ignore that I’m about to collapse and instead run calculations in my head. Forty seconds to get him to the car. Another minute to get back to the crossroads. Praise the heavens that I don’t already have to reverse and lose even more time. Then I can take the A road past Silverstein to Manorbridge hospital. Five minutes. Tops. I’ll register him under a false name in case he was telling the truth about the dead part. It won’t stop someone from finding him, but it’ll stall them until I can speak to Tam and get a permanent guard stationed.

I try to reach into my pocket for my keys but his leg is in the way, so I’m forced to squeeze my fingers around to grasp them. Yeah. I should have left them in the freaking ignition. I was stupid not to trust my instincts.

Gasping for breath, I lurch round to the passenger side and open the door. I throw in O’Shea’s blood-soaked body, noting with satisfaction that he’s still conscious and pressing tightly on his neck wound. I slam the door shut before dashing round to my seat and starting the car.

I move up the gears, accelerating down the empty street. Come on, come on. I turn left towards Manorbridge, then abruptly slam on the brakes as sirens scream their way into my consciousness. Part of me can’t quite believe it. The emergency responder must have taken my half-baked, half-garbled and half-finished phone call seriously, sending ambulances in both directions. Relief floods through me and I glance behind to welcome the cavalry.

Except it’s not an ambulance. I stare at the vehicle bearing down on us while O’Shea moans at my side. The familiar stripes of an armed response unit wink at me tauntingly as the tyres screech and it wheels round into Wiltshore Avenue. Trying to ignore the tremor in my hands, I very deliberately start the car moving again, away from the sirens.

I run over the phone call in my mind. I’m sure I said nothing more than the address and that I needed an ambulance. There was no reason to send goons with guns to check it out. And how in the hell had they arrived so quickly? I only hung up on the responder a few minutes ago; response times are never that fast. If I’d waited to enter the house until I was supposed to, O’Shea would have lost so much blood he’d probably be dead and I would be the sole witness to the crime. Or the prime suspect. I grip the steering wheel and swerve right.

‘What in the hell have you gotten me into?’ I say aloud to O’Shea, not expecting an answer.

His spooky orange eyes swivel in my direction and he opens his mouth.

‘Don’t speak,’ I tell him curtly. ‘Conserve your energy. You can give me answers later.’ I’m damned if I’ll let him croak on me before I find out exactly what is going on.

I press down on the accelerator, speeding up again, and make a snap decision. I don’t know who this guy is and why the police – and someone else much more violent – are so interested in him, but my interest is piqued. The hospital is now out. There’s only one place nearby where I can get him some proper medical help and avoid the suddenly undesirable eye of the law. I’d rather choke on my own tongue than go there but I’m out of other options. Shit in a hell basket.

Chapter Two: Family Ties

I ignore the red lights; right now I have worse things to worry about than traffic violations. And it’s not as if the roads round here are busy. I’d have been impressed with my speed if the situation weren’t so dire. Even so, by the time we arrive outside the familiar terraced house, I can tell that O’Shea is beginning to fade. Blood is leaking from between his fingers where they continue to clutch at the gaping wound. Arse.

I stop the car and jump out, running up the path to the door. I bang on it loudly and try to open it, even though I know it will be barred. ‘Open up!’ I yell, crouching down to flip open the letterbox.

The door swings open noiselessly. A fat ginger tom cat is sitting in the hallway glaring at me.

I snarl. ‘Where is he?’

The cat licks a paw before starting to wash its face.

‘I don’t have time for this. Where in hell is he?’

A man appears behind the animal. He has the kind of straight-backed posture a ballroom dancer would envy. He raises his eyebrows at me. ‘Bo.’

‘I need help. There’s a…’

He interrupts. ‘Obviously you need help. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here. But this is not how we do things.’

I grit my teeth. This is one of the many reasons why I avoid this place like the plague. I step over the threshold, ignoring the cat and give the man a perfunctory kiss on the cheek.

‘Grandfather. How lovely to see you again.’

He inclines his head. ‘And you, my dear.’

‘Now will you help me?’

His eyes drift down my torso and his upper lip wrinkles. ‘You are covered in blood.’ There is the faintest tinge of disgust in his voice.

‘It’s not mine.’

‘I know that.’ He sniffs. ‘A triber. Agathos daemon, if I’m not mistaken.’

I sigh inwardly. Most people need to get up close and personal to recognise a triber. You can usually tell them by their eyes: Agathos daemons, even quarter breeds like O’Shea, possess pupils of different hues while vampires’ pupils contain a telltale red dot. Both black and white witches don’t have irises at all, whereas Kakos daemons …well, I’m not sure anyone has seen a Kakos’s eyes and lived to tell the tale. Some people don’t need to look into their eyes, however; they simply have an inbuilt intuition. It can be learned, much in the way that you can learn to tell the difference between the epicanthal folds of Chinese people versus Japanese people, or work out from two Caucasians which one is French and which one American. I can usually do so with tribers without getting into their face and peering at their eyes. My grandfather, unusually, can do it from fifty metres. He also enjoys making his talent known.

I try to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. ‘Well done. But he’s only a quarter Agathos and right now he’s dying in my car.’ I gesture outside. ‘If you’d be so kind?’

He seems to be mulling it over. I curl my fingers into fists at my sides.

‘Very well,’ he agrees finally. ‘But only because I don’t need a corpse littering my front garden. I can do without the police asking unnecessary questions.’

I narrow my eyes at that comment. Right now it’s a little too close to the bone. Fortunately he refrains from further discussion and I go back to the car, pulling open the passenger door. O’Shea falls against me, his head lolling. Cursing, I thrust my palm against his neck. I’m pretty sure I can still feel a pulse, although I’m amazed there’s any blood left inside him.

I realise my grandfather still hasn’t left his house. ‘What are you waiting for?’ I shout. ‘He’s dying. You said you’d help.’

He winces. ‘Raising your voice is so vulgar. You should keep your tone more dulcet, it’s more becoming for a lady. I said I would help the daemon and I will.’

‘So freaking help!’ Desperation is leaking from my every pore.

He gestures down at his clothes. ‘This is Savile Row. I’m not about to sully it with arterial blood. Bring him inside and I’ll save his life.’ He purses his lips. ‘For what it’s worth.’

I watch open-mouthed, as he goes back inside. I swear the bloody cat is grinning at me mockingly. Then an ominous rattle comes from O’Shea’s throat and I give in, hooking my hands under his armpits and dragging him up to the house while trying to staunch the wound at the same time. A snail’s trail of blood leads from the open car door and up the perfectly paved path behind us. I huff with exertion, noting out of the corner of my eye that several curtains are being pushed aside as the neighbours look on. At least I know they won’t be calling it in to the authorities. They wouldn’t dare.

After what seems an age, I’m back at the door and trying to pull O’Shea inside the house. One of his shoes catches on the lip of the entrance and, even though I tug hard, it won’t budge. Something taps my shoulder and I twist my head round. My grandfather has donned a plastic apron. He has kept his impeccable grey suit – complete with waistcoat, cravat and fob watch – on underneath. I avoid rolling my eyes. Why he insists on wearing such clothes when he lives on a rundown housing estate in one of the less salubrious areas of London, I have no idea. I let him take O’Shea’s upper body, and he produces a pressure bandage which he presses to the daemon’s neck while I free his caught shoe and lift his feet. Together we manoeuvre him inside and onto the kitchen table.

My grandfather leans down to inspect the wound. ‘He’s almost gone,’ he observes calmly. ‘You’ve not given me much time.’

‘There’d be a damn sight more time if you’d helped me get him inside.’

He clucks at my tone, elevating O’Shea’s head and reaching for a steel instrument which is already glowing red at the tip. He lifts up the bandage and cleans away the worst of the blood, then presses the metal into the wound, cauterising it. There’s a lengthy sizzle and the stench of cooking flesh fills the room. Bile rises in my throat.

I turn away and open a drawer, rummaging around until I find what I need. I crouch down next to O’Shea’s neck and start cleaning the area with antiseptic while my grandfather cuts off his t-shirt to attend to the wound on his ribs. He hisses when he finds it, making me look up.

‘Bloodguzzlers,’ he states, by way of explanation.

I start. It doesn’t make any sense for vampires to attack a daemon. ‘Are you sure?’

I receive a withering look in return. Holding the palms of my hands up in surrender, I stand up. ‘Is there a…?’

‘Behind you.’

I turn round and spot the suture kit. Scooping it up, I eye my grandfather again. ‘Is this…?’

‘Catgut,’ he grunts.

‘Do you think you could let me finish just one sentence?’

‘What’s the point when I know what you’re going to say?’

I pull out the pre-threaded needle and bend down to stitch up O’Shea’s neck, counting to ten very slowly in my head.

‘Have you spoken to your mother lately?’ my grandfather asks.

I can’t help snapping. ‘You mean you don’t know already?’

‘There’s no need to be impolite. This is small talk. It’s what civilised people do.’

‘And I suppose civilised people also spend their afternoons sewing up daemons as well,’ I say under my breath.

He hears me. ‘Only when their errant granddaughters arrive on their doorstep demanding that’s what they do. It’s been seven months since you were last here, Bo. The least you could do is pop round for afternoon tea from time to time.’

I stab the needle into O’Shea’s flesh with a little too much vigour and he moans.

‘I have to work. I told you.’

‘You don’t work every day.’

‘When I don’t work, I sleep.’ He has a knack for making me feel both guilty and annoyed at exactly the same time.

‘I can still put in a word with Thompson and Grant, you know.’

‘So I can spend my days investigating insurance fraud? No thank you.’

There’s a moment of silence. When I finally look up and meet his eyes, his hands are on his hips. He appears genuinely perplexed. ‘You’d rather be saving daemons?’

I sigh. It would take more than the passing of a few laws to take away the old-school racism bred into my grandfather’s psyche. ‘He’s Agathos,’ I repeat, pointlessly. ‘And only a quarter at that.’

‘So you’ve said.’ Something flashes in his eyes and I realise I’m about to get sucker-punched. ‘You don’t normally do this though, Bo. Save daemons, I mean. You normally hang around taking sleazy pictures of affairs or handing out summons. Does that make you feel fulfilled?’

‘You’ve been keeping tabs on me.’ I keep my voice flat. It’s not a question.

‘You’re my only grandchild. Of course I’m keeping tabs on you! I’m concerned about the life you’ve chosen. You can do better than that seedy firm.’

‘It’s not seedy.’ I’m lying. It’s seedier than a prostitute’s unwashed bed linen. I continue, ‘And it’s a meritorious corporate ladder. You start at the bottom and work your way up. I’m working my way up.’ I finish my last stitch and tie the catgut into a granny knot. I stand up, drawing my shoulders back and looking my grandfather in the eye. ‘This is what I want to do.’

He doesn’t give way. He just remains where he is, staring back at me with a challenging look. Long seconds stretch out. Then O’Shea breaks the tension by moaning and coughing. He mutters something and twists on the table in a spasm of pain.

I bend down. ‘What is it?’

He coughs again. I place my ear closer to his mouth, ignoring the distaste that crosses my grandfather’s features.

‘Thank.’ There’s a drawn-out pause as he sucks in air. ‘You.’ His pupils roll into his head and he lapses back into unconsciousness.

I straighten up and give my grandfather a triumphant look. He raises his eyebrows. ‘So he’s got manners. So what?’

I give up. I’m covered in blood, in dire need of a shower, and I have many, many questions which need answers. Dealing with my grandfather is not a priority. My bladder, however, still is.

‘May I use your bathroom?’ I ask primly.

He nods and gestures upwards. I walk out, taking care not to brush against anything and leave a bloodstained advertisement of my presence in my grandfather’s immaculately kept house. I’d never hear the end of it if he came across a smudge of daemon blood on his flocked wallpaper.

In the bathroom, I finally relieve myself then lean over the small sink and wash off as much of the blood as I can. I’m not hugely successful; all I manage to do is smear it over my skin. I’m particularly pissed off that my jacket is covered in it. When I decide I can do no more until I get home and strip off, I rock back on my heels and stare at my reflection in the mirror. My skin is even paler than normal, and my hair is matted and untidy. I smooth it down but it appears that daemon blood is no better at keeping my unruly curls in place than expensive hair products, so I give up and head back to the kitchen. My grandfather is washing up at the sink. He turns round as I approach, no doubt assessing my remarkably unimproved appearance.

‘Can I leave him here until nightfall?’

I’d rather not, but O’Shea needs to rest and I need to find out exactly what is going on. My grandfather may not appreciate his presence, but right now his unconscious body would be too much of an encumbrance, especially with the sodding police apparently after him.

His gaze remains on me. ‘Is he dangerous?’

I look at O’Shea stretched out on the table, soaked in blood and in a semi-coma. Then I look at my grandfather. ‘You’re kidding me, right?’

He doesn’t blink. ‘He’s going to come around. I would like to know if I need to take measures to guard against him.’

‘I think you can hold your own,’ I reply drily.

‘Tell me why you tied him up.’

I’m momentarily confused. Then I realise the handcuffs are still attached to O’Shea’s right wrist. ‘Oh. That wasn’t me. He was already cuffed when I found him.’

For the first time, my grandfather looks surprised. And worried.

I lean forward. ‘What is it?’

‘They’re yours, Bo,’ he says quietly. ‘They’re your cuffs. I was there when your father gave them to you. I’d recognise them anywhere.’

I’m taken aback. ‘That’s ridiculous. They’re not mine – he was restrained with them before I arrived.’

Except I have to admit that my grandfather doesn’t make mistakes like that. My eyes drop to the set of steel rings and I walk over and touch them. They’re still smeared in blood. I think about how easily I picked the lock back at Wiltshore Avenue. I kneel down and examine them further. I wipe away some of the blood with my thumb and my stomach drops. There’s a tiny zigzagged scratch along the side that’s heart-rendingly familiar.

‘Well, this is just getting better and better,’ I murmur to myself. It appears that someone broke into my apartment and stole my handcuffs. Then they used them to tie up O’Shea and left him for dead, calling in armed police to arrive the moment I was supposed to enter the house. I’m being set up and I have no idea by whom or for what reason.

‘What aren’t you telling me, Bo?’ My grandfather’s voice is quiet.

I chew on my bottom lip. Whether it’s O’Shea or me who is the focus of this utter bollocks of a situation, he has a right to know. As much as he’s a pompous, crabby old son of a bitch, I can’t keep him in the dark.

‘It’s possible I’m being targeted.’ I keep my tone deliberately light.

There’s no reaction from my grandfather but the length of time before he speaks again is telling. ‘Not the daemon?’

I shrug. ‘Maybe him too. At this point it’s difficult to say.’

He nods thoughtfully. ‘So what did you do?’

‘Jesus! Why do you always think the worst of me? I’ve not done anything!’

‘Bo, I was planning a quiet afternoon of Pimms and bridge. Now I need to batten down the hatches and worry about who might knock on my door. I deserve to know the truth.’

‘I’m not lying.’ I hold his eyes. ‘If keeping him here is a problem, then just say so.’

‘Why would having a half-dead quarter daemon on my kitchen table be a problem?’ He runs a hand through his shock of white hair and takes a deep breath. ‘He can stay for now.’

I exhale slowly. Thank God for that.

‘So who is he?’

‘His name is Devlin O’Shea. He’s suspected of dabbling in black magic.’

‘How black?’

I wave a dismissive hand in the air. ‘More grey than black. I was told he’s been selling a few glamour spells. Just your usual petty witchcraft, nothing to get anyone’s knickers in a twist.’

‘Was he selling to bloodguzzlers?’

I shake my head. ‘Humans.’ At least that’s what I had been told anyway.

My grandfather sniffs. ‘And you? How are you involved?’

‘I was supposed to serve him with a summons to appear before the Agathos court. There was a bonus in it if I caught him in the act of dealing.’ I look away for a moment. ‘The thing is, the summons was only going to be activated at noon. I was to wait until then before approaching him. I may have been a little overly punctual.’

‘You were early?’

I nod.

‘Why?’

‘I wanted to hurry home to catch the afternoon soaps. What does it matter?’

He growls at me. I don’t care. I’m damned if I’m going to tell him that it was because I needed the loo.

‘Have you been nosing into anything you shouldn’t have?’

I take the question seriously, mulling over all my recent exploits. There’s nothing that stands out. I’ve served a few other summons, but their recipients have accepted them with equanimity. And my other work has involved me staying out of sight on routine surveillance missions.

‘I’ve been squeaky clean.’ Just for the hell of it, I smirk humourlessly at the old man. ‘Can you say the same?’

He snorts. I scratch at my neck. O’Shea’s blood is congealing on my skin and starting to feel uncomfortable. I check my watch, focusing not on the panic which is swirling in my veins but on what I need to do next.

‘I’ll be back around nine,’ I say. ‘Can you hold the fort until then?’

He gives me a droll look. Say what you like about the old bastard, he’s as tough as old nails. If the daemon’s attackers are smart – or stupid – enough to come calling, they’ll be in for a great surprise. I turn to leave but he grabs my arm. ‘Be careful.’ His tone is serious.

I nod, then walk out.

Chapter Three: Clean and Call

My car door is still hanging open. The cat, pretending to be asleep on the pavement beside it, half-opens one green eye as I approach. It lets out a tiny guttural meow and clambers to its feet, stretching out its forelegs then padding off. I peer inside, taking in the blood-soaked seat and sigh. I’d only just forked out a wad to have it valeted the previous week. Slamming the door shut, I walk round to the driver’s side and get in. I’m tempted to head straight for the office to face Tam and demand to know exactly what is going on. I know that wouldn’t be the smartest move though, so instead I turn on the engine and shift into first gear. This is one of those times when it pays to be friends with all sorts of people.

As I drive, I pay close attention to the roads leading in the direction of Wiltshore Avenue, just in case the police van shows up again. There’s no sign of it. I make a few u-turns, once pulling into a service station and stopping for a minute with my eyes fixed closely on my rear-view mirror. When I’m about as certain as I can be that I’m not being followed, I drive across town. The worst of the lunchtime traffic seems to be over, but I avoid the busier streets. I have a lot to do if I’m to return to pick up O’Shea at nine. I can’t afford to waste time waiting in a grid-lock. Fortunately, it’s not long after two when I pull up outside The Steam Team.

The pedestrians milling around on the street make me tense. At least they’re only human and far enough away not to catch the scent or sight of blood. That’s another good reason to wear black. I duck inside the shop, breathing in the clean scent of dry cleaning, and grin as I spot Rebecca behind the counter.

She raises her eyebrows. ‘Bo. I’m surprised to see you here again this month. Haven’t you already had your annual clean?’

‘Ha ha. Just because I only come for dry cleaning once a month doesn’t mean I don’t know how to use a washing machine.’

‘You forget I’ve seen the inside of your car.’

I grimace. Not recently she hasn’t. She twigs that something is wrong and her expression grows serious. ‘What’s the problem?’

I point at my clothes. ‘I need these cleaned. And I need to borrow something to wear in the meantime.’

Although her eyes light up with curiosity, she doesn’t ask any more questions, filling me with gratitude. She just lifts up the counter and beckons me inside. As I pass by her, she draws back, evidently smelling O’Shea’s blood.

‘Whoa, okay. I guess you need a shower too.’

‘Do you have one?’

She makes a face. ‘Sort of.’

She leads me into a sparsely furnished back room. There are a few industrial shelving units with large bottles displaying complicated chemical names. In the corner there’s a tap with a rubber hose and a rusting drain set into the floor next to it.

‘Our power shower at its finest,’ she announces.

‘What’s the temperature control like?’

She grins. ‘Oh, you’ll like it.’

I doubt that very much but beggars can’t be choosers. I shoot her a smile of thanks. ‘I appreciate it.’

Rebecca reaches out to squeeze my shoulder then obviously thinks better of it. She looks me over critically. ‘We’ve got some unclaimed clothes that might fit you. I’m not sure they’ll be to your taste though.’

I dread to think. ‘I’ll take whatever you can spare, Becks.’

She offers me another smile then leaves, closing the door carefully behind her. I eye the hose with trepidation before peeling off my jacket. The blood underneath is sticky and the underside of the leather has glued itself to my skin. When I’m finally free, I lay it gently on top of a nearby shelf and look at it sorrowfully before divesting myself of the rest of my clothes. I’m down to my underwear – which is far more functional than pretty – when Rebecca knocks on the door. I open it slightly, keeping my body behind it more because of the dark dried blood staining my skin than any modesty. She hands me a plastic bag and leaves me in peace. Hooking the bag onto a nail, I strip off my bra and knickers, twist on the tap and yelp at the forceful gush of water. It’s icy cold and I spend several moments dancing in and out of its spray as I get used to the temperature. The water pressure is so strong that it feels as if my skin is peeling off alongside the dissolving blood. By the time I’m done, my body is red and raw – but at least I’m clean.

Rebecca has left a towel on top of the bag so I pull it out and vigorously rub myself dry. Then I peer inside to see just how bad the clothes are, and am pleasantly surprised as I shake out a floral mini dress. Just because I normally wear leather doesn’t mean my hidden princess doesn’t occasionally beg to be let out. The dress is decorated with sprigs of pink flowers and kicks out in a flare at the hem. I run my hands over my legs and sigh with relief that I shaved them recently enough to get away with the short skirt. I put my knickers back on but abandon my bra as it’s damp with blood, then try to clamber into the dress. It gets stuck somewhere around my shoulders and I spend a few uncomfortable moments trying to yank it down without tearing the fabric. Eventually I realise there’s a zip in the side which makes life a whole lot easier. I smooth it down and stare at myself critically. Not too shabby. I give myself a little Wonder Woman spin before flicking back my hair. Then I give up and get back to business.

I pull out the pepper spray and my phone from the jacket and stuff it, the towel, and the rest of my clothes into the bag and walk out to the front of the shop. When Rebecca catches sight of me, she starts to laugh. I scowl at her.

‘Very fetching, Bo. I think the bow on the back is particularly attractive.’

I give her a twirl. ‘Actually I rather like it.’

She just laughs harder. ‘Yes, all you need is a bow in your hair and you can be Bo with a bow and a bow.’

I shake my fists at her. ‘Is this the way I’m to be treated after all the help I’ve given you in the past?’

‘No, you’re right.’ She wipes the tears from her eyes. ‘You did a fabulous job helping me get rid of that gang of losers. It’d have been even better if you’d done it wearing that.’

‘Well, at least they wouldn’t see it coming this time.’

Last year Rebecca hired me, via Tam, to keep watch on The Steam Team after a series of break-ins. I camped out for a couple of nights and caught three teenagers sneaking in. As soon as they saw me, they high-tailed it. It took me forever to track them down. I was pretty fast at running, but I wasn’t any match for teen boys amped up on drugs and the speed of youth. I still considered the venture a failure, even though I eventually managed to haul their arses into the local police station. Luckily Rebecca remained grateful. More than that, she’d become a friend. And as I’m learning, it’s handy to have a mate who owns a dry cleaning service.

She finally sobers up and looks at me a seriously. ‘You’re in trouble?’

I bite my lip and nod.

‘You look like what you really need is a stiff drink.’

I sigh. ‘That’d be nice. Unfortunately I can’t stay. I need to deal with,’ I pause for a beat, ‘other things.’

She nods in understanding. ‘If there’s anything else I can do…’

‘Thanks, Becks.’ I smile tightly and deposit the bag of clothes onto the counter in front of her. ‘I really appreciate this. Can I pick these up tomorrow morning?’

‘You mean you’re not prepared to trade in your leather jacket for that dress?’

I tug at the bodice self-consciously. I like the dress but it’s not really suitable attire for a private investigator. Not if I want to be taken seriously.

‘Not just yet. Although maybe Tam will make it the new uniform when he sees me.’ I try to keep my voice flippant, but my stomach remains a tight ball of tension.

‘Yeah. I’d love to see what some of those hulking brutes you work with look like in a flowery dress.’

‘With a bow at the back.’

She smiles, masking the worry in her face. ‘Naturally.’

‘I’ll be back first thing in the morning.’

The door jangles, signalling the arrival of a new customer.

‘Thank you! Come again!’ Rebecca trills to me, in full shopkeeper mode.

I sweep a dramatic curtsey from behind the customer’s back then make a hasty exit. As soon as I’m outside I turn on my phone. It flashes with three missed calls and all of them are from Tam. I suppose at least he’s not working under the mistaken assumption that I am now in police custody. It doesn’t really mean much though. If he’s behind the plot to frame me for O’Shea’s supposed murder, he’ll already have the cops in his pocket and be aware that neither the daemon nor I were present at the house when they arrived.

I’m not prepared to speak to him over the phone. When I talk to him, I want to look into his eyes. Right now, he can wait. I’ve got other things to sort out.

I’m about to jab in the number I need when I reconsider. I gaze down at my phone for a moment then slap my forehead. I’m a prize idiot. If the police are looking for me, all they’ll have to do is to track my phone signal. Until I’m completely sure about what is going on and who is on whose payroll, I’m not willing to hand myself in for questioning. I wouldn’t trust the police; there are too many tales of corruption at all sorts of levels for some of them not to be true.

I glance back at The Steam Team. The police will already be able to follow me there. I’m tempted to go back inside and warn Rebecca but I decide against it. I know I can trust her and I’ll only spook the customer who’ll be more likely to remember me. No, better to ditch the phone now and pick up a burner instead. Without further ado, I drop it onto the pavement and crunch it under my heel. Then I turn my attention to the car and frown.

It may be a rusting heap of junk, but it’s my rusting heap of junk. But now it’s covered in blood and the longer I keep it, the more likely it is to become a liability. Its only saving grace is that it’s too old to have an in-built GPS system which can be used against me. I could leave it here – after all, the phone will already have led the police to this location but I’m concerned about the blood. I don’t need any more evidence tying me to O’Shea’s attack than there is already.

I climb in and drive off. I know just the place to park. Right now, though, despite having a vague plan of action, I’m feeling less like Sam Spade and more like a fully paid-up member of the Keystone Cops. Hanging on to my phone is the sort of rookie error that’s keeping me at the bottom of the heap at Tam’s. If I’m going to get out of this unscathed, I need to be a hell of a lot smarter.

The lock up is less than fifteen minutes’ drive away. I’ve been paying for it in cash under the counter for the last two years and for the last two years it’s been lying empty. When I’ve been scrabbling around for money, I’ve often wondered whether keeping it is a stupid idea. Today, however, my pragmatism has won out. That doesn’t quite make up for the phone error, but it helps. There’s no record anywhere that I rent this place. And considering that the white witch landlord had his tongue cut out about a decade ago, I’m fairly certain he’s not going to be blabbing to anyone. I root around in the glove box for the key which I eventually discover stuck to the yellowing service record by a chunk of gum – unchewed, I might add. I open the garage door, disturbing some small creature which scuttles off into the darkness, and drive in.

The lack of pockets in the dress is causing problems. I nip outside and look around, quickly finding a discarded plastic bag trapped against the door of another lock-up. Sending a grateful prayer up to the non-environmentally-friendly denizens of London, I pick it up and deposit my keys, pepper spray and wallet inside. Emblazoned on the outside are the words ‘Funny Farm Meats: For All Your Butchery Need’s’. I tsk at the misplaced apostrophe, then shut up the garage and walk away swinging the bag. Frankly, I’ve got bigger problems than poor punctuation.

Walking briskly, I hit the nearest row of shops in next to no time. As luck would have it, there’s a kiosk selling cheap mobile phones, so I pass over an insulting amount of cash and buy three, then make sure I’m some distance away before I make the call I need. It’s fortunate I’ve got a head for numbers and have memorised the phone number. I let it ring five times then hang up. I count to fifty in my head and repeat the call. It’s not until the third try that someone actually answers.

‘Yeah.’

‘I need a place to stay.’

‘Just you?’

‘No. There’ll be another.’

‘Can I trust them?’

I don’t hesitate. ‘No.’

‘14A Markmore Close. There’s an upper-floor flat with views to the front and back. The key will be on the windowsill.’

I sense he’s about to hang up so I screech into the phone. ‘Wait!’

‘What?’

‘My flat. I think it’s been compromised. I need it checked out.’

There’s a pause. ‘I can do it. Don’t call back though. I’ll come and find you.’ The phone clicks off and I’m left listening to the dull mechanical burr.

I feel better now that I have somewhere to sleep and to take O’Shea. There are several hours until I need to pick him up; that means it’s time to confront Tam.

Chapter Four: Bruce Willis

Now that I’m car-less, I’m forced to take public transport to get to Dire Straits. And yes, that really is the name. Tam is a hard-core eighties’ music fan. I’m not convinced he thought the name through before christening his fledgling company but he weathers all the ‘money for nothing’ jokes with humour. I’m just thankful that the chicks aren’t for free.

I’d be tempted to grab a taxi but keeping a low profile includes not accessing my bank account so I’m lumbered with only the cash I have on me. And there’s not much of that. I’ll need to be frugal.

As I sit on the train, I run through scenarios in my head. I’d been under the impression that Tam and I had a fairly solid working relationship, even if he didn’t value me as much as I thought he should. Now I have to assume that he might be involved in setting me up. He was, after all, the one who sent me after O’Shea in the first place.

I’ve been working for Tam for the past two years. I’d initially had visions of spending six months with him before leaving to set up my own firm but it didn’t take me long to realise that it was going to take a damn sight longer than half a year to learn this business. I had, on occasion, wondered if he deliberately kept me doing scut work because he knew I’d up sticks as soon as I felt confident enough. The thing is, I have a lot of respect for him and I doubt he’s that petty or small-minded. I’m at the bottom of the ladder because I was the last one in and there are cavernous depths of detail and information involved in being a private investigator that I still don’t know. But loitering on the bottom rung might make me the easiest person to target. Perhaps Tam needed to get rid of O’Shea for some reason and I’m merely a convenient tag to keep the police away from him.

I think about it some more. It could also be the connection to my grandfather that’s initiated this move. Except that Tam has known about him from the start and the old man has been out of commission for years, so that theory doesn’t really make any sense. I can’t think of anything I’ve inadvertently done to piss Tam off this much. Sure, I’ve moaned a bit about being stuck with working over weaker tribers like O’Shea but it’s only because acting like that’s de rigeur in a firm like ours. The truth is I’m not experienced enough to trail fully-fledged vampires, daemons or faeries; I’m simply too human. And secretly I prefer focusing on the human side of things anyway. I find it hard to understand the motivation behind a lot of triber actions. Untangling whatever webs the humans have chosen to weave is far, far easier. The triber world may be more glamorous and exciting but I don’t need it to get my kicks. The thought flashes through my mind that if I make it to the other side of this kerfuffle, I’m going to have some appropriately impressive triber experience to add to my CV. I may end up stuck with them whether I like it or not.

I return my focus to Tam, trying to remember if there was anything odd about the way he acted when he gave me this assignment on Monday. Nothing jumps out at me. It had all been same old, same old. Of course, it would also have been like that if he was attempting to pull the wool over my eyes and prevent me from suspecting anything untoward about the O’Shea set-up. I rub my eyes. I have to face facts: I have no evidence suggesting Tam is either guilty or innocent.

I’m careful when I disembark the train, getting off one stop before so I can take a circuitous route to the office. It’s not paranoia if they really are after you – and I have to assume that they are. As a result, it’s late in the afternoon by the time I’m staring at the pretentious, glass-fronted office block. I need to figure a way out to enter without anyone noticing, which is easier said than done. If Tam had located his business in an older building, I might have had an outdoor fire escape to climb up. As things stand, I have no way clambering up the side of the metal and glass of this one.

But all is not lost. When I started at Dire Straits, I made a point of getting to know all the janitorial staff. It doesn’t take a genius to know where all the knowledge and power really lie. Unfortunately Tam knows this too and his extravagant tipping at each year end means that they are remarkably tight-lipped when I approach them for gossip. One thing I did learn, however, is the best place to go for a crafty cigarette. I even know which path to take to avoid the CCTV cameras. I don’t smoke often but hanging out with the gaspers can lead to good tips.

I make sure there are no familiar faces or unfamiliar watchers hanging around, then I move across the road and round the back of the building. The emergency exit is clear, only a small tin bucket overflowing with tab ends indicating its other use. This is the part that gets tricky. I have no way of opening the heavy barred door from this side so I need to wait until someone opens it for me and get past without them noticing. I need to be very silent and very lucky. To avoid the rustle of the plastic bag in my hand, I jog over to the skip, which for some reason is always lurking here, and shove it in, covering it with a folded cardboard box. I keep the pepper spray on me, carefully tucking it into the folds of the bow at the back of my dress where it’ll stay put, if not exactly hidden. Then I head back to the side of the door, moving the bucket an extra foot in front to give myself a bit of wiggle room, and I settle in to wait. At least it’s summer and the air is warm.

I don’t have to wait for long. I’m leaning against the wall, eyes half-closed, when I hear the tell-tale rattle of the inside bar being pushed. I quickly sidestep left to avoid the door hitting me as it opens, but keep myself pressed against the wall so that the secret smoker won’t see me unless they actually turn around. The door swings open noiselessly and a man steps out, cigarette already dangling from his mouth. From this angle, I’m pretty sure it’s one of the security guards. He cups his hands and lights up, not moving from the entrance. I curse inwardly and concentrate on not breathing too loudly. At least this location is fairly central, so there’s a loud hum of traffic to mask any sounds that I make.

I watch his profile intently. He sucks hard on the cigarette, gazing off into the distance, but his feet still don’t move away from the door so there’s no way I can edge behind him and sneak inside. He smokes all the way down to the filter and, just as I’m sure he’s going to do no more than ground the butt into the tarmac with his heel and head straight back inside, he walks forward to the bucket to drop it in. I swiftly tiptoe behind him and duck inside, bolting up the stairs before he comes back in. I can only think that he must have paused to move the bucket back to its original location because I’m already at the second floor, my heart pounding, when I hear the door clang shut. I grin to myself. There’s nothing like a nicotine addict with OCD. Then I bound up to the tenth floor where Tam will be waiting.

The fire exit opens onto the main corridor of Tam’s suite. I know from experience that at this time of day the other investigators will either be out on jobs or in the social room, regaling each other with inflated stories of their mornings’ exploits. Equally, the receptionist will be far too concerned with her phone to pay attention to anything other than the front door. All this means that I only have to sneak past Arzo, Tam’s PA, to get into his office. But Arzo is no push-over like the others and I want a chance to observe Tam before confronting him so, rather than heading directly to his sweeping corner office, I scoot into the ladies’ restroom. It’s time to put my Die Hard Bruce Willis’ skills into action. I’ve always thought it would be possible, considering the entire building is finished with dropped ceilings, but I’ve never actually tried it before. There’s no time like the present.

I hop into one of the cubicles but don’t bother locking the door. I don’t want someone to wander in and wonder why there’s an empty toilet with a locked door. Women with full bladders are neither patient nor good-humoured. Carefully lowering the seat, I step up and onto the cistern then reach up and push aside one of the large ceiling tiles. The space above is dark and filled with pipes which will make it difficult to move around but I am determined.

I curve my fingers round the metal bracket and slowly pull myself upwards, unsure how much of my weight the structure will hold. It creaks and bends slightly but I decide I can make it, so I push my body further up, keeping away from the polystyrene panels where I’ll be sure to fall through. There’s not much space at the top, forcing me to bend my torso down and forwards to shimmy my hips through. It’s a tight squeeze but once they’re past, I wiggle forward so I can pull up my legs. The hardest part is edging backwards so I can replace the tile. Advancing through this space is difficult enough while lying flat on my belly; reversing without being able to see where I’m going is almost impossible. It takes me minutes to manage it and, by the time I’m where I need to be, I’m covered in sweat. Whoever once said that horses sweat, men perspire and women glow clearly hasn’t met me.

I stare down for a moment at the empty restroom and wonder if I’m crazy for doing this. I’m sandwiched between a layer of polystyrene and snaking pipes while looking down on a toilet. From this vantage point, it’s easy to spot where the cleaner has been lax and not bothered to reach round the edges of the bowl. I make a slight face and stiffen my resolve. Just like those weeks of built-up dirt, I’m not going to allow myself, my sanity or my freedom to be simply swept away. As ridiculous as this situation is, I need to find out where I stand with Tam. I push the tile back into its original position then begin my slow shuffle forward.

I barely manage a few feet before I feel the dress snag on something. Damn it. This is another reason I can’t get away with looking pretty while attempting to work at the same time. I eventually untangle the material then tuck the rest of the fabric into my knickers to avoid it happening again. Bruce Willis didn’t have that problem.

Although the straightest and most direct route towards Tam’s office is diagonally across the space, I’m forced to go in a different direction as the pipes are blocking my way. I can only hope that’s not the case once I get further along or this entire venture will be screwed. Inching forward in darkness, I stay as silent as possible. I have to strain to keep my weight balanced on the metal frames and not sag down onto the tiles. The pain of the exertion is attacking my core, as if I’m permanently holding myself in a plank position. At least I won’t have to worry about going to the gym today. It seems like an eternity before I hear the ping of the lift and realise I’ve reached the reception area.

‘Hi, doll-face,’ drawls a deep voice that I immediately recognise as Boris, one of the other investigators.

His weak attempt at flirtation falls flat as Tansy, the receptionist, sighs. ‘Why are you late?’ She sounds bored to tears.

‘Were you worried about me?’

The silence that greets his question pretty much provides an answer. I smirk and am about to continue quietly onwards when I freeze at his next question. His tone is overly casual, which makes it even worse.

‘Is Bo back yet?’

‘Not seen her.’ There’s an odd grating sound.

‘Has she phoned in?’

The sound continues. I finally realise Tansy must be filing her nails. ‘Nah,’ she says. ‘What’s it to you?’

Every muscle in my body tenses as I wait to hear his answer. I’d always pegged him as large and dumb, nothing more than an annoyance, but now my mind is racing at the thought that he might have something to do with all of this.

‘One of my contacts rang me on the way in asking about her. Says the pigs want to talk to her about something that went down this morning.’

I’m disappointed; I’d been hoping for more. Life would be a hell of a lot easier if I could pin the blame for this on Boring Boris and move on. I suppose the confirmation that the police are definitely after me is useful though. I don’t wait to listen to more; instead I shuffle onwards, making sure I’m as quiet as death. Their voices were as clear as if they’d been standing next to me and the last thing I need is for them to realise there’s something crawling around above them.

Fortunately the pipes twist right, allowing me to continue forward to Tam’s office unhindered. Arzo worries me. He’s a canny bastard. I’d swear he has traces of Kakos daemon blood running through his veins were it not for the fact that he’s been with Tam for more than two decades. No Kakos daemon could spend that long in a human’s company without giving into the temptation to eat their heart or drive them insane. Still, I’m fairly certain he’s more triber than human and that I have no hope of being silent enough to pass over his head without him noticing. At least his desk is outside Tam’s office and slightly to the left, so I reckon the pipes will give me just enough leeway to avoid him. The problem is that, thanks to the ceiling tiles, I can’t see down to check; they are so well fitted that there are no cracks or gaps where I can peer down. I know the layout of the office – I’ve sodding worked there for two years after all – but up here in the ceiling, and with an ache developing through my body as I keep myself aloft, I’m becoming more and more disorientated.

I suck air in through my mouth and hold it for a few seconds, attempting to regain my equilibrium. When I finally exhale, I feel more centred. I side shuffle to my right, getting as close to the pipes as I can. It’s just my rotten luck that the one closest to me is carrying hot water. A couple of times the bare skin of my legs lightly brushes it, scalding me. Each time I have to pause and bite the inside of my cheek until the pain subsides. It takes me at least ten minutes to reach the threshold of Tam’s inner sanctum and ease myself over. I can hear the clacking of computer keys and the hum of distant traffic but little else. I grimace. I really need to find a way to see what he’s doing.

At the edge of my small space, where I presume the large window looking out over the city is situated, there’s a tiny chink of light. That might just be enough of a gap to look down from. It’s at least eight feet away and, as I’ve already discovered, moving sideways for any distance is considerably harder than moving forwards. I decide that shifting my body around will cause too much noise so, painful centimetre by centimetre, I edge towards it. I’m about halfway there when there’s a hard knock at the door and I curse inwardly. I’m not sure how much longer I can hold myself in this position.

I hear the door open.

‘Boss?’

I roll my eyes. It’s Boring Boris again. Now that I’ve discounted him from my list of suspects, listening to him is going to be of little help. Unless he has more details about what the police are saying about me, that is. Tam must have beckoned him in because the floor squeaks as if someone is moving forwards.

‘I’m concerned about Bo.’

I’m both surprised and a little touched by this. A trace of guilt about my attitude towards the big man snakes up my spine – but I still really want to hear Tam’s response.

‘What is it?’ His voice is gruff, but I can’t detect any particular emotion in it.

‘The police scanners are after her. There seems to have been some kind of incident at Wiltshore Avenue. You know she had that assignment there with the daemon? Now she’s wanted for questioning.’

Silence. It draws out to an uncomfortable point where I feel my heart begin thrumming faster and faster. What is Tam going to say?

‘I see.’

Damn it. Why does he always have to be so bloody non-committal?

‘I could go out and talk to my contacts. Find out more.’

There’s another long pause. Then Tam speaks again. ‘You do that, Boris. Thank you.’

Tam’s response tells me absolutely nothing. My hands, which are still gripping the criss-cross ceiling frame, tighten. I hear Boris murmur something about leaving straight away, then his footsteps squeak again on their way out. The door closes. If only I could see down to check Tam’s expression. I’m about to start moving again when I hear him lift up his phone and jab in a number. It’s only three digits so he’s calling someone in the office.

‘We have a problem.’ I stiffen at his words. ‘Get in here.’

Tears spring to my eyes and I almost choke. Despite my current precarious position spying on my employer, I hadn’t really believed he was involved. Not deep down.

Shuffling more quickly now, I use the sound of the door opening to mask my own noise and make it over to the ceiling gap. I push myself hard against the wall; if I angle my head just right, I can see into the office. I force down every betrayed, angry and impossibly wounded emotion and blink away the tears. Then I look.

I hiss when I see Arzo’s unmistakable heavyset shoulders. His head begins to tilt and my eyes widen in alarm. Then, just as I’m sure he’s about to stare right at me, there’s a high-pitched scream from somewhere behind him. It lasts barely a second before it’s cut off, as if the screamer had just dropped dead. Arzo whirls around and I see Tam pulling open a drawer to scrabble for the illegal gun he keeps there.

It’s already too late. I watch, horror struck, as something dark and very fast snaps into Arzo’s midsection. He spins around then falls to his knees. Whatever attacked him launches itself at Tam. I register the attacker’s broad shoulders and brown hair, tied back at the nape of his neck, before seeing his flashing fangs sink into Tam’s throat and rip at it with one swift, vicious bite. He pulls away a chunk of bloody flesh. Tam clutches at his neck and gasps a loud, incomprehensible word before falling in slow motion onto the desk.

I raise my hand to punch through the flimsy tile and do whatever I can but then I see Arzo’s large brown eyes staring at me. He shakes his head, mouthing at me. It takes a moment before I realise what he’s trying to say.

No.

Helpless, I gaze down as the life drains out of his body and I try to make sense of what has just happened.

Chapter Five: Knowledge

I stay squeezed in the dropped ceiling until I can no longer bear it. Even though my emotions are numb, every muscle in my body is screeching with pain by the time I yield and shove across the nearest tile so I can drop down into Tam’s blood-spattered office. Any semblance of tears is gone as I take in the scene. The air reeks of dark smoke from the vampire who attacked Tam and Arzo. I try to avert my eyes from their fallen bodies and use my brain to assess what I witnessed and what I’m seeing now. But my gaze drifts to the sickeningly large chunk of flesh lying next to the wall and I swallow hard.

Something catches my peripheral vision and I spin round, shoulders braced and ready for an attack. When I realise it’s Arzo’s chest moving, I rush to his side. He’s unconscious but definitely still alive – a miracle considering what has just happened. But I have no hope of dragging him out in the same way I did with O’Shea a few hours before. Arzo is too large and the whole building is too central for me not to be stopped in mid-stagger. His only chance is to receive immediate medical attention.

I glance back at Tam’s desk and realise he’s fallen across his phone. A dim flicker of logic settles in my brain. I’m in these offices every day so there will be traces of me everywhere for the police to pick up on, but allowing my fingerprints to smear their invisible way across Tam’s corpse would be tantamount to suicide. I step away carefully, avoiding treading in any blood, and pick up the phone on Arzo’s desk, trying to ignore the very visible shake in my hands.

‘999, what’s your emergency?’ asks the cool, collected voice on the other end for the second time today.

I deepen my voice to avoid recognition. ‘There’s been a vampire attack at Dire Straits. Tenth floor of the Artisan Building on Fitch Street. One of the victims is still alive and requires immediate attention.’

‘Can you give me your name and telephone number?’

I drop the phone on the desk, leaving the voice hanging, and prepare to leave, hardening my heart against Arzo’s state to focus on my own precarious chances of survival. If I end up in a police cell because of this and what went down at Wiltshore Avenue, I’ll never find out what is going on and I may end up as a puddle of blood on a floor. Common sense might suggest that I stay and answer any questions as honestly as I can, but my day has been anything but common. And the way things are going, I can’t trust anyone but myself.

I’m forced to pass through the social area. It is a bloodbath and I stare open-mouthed at the chaos that’s been left in the vampire’s wake. At least five of my co-workers are sprawled across the floor. Everywhere I look all I see is red. It appears that the attack happened too quickly for any of them to defend themselves. I shake my head to clear the fog that’s forming there and quickly move out. We’re in the city centre. The police and ambulances will be here soon.

As I move through reception, Tansy’s glazed eyes stare at me with the emptiness of the dead. Her nail file is still clutched in her hand. For some reason this detail is seared into my brain as I open the fire exit and run down the stairs to the ground floor. There’s not a soul in sight, not even a die-hard smoker is out taking a few hasty puffs, so I grab my plastic bag from the skip and leave, just as the sirens begin to scream.

This time I duck into the nearest underground station, keeping my head down to avoid the CCTV cameras. I receive several wide-eyed stares and for a moment I wonder if I’m drenched in blood. When I look down, however, I see that my borrowed dress is still tucked haphazardly into my knickers. I smooth it down, too shocked and numb to feel embarrassed, but I know that my presence here will be remembered. Bugger.

Once I’m safely on the train and rattling back to the outskirts of the city and my grandfather’s house, I squeeze my eyes shut and press my hands against my thighs so hard that it hurts. Of course I was worried after what happened with O’Shea but I was still calm. Now all I feel is a suffocating panic. Nothing makes any sense. Not O’Shea being attacked and left for dead, not me being set up for his apparent murder, not the vicious genocide at Dire Straits. Why a vampire? It obviously wasn’t just because they were hungry. There’s enough fresh blood on tap for any bloodguzzler to drink their fill from a willing victim. It’s a well-known fact that adrenaline and fear make even the sweetest blood taste sour, and vampires prefer to use the many human vampettes who are always lining up to be sucked. Besides, neither O’Shea nor any of my co-workers were tasted. Equally, this can’t be about me; as much as I’d like to believe otherwise, in truth I am a nobody.

I think about Tam’s betrayal. His reaction to Boris’s worries about the police being after me proves he was involved in setting me up. Did he frame me at the behest of someone else who then turned the tables on him? I have no way of knowing. At least the brutality of the attack precludes me from being a suspect. No one would believe a five-foot-one human woman did that. Would they? And why did Arzo tell me to stay hidden instead of try to help?

The police could easily believe that I tried to kill O’Shea. My grandfather may have instinctively known the daemon’s wounds were from a vampire but if I’d been found at the scene with his body tied to a chair with my handcuffs, it’s likely the post mortem would be rushed and I’d be put away for the rest of my life. If things had happened the way the perp had planned though, there’s no way I could be implicated in the office massacre. I wouldn’t even have been there. Now I’m wondering whether, in hindsight, staying at Wiltshore and allowing myself to be arrested might have been the best course of action after all.

I want to scream in frustration and anguish. Instead, I open my eyes slowly and take a deep breath. This is not the time to panic. The train trundles into the station and I make my way back to my grandfather’s house. Now, more than ever, I need O’Shea to be conscious long enough to answer my questions. I can feel myself teetering on the edge of sanity and I need something to pull me back.

When I arrive at the small cul-de-sac, my grandfather’s door is open and he is standing at the threshold, watching my approach. I don’t have time to deal with any of his usual theatrics and I’m too numb to care about pissing him off, so I reach up to kiss him on the cheek before he prompts me. He surprises me, however, and puts up a hand to stall my action. The fact that I recognise sadness in his normally steely eyes is disturbing.

‘It’s all over the news,’ he says gruffly.

I feel a wash of fatigue. ‘What are they saying?’

‘That seven people at Dire Straits are dead. One is critical and in intensive care.’ He gives me a hard look. ‘They are looking for you to help them with their enquiries.’

I almost – but not quite – snort with laughter at the euphemism. ‘They can’t seriously believe I’m responsible.’

The cat pads out and snakes round my ankles. I half-leap out of my skin. It’s never bloody done that before. Things must be even worse than I thought.

‘I made a few discreet enquiries of my own. They don’t.’ I exhale loudly, but my grandfather continues. ‘They do, however, think you are involved in some way. That maybe you’re working with a new bloodguzzler Family or something.’

‘That’s stupid.’

‘I said as much. No granddaughter of mine would be in league with those things.’

My mouth twists. ‘No, it’s stupid to think that there’s a new Family. The other Families would never allow it. Besides, what would any of the vampires have to gain from all of this?’

His gaze is frank. ‘Dire Straits must have done something to annoy them.’

‘But we don’t work for vampires,’ I point out. ‘They have their own in-house investigators.’

He speaks quietly. ‘Maybe your firm was working against them.’

I mull this over. It seems implausible. We did look into vampires from time to time for some client or other but, as far as I know anyway, nothing Dire Straits has ever done would come close to deserving retaliation on this scale. In fact, I’d been under the impression the vampires allowed us a modicum of professional courtesy and would help us out from time to time if it served their interests. But then again, my own employer framing me for the murder of some two-bit, magic-dealing, half-breed daemon is equally implausible. Speaking of…

‘What about O’Shea?’

‘Who?’

My grandfather’s confusion is faked. I roll my eyes at him. There’s something about his attitude that’s reassuring and makes me feel normal again. ‘The daemon?’

‘Oh. Him.’

I put my hands on my hips and give him a death stare. The trouble is that I’m just not as good at it as he is and he knows it. ‘Is he awake?’ I demand.

He shakes his head and gestures inside. Disappointed, I follow him into the small kitchen. O’Shea is still sprawled out on the kitchen table, his chest moving up and down regularly. I watch him for a few moments.

‘He’s involved in this,’ I say eventually, as much to myself as to my grandfather.

‘Yes. So what’s your next move, Bo?’

Despite everything, I feel a flicker of pride. He may be an ornery bastard with an entrenched core of racism, but he believes I can sort this out on my own and without his help. If he thought otherwise, he wouldn’t be asking me what I planned to do next. A thought strikes me: unless he has no idea what to do now, of course.

‘I have a safe house,’ I answer. ‘I’ll take him there.’

‘Are you sure it’s safe?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you’re just going to wait until he wakes up?’

I bite my lip. ‘I don’t have any other choice.’

He regards me silently. I wonder what’s going through that head of his. He had better not be gloating about the demise of my firm.

‘I suppose you’ll need some form of transportation,’ he says finally.

I look at him hopefully. I had been counting on the old man realising I’d had to dump my car and that he needed to help me out with a vehicle if he wanted to get shot of O’Shea before nightfall.

He throws me a set of keys. ‘It belongs to one of my neighbours. If you get a scratch on it, they won’t be happy.’

‘I’ll look after it,’ I promise. ‘Thank you.’ I really mean it.

He inclines his head. ‘You take care now,’ he says. Then he walks out of the kitchen. ‘I like the dress,’ he calls back. ‘You should wear one more often.’

I sigh in exasperation and glance down at O’Shea’s prone body. ‘He doesn’t like it enough to help me get you out of here,’ I say to him.

Unsurprisingly, the daemon doesn’t answer. I shrug to myself, then bend and push his body up and over my shoulder in a fireman’s lift. At least he’ll be easier to carry now I don’t have to worry about him bleeding out. My knees buckle for a moment but I manage to steady myself and stagger outside. There’s a shiny car waiting in the driveway. I could swear it wasn’t there when I arrived less than five minutes ago. Shaking my head at my grandfather’s ability to get people to do exactly what he wants, I press down on the key and the car beeps loudly, signalling it’s open. I heave O’Shea’s weight onto the back seat, making sure his legs are inside before I slam the door shut. Then I get in and drive away.

***

When I was fourteen years old and particularly precocious, I came home from aceing an arduous mathematics test and spent a considerable amount of time crowing about my accomplishment to my father. It didn’t take him long to grow bored with my egotism and he told me in no uncertain terms that it hadn’t been as difficult or as complex as I supposed.

‘That’s not true,’ I sniffed back at him. ‘It’s one of the hardest tests there is. And one of the hardest subjects.’ I had no way of knowing whether this was true but, to my teenage mind, I had to be right.

‘The hardest test isn’t something you sit in school, Bo,’ he told me gently.

I completely misunderstood what he was driving at. ‘Grandfather says university is for wimps. That even the exams you sit at Oxford are easy and that they’re breeding a nation of incompetents.’ I told you I was precocious. The memory of my snotty tone still makes me wince.

My father sighed heavily and patted me on my shoulder. ‘There are other tests.’

‘Like what?’

I remember the look he gave me: measured and calm, but still assessing how far he could go. Of course I know now that the hardest tests aren’t even tests. They’re how you cope when your life falls apart. When you bite your tongue and let your best friend cry on your shoulder because the loser she’s been dating has dumped her. When the same loser comes on to you too strongly at a party the weekend after. When you’re trying to decide between paying the rent or eating. When one of your parents dies. I think my father knew that I would snort with adolescent derision if he pointed this out to me, so he took a different tack.

‘The Knowledge,’ he said instead. ‘That’s the hardest test.’

‘What’s the Knowledge?’

‘It’s what all taxi drivers have to do before they’re allowed to drive a black cab.’

I probably curled my lip. ‘You mean a driving test.’

‘No. I mean memorising 35,000 London streets so you always know the fastest way to get from point A to point B. It takes a minimum of two years to learn. Most people take five.’

He folded his arms and looked at me pointedly. I think I tossed my hair and wandered off in search of someone who would be more willing to listen to me boast about my accomplishments. But he had stirred my interest and the next day I stayed late after school to look up the Knowledge in the library. Imagine my surprise when I realised he was right.

Deciding then and there that I would become the youngest person to ever pass the Knowledge, regardless of the fact that I had no desire to become a taxi driver and was three years away from being allowed to drive, I took up the challenge. I studied every evening and spent weekends cycling around the city to challenge myself. Had my father known what a monster his comments would unleash, he probably would have been happy to sit there for hours to listen to my blow-by-blow account of algebra and fractions. I bored my friends to tears by forcing them to test me. I wouldn’t say I ever got to the point where I knew thirty-five thousand streets, or where I’d even have come close to passing, but I did learn a hell of a lot.

My study of the Knowledge was cut short abruptly about six months later when I discovered that Dean, the most annoying boy at my school, had hair that curled invitingly around the sexy nape of his neck and a voice that made my toes curl up inside my trainers. Boys, I decided, were infinitely more interesting than the streets of London and I ended my quest almost as suddenly as I’d begun it. A lot of what I’d learned in that time never left me, though. At least now I know exactly where Markmore Close is without having to worry about maps or GPS. I’ll never know boys – or rather men, now that I’m older – as easily as that.

***

Even driving carefully to avoid any undue attention, it takes less than forty minutes to get to the safe house. The sky, which was already darkening by the time I reached my grandfather’s, is now definitely advertising that it’s night. It feels like it’s been the longest day of my life and it’s far from over yet.

I’m fortunate enough to pull up and park directly outside the block of flats. I’m even more fortunate that there’s a tiny lift inside, so I hook O’Shea’s dead weight of an arm round my neck and hoist him up by the waist. A fireman’s lift would be easier but any curious residents might think he’s spent the afternoon in the pub and had one too many if I haul him up this way instead. It’s a struggle and seems to take forever, but finally I find the key exactly where I was told it would be and get him inside.

It’s a small place; property is at a premium in this part of the city so I’m not surprised. At least it’s clean and well kept. I flop O’Shea’s body down on the small bed which was probably advertised as a double – but only if you are sharing with a midget. It’ll do, I suppose. I can crash on the sofa when I need to sleep.

I turn to leave when I suddenly think of something. The last thing I need is the daemon waking up and doing a runner. He’s the best lead – the only lead – I’ve got right now and I’m not letting him slip through my fingers. I turn back, grab hold of the cuffs which are still dangling from his wrist and clip them onto the frame of the bed. It’s not particularly sturdy but I figure he’ll still be weak from blood loss when he wakes up and the cuffs will hold him. Then I head back down and move the car a few blocks away. Better safe than sorry.

By the time I get back to the flat, I am buzzing with nervous energy. It’s probably just as well because I won’t be able to sleep. I’m pretty sure that whenever I close my eyes from now on, I’ll see flashbacks of dark smoky figures and splatters of blood.

I sit down on the sofa and stare at the wall. Then my head drops and I’m out for the count.

Chapter Six: Martinis and Mistakes

I wake up with a start. A shaft of moonlight falls on my face and, for a moment, I’m completely disorientated, trying to work out where the hell I am. Then it all comes flooding back and I’m overwhelmed by all that has happened over the last twenty-four hours. The walls feel as if they’re closing in on me and I can’t breathe. I gulp in air and my heart thumps painfully against my ribcage. I lurch to my feet and half run to the small bathroom to splash cold water on my face, then I lean against the sink and stare at myself in the mirror until my heart rate slows down.

‘Pull yourself together,’ I mutter.

Padding into the bedroom, I check on O’Shea. He’s in exactly the same position as when I left him, one arm raised slightly where it’s cuffed, but his face looks more relaxed and his breathing is easier. There’s even a tiny snore. It occurs me that he’s very attractive, with chiselled cheekbones and flawless dark skin.

I bend down and check the wound on his neck. The stitches have done their job and it seems to be healing quickly. I guess that O’Shea has inherited the daemons’ ability to regenerate, along with his crazy orange eyes and model’s good looks. I sit down on the edge of the bed and consider what to do next. I’m tempted to shake him awake and demand answers but I might have a better shot at getting them once he’s recovered. I need to be patient.

I check my watch and see that I haven’t slept for as long as I thought. It’s only just gone midnight and this is the city that never sleeps. I don’t feel tired any more and I need something to distract me until my patient – or prisoner, depending on which way you look at it – wakes up.

By now my dress is crumpled but I decide I can get away with it. I find the Funny Farm plastic bag and pull out my wallet, taking out some notes and stuffing them into the tight bodice. I should probably keep more back because I have no idea when I’m going to be able to get hold of more cash. But I think I deserve a drink.

It takes me less than five minutes to find a place. If there’s one thing you can be sure of, it’s that in Britain you’re rarely far away from some place where you can drown your sorrows. There’s a bouncer on the door, a burly type but still human, who gives me a discreet once over, taking in my now less than perfect appearance. I give him a small smile and he lets me in.

As soon as I’m inside, part of me wishes I’d not bothered. The club must have great sound-proofing because what was little more than a dull beat from the street is now a heart-thumping, ear-churning level of decibels. I’m tempted to leave and find somewhere quieter but I decide to stick with it. Perhaps the level of sound will stop me continually worrying. I need oblivion, if only for an hour or two, not more time to think.

I give the dance floor a wide berth and head for the bar, perching on an uncomfortable plastic stool. Despite – or maybe because of – the loud music, there aren’t many other customers and I catch the bartender’s attention quickly. I order three martinis and down them in quick succession, shuddering at the strength of the alcohol. When they don’t immediately work, I order another three. At these prices, I’ll need to drink quickly if I want to achieve the effect I’m after.

The bartender is still making my drinks when I become aware of someone by my side. I tense, ready to do whatever I can to keep myself safe, but it’s just a guy. Not a vampire or a copper or anyone else wanting to do me harm. He’s not even a triber, just a guy who’s after a bit of fun to finish off his night. He’s good-looking in a geeky sort of way, with horn-rimmed glasses and a well-tailored suit. His appearance suggests he’s more prepared for a board meeting than a nightclub, despite the five o’clock shadow around his jaw. His hair is an attractive tortoiseshell colour, enhanced by the club’s bouncing multi-coloured lights, and his eyes twinkle at me with promise.

‘Hello,’ he says.

The bartender lines up my next three drinks. I remove the cocktail stick from the first one and pull off the olive delicately with my teeth, chewing it and savouring its fresh salty taste. I give him a half-smile.

He gestures at the three glasses. ‘You must be thirsty.’

In response, I pick one up and throw the contents down my throat. I’m tempted to lick my lips suggestively afterwards, but I manage to stop myself. This man is a sure thing and, even though I don’t normally pick up strangers, I can’t think of any better way to obliterate the newsreel that keeps running through my head.

I stay mute, although I reach over and slide the second martini along the bar to him. He raises his eyebrows slightly, takes it by the stem and sips.

‘Having a bad day?’ His voice is gentle, not probing.

For one awful moment, tears threaten. He reaches over and softly brushes my hand. At least it’s not my leg. I manage – just – to recover my equilibrium. I take the third glass and sip it carefully, raising my eyes to his. He looks at me and I look at him while, disturbingly, the beat of music changes to a much slower song. We remain like that, watching each other and sipping the martinis until both glasses are drained. Then I push myself off the stool and tuck a hand inside my bodice to grab the money, throwing the notes down onto the bar. If he’s surprised at my lack of height, he doesn’t comment on it; he simply takes my hand and we walk out.

I’ve been in the club for only thirty minutes but the rush of cold air once we are outside shocks me. I’m vaguely aware of the bouncer nodding to himself, impressed at how quickly I managed to find Mr Tortoiseshell. A faint curl of nausea rises up in my stomach but I push it down and take him by the hand, tugging him away from the bouncer’s prying eyes. We round the corner onto a quieter street and he stops, turning to face me. His hands cup my face as he gazes at me. It feels oddly as if he’s staring into my soul. He tilts up my chin and gently kisses my lips. But the last thing I want is gentle.

I twist round and push him against the wall, enjoying the sensation of his hard body next to mine. His eyes spark in desire. I yank the lapel of his suit, pull his face down to mine and kiss him fiercely. He gets with the programme and returns the kiss with equal force. Mr Tortoiseshell obviously enjoys being in control, despite his initial softness, because he pushes me around so this time it’s my back against the wall. One hand reaches up to my hair and the other down to my bare thigh. I can feel his erection pressing into me. His fingers slide higher up my leg and all of a sudden I come to my senses.

As I jerk my head away and duck out from under his arms, he blinks in surprise. I look up at him and feel ashamed. My cheeks heat up. This isn’t me.

‘I’m sorry.’ My voice sounds strange, almost disembodied. ‘I can’t do this.’

And before he can do or say anything else, I turn on my heel and run. Away from him and away from the club. If only it was this easy to run away from my real problems.

***

It takes me a while to get back to the flat. I walk first to clear my head and I berate myself for being an idiot. I feel bad for Mr Tortoiseshell. I suppose he thought I was leading him on then stiffed him – so to speak – in the final moments. But even if I could have found the words, it was just too complicated to explain.

I’m right outside the door when all my senses tell me that something is wrong. I pause, straining my ears. The only reason I catch the sound is because O’Shea is clearly still in pain and can’t stop himself gasping aloud. As I watch, the door knob slowly starts to turn. I smile humourlessly. He’s obviously not realised I’m standing on the other side.

I edge slightly left and wait for the door to creak open. When it’s about an inch ajar, I snap my foot up and out, kicking it backwards with as much force as I can muster. O’Shea yells in pain and I leap through, the base of my palm ready to smash into his nose to prevent him from attempting to go anywhere. I needn’t have bothered. He might have extricated himself from the bed, but he’d achieved it by taking the cheap gilt headboard with him. When the door hits him, he staggers backwards and succeeds in getting the corner of the bed post snagged around a wooden chair. He yanks at it several times in desperation, clawing with his free hand, but it’s stuck fast. I watch him, vaguely amused, then step forward. It’s not until I reach his kicking feet that he finally looks up at me and his body relaxes. Just as I thought. It’s damn hard to come across as a badass PI when you’re wearing a short flowery dress.

I crouch down. ‘Do you remember me?’

The corners of his mouth turn up. ‘Darling, how could I not?’

He’s flirting. Idiot. The slim file Tam provided me with before the debacle at Wiltshore Avenue told me one salient detail that O’Shea was now stupidly trying to conceal in a bid to charm me: I was most definitely not his type. I give him an exasperated look and I see comprehension dawn in his eyes.

‘Oh.’ He gives me a half grin. ‘You know I’m gay.’

‘Indeed.’

I settle myself at his feet, cross my legs, rest my chin on my hands and look at him.

‘Are you going to help me get out of this?’ he asks, holding up his chained wrist. The headboard rattles.

I shake my head.

He blinks at me with his large orange eyes. ‘You saved my life.’ It’s not a question.

‘Yes.’

‘So now you’re going to keep me tied to a bed to have your kinky way with me?’

‘We’ve already been through that.’ I keep my voice calm. The five martinis I recently downed help with that. ‘Though it’s not too late for me to change my mind about the saving your life part.’

There’s a flicker of doubt in his eyes, as if he’s already decided that a little girl like me wouldn’t have the stomach for it. He has no idea. After the last twenty-four hours, I’m prepared to do whatever it takes. Something in my manner finally makes him realise this because the doubt changes to fear. Good. I stretch my arm forward and lightly touch the wound on his torso. The fear grows.

‘Tell me what you were doing at the house.’

He swallows. ‘It’s my childhood home. I was taking a trip down memory lane.’

I press my fingers down and he gasps. ‘Okay, okay! There’s no need to go all Guantanamo on me. Jeez.’ He rolls his eyes as if I’m infringing on his human rights. Alright, I suppose I am. But I’ve got cause.

‘Tell me what you were doing at the house,’ I repeat. I know what Tam told me but I have no reason now to believe what he said.

O’Shea looks hangdog. Unfortunately for him, his sunset orange pupils remind me of my grandfather’s evil cat rather than a cute puppy.

‘Fine. It’s no big deal. I was just selling an enhancement spell, that’s all.’

‘What kind of enhancement spell?’

He grins at me, although I can tell it’s forced. ‘You know…’

‘No, O’Shea, I really don’t.’

He gestures at his crotch. ‘An enhancement spell.’

My cheeks colour. ‘For virility or for size?’

‘The bigger they are, darling, the harder they…’

I interrupt him. ‘Okay. I get it. Why the secrecy? Why there?’

‘It’s not exactly legal.’

‘Elaborate.’

‘There are some,’ he licks his lips, ‘side effects.’

I dread to think. Still, I need to know so I gesture for him to continue. He shrugs. ‘Well, you’re the one who brought up virility. Unfortunately the spell renders the recipient impotent. I mean, obviously they can still get it up.’ He laughs. ‘That’s rather the point. But in terms of being able to reproduce, well, the spell kind of takes that away.’

I don’t entirely understand. ‘But I’m sure there are lots of men who’d be more than willing than to undergo a magical vasectomy. No more worries about any little accidents…’

He frowns. ‘It’s not a vasectomy as such. Magic is unreliable and this spell in particular is base physical magic. You start messing with that and all sorts of things can happen. Virility is linked to testosterone. Testosterone is linked to behaviour.’

‘So take away virility and you take away testosterone. Take that away and you’re left with … what? Passive men?’

‘Pretty much.’

‘How can they,’ I cough awkwardly, ‘how can they get it up without testosterone?’

‘The spell contains a marker to artificially increase libido,’ he explains.

I nod like it makes sense. It doesn’t. This is one of the reasons why my grandfather hates magic makers. Then again, my grandfather hates everyone.

‘I still don’t see why male passivity is a problem,’ I say. ‘In fact, I think it sounds like a damn good idea.’

‘You’re not the only woman to think that. The client I was meant to be meeting is female.’

I can see a certain twisted logic there. I think of the odd scent of rosewater when I opened the door on his tortured body. But even though I didn’t see his face, I’m pretty certain that the vampire who attacked Tam and the others was male.

‘Did your client show up?’

He shakes his head. ‘Just that fucking bloodguzzler. He leached the spell, cuffed me to the chair and then tried to kill me.’

‘Do you know who he was?’

‘No.’

‘Was the female client a vampire?’

‘I never met her. But no, I don’t think so.’

‘If you’ve never met her, how did you set up the drop?’

‘A private chatroom. People contact me directly through that.’ He shrugs. ‘I used to contact them the old-fashioned way and write codes in birthday cards, that kind of thing, but it became too much hassle. Everyone prefers the internet these days.’ He sounds miffed, as if it’s a personal affront.

I gently manoeuvre him back to the real topic of the conversation. ‘What’s her name? The client’s?’

‘I only ever knew her via her avatar, Lucy.’

Just like Mina’s friend in the book Dracula, I realise. The one who enjoyed ensnaring men while human but who then turned vampire. Appropriate. ‘Lucy could still be a man,’ I point out.

‘Nah. I know how women write. This was definitely a woman.’

I’m not sure I can trust him on this but I’m prepared to let it go for now. ‘Why would anyone want you dead?’

‘I don’t know. I’m a good boy.’ He blinks at me innocently.

‘A good boy who deals in dodgy under-the-counter magic and who was almost drained of all his blood.’

He juts out his bottom lip. ‘It must be the spell.’

‘How long do the effects last?’

‘Please. I’m a professional. They’re permanent. Cast this baby and, believe me, you ain’t having any more babies.’

I’m startled. ‘You mean you don’t just deal? You created the spell?’

‘Of course. There’s no other spell like it,’ he says, but then his face falls. ‘Yeah, they tried to kill me for the spell.’

Perhaps. But that doesn’t explain why they – whoever ‘they’ are – also tried to set me up for his murder. Or why they succeeded in murdering pretty much everyone in my company. Or what would make Tam involved. It all seems so sordid and very, very petty.

I remember something Tam once said to me about sex and money. I’d only just joined Dire Straits and I’d expressed my frustration about the lack of variety in the assignments I was given. He laughed and said that in the end there was never any variation, that cases always boiled to either one or both of two things: sex and money. I certainly have the sex element here but that seems unimportant. From what O’Shea has told me, it seems as if this has more to do with power. And power equals money. I need to start with that and track down his original client.

‘How much were you being paid?’ I ask.

Before O’Shea can answer, a phone starts to ring. The pair of us jump. I get to my feet and look for the source of the sound, eventually discovering an old-fashioned Mickey Mouse phone to the side of the sofa.

‘You don’t know where your own phone is in your own flat?’

‘It’s not my damn flat,’ I snap and lift the receiver.

‘It’s me.’

I’m relieved. ‘Excellent timing.’

‘Your flat’s fine. It’s being watched but it’s not been obviously turned over.’

I nod. That makes sense. It would be far too suspicious if the prime suspect in a murder had her flat robbed on the same day. The theft of my handcuffs was clearly done surreptitiously. I really hate the idea of someone rooting around my things. I think of my underwear drawer and shudder.

‘You have only three more nights at Markmore.’

‘That’s fine.’ I’ll either be in the morgue by then or I’ll have sorted out an alternative of my own. ‘There’s something else I need you to do.’

‘I’ve got homework.’

‘It’s four o’clock in the morning!’

‘So?’

The vagaries of teenagers. ‘This won’t take long,’ I say, hoping I sound persuasive.

There’s a heavy sigh. ‘Okay. What?’

‘Find someone called Lucy.’

I pick the phone up, annoyed at the short cable as I try to stretch it across the room, and hold the receiver to O’Shea’s ear.

‘You’re going to tell the person on the end of this phone how to access your private chatroom,’ I tell him.

‘Who’s on the end of this phone?’

‘Just tell them.’

Chapter Seven: Hacker

I first met Rogu3 three years ago, long before I’d heard of Dire Straits. He was eleven years old then, making him fourteen now. I’m terrified of what he’ll be like when he finally matures into an adult.

I was working as an insurance fraud investigator at the time for one of those large faceless companies whose bottom line is always about profit. It was a truly awful job and I hated every minute of it. They were often happy to pay out small amounts as they felt that gave them an ‘honest face’. When it came to larger sums of money, however, it was an entirely different story.

The organisation dealt mainly in life insurance. The basic package covered accidental death, such as car crashes, as well as dying as a result of long-term (although never pre-existing) conditions. The premium package included a much wider range, such as death by triber. It also provided a payout in the event that your loved one was inadvertently transformed into a vampire. They called this ‘implicit passing’ – the bigwigs at the company loved their euphemisms. Customers signed up for the premium package in droves. At the time, I suspected it was down to some carefully planted articles in the media about helpless victims who were turned while out shopping or at the park with their kids. It was all nonsense, of course. Each of the vampire Families only recruits new members once or twice a decade, depending on their attrition rates. And there is never any shortage of volunteers or ‘vampettes’ as the human hangers-on are known. No Family would be so crass as to randomly turn someone who was doing nothing more than going about their daily business.

Cleverly, the premium policies were considered null and void if someone voluntarily turned themselves over to the bloodguzzlers. So say you were dying a long and drawn out death of cancer, and you happened to luck into a Family recruitment drive and were chosen to be turned, then your loved ones received nothing. If you chose to die quietly, they got a semi-generous payout. I understand why so many tried so hard to achieve the alternative. Few succeeded. With such a large pool to choose from, the Families can afford to be choosy. There are plenty of people lining up who aren’t sick; they want to be vampires because of a spine-chilling blood lust or a desire for a longer life.

Where the insurance company’s genius really paid off, however, was that once you were recruited into a Family, you disappeared. Contrary to popular myth, it’s only new vampires who are vulnerable to the sun’s glare. To protect them from daylight, and keep them away from the general public because they can’t control their desire to drink blood, new recruits are often not seen for years after their transformation. Even when they’re finally allowed to make contact with their loved ones, few choose to do so, preferring to remain immersed in the new life they’ve chosen for themselves. Vampires are notoriously loyal and the Families are tight-lipped about whether someone has been accepted or not. Part of that is down to their own politics, and not wanting rival Families to see what new blood, so to speak, is available. But I’ve heard that it’s also because often recruits don’t survive the initial turning process.

This is a dream come true for insurance. If no one can prove that you’ve been turned, then no one can prove that you haven’t – so the insurers don’t have to pay up. Of course this only works in the absence of a body but if, for example, you bumped into a Kakos daemon and were in possession of a premium policy, there would be no body left as evidence and no one would receive the money. The insurance company would send out a standard letter informing the real family that in all likelihood the victim voluntarily went vamp and no money would be paid out. All due regrets and blah blah blah.

There are other tribers besides Kakos daemons who are also impressively circumspect with the leftovers of their attacks. Considering that the vast majority are of the ‘live and let live’ variety, however, I had strong suspicions that the company paid some less savoury tribers (and probably humans too) to dispose of many corpses of people who died from natural causes. I could never prove it. They were – and indeed still are – far too clever to leave a trail. But when I worked there, there was an incredible number of people whose bodies were never recovered and whose policies were cancelled as a result.

It was my job to investigate cases where the bodies were missing. I was green, which is probably why I’d been recruited in the first place. The insurance company could put its hand on its heart and say their investigators had done the best job they could but had discovered no evidence to prove it hadn’t been a voluntary vampire recruitment. It didn’t help that there was a bonus for investigators who didn’t find any evidence to disprove voluntary turning.

I didn’t last long at the company. To be frank, almost any job would have been better than depriving normal, hard-working families of the insurance payouts they deserved. God knows, they already had enough to deal with once their loved one was dead without being screwed by the company. I’ve come across other insurers since that have been far more honourable. But the guys I worked for were bastards.

Things came to a head with Alice Goldman. She disappeared when she was seven and a half years old, snatched in broad daylight half a mile from her house. It was all over the news. For a time, people assumed it was a straightforward abduction and that sooner or later she’d be ransomed then released, or her mutilated body would be found in a ditch by some traumatised dogwalker. But her body was never discovered. About two weeks after her disappearance, her discarded clothes were found in a bin, soaked in as much blood as a seven year old can have. The blood was a match for hers.

After months of grieving, the Goldman family pulled themselves together and put in a claim. Unfortunately for me – but perhaps fortunately for them – I was the investigator. I was given strict instructions from on high to deal with the case as ‘quickly and quietly’ as possible. I knew what that meant: spend a day or two looking for evidence then, in its absence, put in a standard report stating it was possible she’d voluntarily applied to the vampires. Even if the Families’ own laws didn’t prevent them from recruiting anyone who was under twenty-one, little Alice Goldman’s biggest concern was whether Barbie would find her lost shoe, not whether she’d live to be two or three hundred years old.

It was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I was going to find evidence to prove she’d not gone to the vampires and shove it under the insurance bigwigs’ noses then force them to pay that family what they deserved. Why I thought I’d succeed in finding out what happened to her when half the British police force couldn’t, I have no idea. But I wasn’t going to let the Goldmans get that standard fucking response letter.

I spent a day tramping around Alice’s former neighbourhood and knocking on doors, trying to find anyone who knew anything useful. People were polite but they were exhausted. The police had covered the area and spoken to everyone more than once. So had the journalists. The residents had had enough. After several hours, I sat down on the edge of a pavement, utterly defeated.

My gloom was interrupted by a small high-pitched voice. ‘Are you here for Alice?’

When I turned round, I saw a scruffy little boy holding a skateboard and looking down at me.

‘Yes,’ I answered.

‘You won’t find her.’

‘I know.’ To this day I don’t know why I continued talking to him. I guess I just needed someone to be on my side, even if it was a kid. ‘But I need to find something that’ll prove she didn’t give herself up to one of the Families.’

‘The bloodguzzlers? That’s stupid. Everyone knows they don’t take kids.’

Yeah, I thought sadly, everyone does know that. But it doesn’t matter.

‘You’re not police,’ he said, assessing me.

‘No. I work for an insurance company.’

He sat down beside me, carefully propping up his board. He kept touching it as we talked, as if he needed to check it was still there.

‘They won’t pay, will they?’ he said, understanding more than I would have given him credit for.

‘No. No, they won’t.’

A group of kids on bikes passed us. A few of them yelled obscenities at my new companion. He ignored them. ‘I can go speak to them if you want. Stop them from bothering you,’ I said.

‘Nah,’ he said. ‘They don’t bother me. They’re just a bunch of losers.’

I dug into my pockets, found a crumpled pack of chewing gum and held it out to him. ‘Want one?’

He suddenly grinned at me. ‘Sure.’ He shoved the gum into his mouth and chewed furiously. ‘I can help you.’

I’m not sure if it was because of his chewing or because I was surprised by his words, but I had to ask him to repeat what he’d said said.

‘I can help you. I can get you the evidence you need.’

Of course I didn’t believe him. But rather than hurt his feelings, I tried a different tack. ‘Why would you do that?’

He shrugged. ‘Cause you seem nice. And Alice was my friend. She came round sometimes when her mum was working.’

He stood up, picked up his skateboard and started to walk away. When he was several feet in front of me, he turned. ‘Well, are you coming or not?’

I came. I’m sure it was highly inappropriate, following a child back to his house and going into his garage alone with him, but it turned out to be one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.

His garage didn’t contain a car or a lawnmower or half-dried-up tins of paint like most people’s. This kid’s garage was covered wall to ceiling in flashing state-of-the-art computers. I stared, open-mouthed.

‘I built most of this myself,’ the boy said proudly, closing the heavy door and plunging us into near darkness. ‘I started out with an old system of my dad’s then went from there.’

This was a nice neighbourhood but it didn’t seem like the kind of place where the inhabitants had this kind of money to throw around. I felt as though I’d inadvertently walked into the Batcave.

‘How do you pay for all this?’ I asked suspiciously. If all this stuff turned out to belong to his father who worked for some government division, then I could get myself into a lot of trouble just by seeing it.

He gave me a cheeky wink. ‘I’ve got skills. And don’t worry – my parents never come in here.’

I wasn’t sure whether to feel reassured or nervous at that comment. He pointed at a dusty chair well away from the gleaming screens.

‘Sit there,’ he instructed.

I did as I was told. He turned his back on me and began tapping furiously into one of several keyboards. He didn’t even bother to sit down. All I could see on the screens were lines of undulating green code.

‘How many Families are there?’ he asked. ‘I’ve got the Medicis, Montserrat, Stuart and Bancroft.’

For a moment, I was so taken aback I couldn’t think. ‘Er…’ I stuttered. ‘There are five.’

He snapped his fingers. ‘Gully!’ His hands flew over the keys and he started to mutter to himself. ‘Damn. The Montserrat system is well defended.’

I blinked rapidly. ‘Are you hacking into the Families’ computers?’

‘Yeah. Cool, huh? Those bloodguzzlers should learn a bit more about the modern age and protect themselves. The Stuart firewall is a piece of shit.’

‘ Don’t swear,’ I said automatically, realising I still didn’t know his name, ‘I’m not sure this a good idea. If they find out…’

‘Relax, lady. I’ve covered my tracks.’

I bristled slightly at being called ‘lady’ by a kid. ‘You shouldn’t mess with the vampires,’ I said sternly. ‘Even though you’re young, they’ll still be pissed off when they find you.’

He spun on his heel and faced me, then reached behind without looking and pressed a single key, all the while grinning and sticking out his tongue. ‘Too late!’ he sang out.

‘What? What do you mean too late?’

‘The Families have each just emailed the police in order to help them with their enquiries. They’ve never recruited anyone under the age of twenty-one. They have nothing to do with the abduction of Alice Goldman. Anyone who suggests otherwise, even by implication, will meet their wrath.’

My jaw dropped.

His grin widened. ‘I like that word wrath. I used it in a story in school last week. The teacher almost wet her knickers in delight.’

‘The vampires don’t involve themselves in human matters. They’d never contact the police.’

‘Except they just did.’

In a corner of the garage, a small red light began to flash and an alarm sounded. I leapt up out of my chair, half expecting a crew of vampires to burst in. The kid just scowled. ‘Mum and Dad are home. You’d better go.’

‘Um…’

He threw me a tiny piece of card. It was shiny and gold with ROGU3 embossed on it. ‘These are my details. Like I said, Alice was my friend so this is a freebie. If you need me again, though, and you’re willing to pay, then I can help you out in the future.’ He looked wistfully at the now-darkened computer screens. ‘There’s a lot of more up-to-date equipment I’d like to get.’

I stared down at the card then back at him.

‘Rogu3?’

He looked at me as if as I had about three brain cells to rub together. ‘It’s not Rogu-three. It’s Rogue. Now, I really have to go. They don’t like it when I spend too much time in here.’

Feeling as if I’d just been sneered at by a teacher, I watched as he pulled up the garage door. He shoved me out, leaving me on his driveway, blinking against the sunshine and wondering whether I’d imagined the whole thing. Had I just entered some strange eleven-year-old’s twilight zone? But Rogu3 was true to his word. Less than two hours later, I received a call from my boss telling me to stand down. They had, he informed me, received an unprecedented warning from all the Families and decided it would be safer to pay the Goldmans rather than risk angering the vampires.

I quit the firm a couple of days later, but continued to keep in touch with Rogu3. It would probably be easy to find out his real name – after all I know exactly where he lives – but somehow I feel that would be a betrayal. He’s proven to be more than his weight in gold over the last few years, although he has a good enough grasp of just how much his services are worth. In fact, he’s become one of the top-grade hackers in the country. I think it helps that he has very little ego. He’s not interested in leaving his virtual calling card to let people know he’s been in and out of their private lives. He just takes what he needs. And no, the vampires never did catch up with him.

That’s why I contacted him about a safe house. I know he always has a ready list of places to doss down in for both his mates and his clients. They’re usually temporary hidey-holes, where the real resident has gone off on holiday and left the place empty for a while. He has programmes which track flight and travel agency information. From there it’s easy to hack into email accounts and find out whether the hapless holidaymakers have anyone looking after their place and where they keep their spare key. I’ve never had to use this particular service before and I’m certain that the bill I receive from him once all this is over will be hefty. It’s worth it though. It’ll be even more worth it if he can also track down the mysterious Lucy.

Chapter Eight: Room by the Hour

Once O’Shea has finished speaking to Rogu3, he passes back the receiver. I lift it to my ear but the teenager has already hung up.

‘What did he say? Can he do it?’

‘He mentioned the words “park” and “walking”,’ the daemon said grumpily. ‘And he said to tell you that this week’s word is pettifoggery.’

I smile.

‘What’s that?’ O’Shea asks. ‘Some kind of code?’

‘No,’ I answer. ‘He just likes words.’

He rattles the cuffs against the bed frame again. ‘Now will you help me get out of this?’

I regard him for a moment. ‘I suppose so. If you run off though, you should know that it’s probably more than just the vampires that are after you.’

‘What do you mean?’

I tell him about the armed police who arrived at the house on Wiltshore Avenue just as we were leaving. His face pales. ‘That doesn’t make any sense,’ he babbles. ‘Why would the Families involve the human cops?’

‘I don’t know, mate. But whatever you do next, you’d better keep your head down.’ I find my lock pick and free him from the handcuffs. He springs up then winces; clearly his wounds and blood loss are affecting him more than he realises.

‘Are you okay?’ I enquire.

‘Do you care?’

I consider his question. I have nothing against him, even if his near-death experience almost resulted in my incarceration. I’m not sure he’s done anything yet to warrant my care, however.

‘The fact that you have to think about the answer tells me what it’ll be,’ he gripes.

I shrug. What can I say?

He sniffs. ‘Maybe I’ll stick around here for a few days.’

‘Really?’

‘If you don’t mind.’

I’m surprised, but he’ll come in handy if I think of any more questions. ‘No, I don’t mind.’

He looks at me curiously. ‘Why are you so invested in this?’

‘I was going to be framed for your murder.’

For a second or two he doesn’t respond then he says quietly, ‘They were trying to put you away. But they were trying to kill me. Anything I can do to help, I will.’

This time I believe him. ‘Then I’ve got a job for you while we wait for Rogu3 to get back.’

I toss him one of the burner phones. I don’t want anyone to trace the landline to this flat, even if Rogu3 trusts it. Besides which, it wouldn’t be fair to run up the owners’ phone bill. It’s expensive enough living in London without my temporary break-in adding to the bills. I glance down at the headboard that is now lying in the middle of the living-room floor. I’m going to have to fix that before I leave, too.

O’Shea waves the phone in the air. ‘What do you want me to do with this?’

‘A,’ I pause and search for the right word, ‘colleague of mine was recently taken into hospital. It’s related to this. See if you can find which hospital and whether he’s still alive or not.’

‘There are hundreds of hospitals in London!’

‘You’d better get a move on then. And O’Shea?’

‘Yes?’

‘Don’t tell them your name.’

Irritation flickers in his eyes . ‘I’m not an idiot.’

‘Good. You’re looking for a man called Arzo.’

‘That’s it? Arzo? Is that his first name or last name?’

I consider. ‘Huh. I have no idea.’

‘Great,’ he mutters, ‘just great.’

***

While O’Shea starts on the phone, I ponder my next move. The most useful information at this point would probably be which Family the attacks originated from. Not that I have any hope of penetrating any of the Families, but at least I could narrow my focus and find someone connected to them who could provide more leads. I could go back and scour Wiltshore Avenue and Tam’s office but they’ll be sealed-off crime scenes by now and I can’t risk bumping into the police. The veil of secrecy surrounding all five Families is annoying.

I chew the inside of my cheek. I may not be able to work out which Family is involved but perhaps I can work out which ones aren’t. None of this could happen without the sanction of a Family Head. From what little I know, the Heads keep their vampires on extraordinarily short leashes; any vampire who killed or attempted to kill a human without getting the okay first would sign their own death warrant. It would be suicide to march up to one of the Heads and ask whether they were involved but I know at exactly what times the attacks went down. O’Shea’s had to be in the window between 9 and 9.50am, just before I entered the house. The office assault happened at about 3.20pm. Whoever carried out the attacks would have contacted their Head immediately afterwards to inform them of their respective failure and success. If the Heads happened to be out in public, then maybe someone noticed whether they received any calls or not. It’s a long shot, but worth pursuing.

I check my watch. It’s still early in the morning but I reckon today’s papers will already have been delivered to the newsagents. It’s of little consequence that the shops themselves won’t be open yet.

I leave the flat, taking the time to check whether I’m being watched. I don’t think it’s likely; if anyone knew where I was, I’d probably already be in handcuffs or dead. Fortunately I can’t see anyone lurking in the shadows, but I walk slowly and double back once to be sure. It seems, however, that I’m still in the clear.

I locate a newsagent’s on the corner of the next street. It’s small and grubby, with several handwritten cards posted in the window offering things like discreet massages (any time day or night!) and mixed-breed puppies. As I’d hoped, there’s a range of freshly delivered newspapers in neatly tied piles in front of the shop.

I ignore the broadsheets and head for the tabloids. The front pages turn my stomach. Each one details the massacre at Dire Straits in lurid colour. One of them, even more nauseatingly, includes a terrible photo of me with the headline ‘Is this a killer?’. That’s really not good. I realise how foolish I was to go to that nightclub earlier; Mr Tortoiseshell is unlikely to forget my face. One glimpse of this paper and he’ll be on the phone to some hack, selling his story. This entire area is compromised. So much for another three days at 14A Markmore Close.

With no one but myself to blame, I pull out my last crumpled five pound note from my bodice and throw it down onto the nearest pile of papers. I sigh heavily. At least it’s still dark.

As soon as I get back to the flat, O’Shea glares at me. ‘Where have you been?’

I don’t bother answering; instead I start tidying up the debris around him. ‘We need to leave.’

‘What? Why?’

I pick up the corner of the bed frame and release it from the chair leg. ‘Help me put this back.’

He glances at me scornfully but he does as I say. The pair of us take it back to the bedroom and slot it back into place.

‘Have you found Arzo yet?’

‘No.’

‘Has Rogu3 called back?’

‘No.’

Damn it. I didn’t think it would take him this long. ‘Lucy’ must have covered her tracks well. I debate whether to call him myself and decide against it. It’s more important to get away from Markmore Close while the streets are still quiet.

I hand O’Shea the pile of newspapers. He stares down at the first headline. ‘Wow. Did you see what happened to this firm?’ He scans the story. ‘It’s a bunch of private dicks who’ve been slaughtered.’ There’s an element of awe in his voice that makes me want to punch him in the face. ‘Damn silly name for a company if you ask me.’

‘I saw it,’ I say shortly.

‘You’re a PI, aren’t you? Did you know these guys?’

I don’t respond but something in my face must have given me away because his eyes widen. ‘Oh.’

‘This whole thing is about more than just you and me, O’Shea.’

He takes several rapid breaths. ‘It was just a fucking enhancement spell,’ he whispers.

I pick up my plastic bag and give the flat one last sweep, trying hard not to snap at him that clearly it’s a hell of a lot more than just an enhancement spell.

‘Let’s go,’ I mutter.

He grabs my arm on the way out. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve caused you a lot of problems and I still don’t even know your name.’

‘It’s Bo.’ I have to look away from the sympathy in his face.

‘I’m sorry, Bo,’ he says quietly.

‘Yeah,’ I sigh, ‘me too.’

***

We walk quickly to the car. There’s still no sign of anyone following, although a few early risers drive past us. ‘Where are we going to go?’ he asks.

‘I’ve got a lock-up garage. It’s safe.’

His nose wrinkles. ‘A garage?’

‘Do you have any better ideas?’ I snap.

He roots around in his back pocket, pulls out a wallet and grins when he looks inside. He waves a shiny credit card in my face. ‘Yes, I do.’

I roll my eyes. ‘I thought you said you weren’t an idiot. We can’t use a credit card, it’ll lead the police straight to us.’

‘Duh, it’s not my card.’ He points to the name on it: Robert Thomson.

‘Who is Robert Thomson?’

He shrugs.

‘O’Shea?’ I say, warningly.

‘I found it.’

‘You found it.’

‘Right before I went to Wiltshore. It might not have been reported yet.’

‘That’s ridiculous! Of course, it’ll have been reported. We can’t use it. I can’t believe you just nicked somebody’s bloody credit card! Is that even your wallet?’

He looks hurt. ‘Yes. And I only took it from someone who won’t be needing it. The chances of it being reported are miniscule.’

My suspicion deepens. ‘Explain.’

He glances out the window. ‘Sometimes I help out a mate who works at a morgue.’

‘Jesus! You robbed a dead guy?’

‘Like I said, he won’t be needing it.’

I feel disgusted. I can’t believe I’m driving around the London streets with vampires and police chasing me in the company of a petty thief who steals from corpses. ‘Even if it’s not been reported, we can’t just waltz into a hotel and hand it over.’

‘Why not?’

‘Look at the third newspaper,’ I say tersely.

He flicks through, stopping when he sees my face. He whistles. ‘That’s a crap photo of you.’

‘You are such a wanker. The point is, I’m likely to be recognised. And you’re covered in dried blood.’

‘I know.’ He sounds cheery. ‘But I also know a place to go. Turn left here.’

I give him my death stare. Unfortunately it doesn’t affect him any more than it affects my grandfather.

‘I mean it, Bo, trust me. It’s my life on the line too, you know.’

I indicate and turn in the direction he’s pointing. I have a feeling I’m going to regret this. After about fifteen minutes, when O’Shea tells me to pull up at the curb and I see the neon sign, I realise my feeling was right.

‘A love hotel?’

‘It’s perfect,’ he grins.

‘O’Shea, if this is somewhere you often come…’

‘It’s not. In fact, I’ve never been here. I’ve just heard about it from a few friends.’

I’m not quite sure what’s harder to believe: that he has friends or that I’m sitting in a car about to go into a love hotel with him.

‘There’ll be a front desk. We’ll still have to register.’

He shakes head. ‘Didn’t I tell you to trust me?’

He gets out of the car. I have no choice but to follow him, keeping my head down when we enter the lobby – although ‘lobby’ would be a flattering term for the tiny space at the hotel’s entrance. It’s lit with a buzzing fluorescent strip light and smells strongly of disinfectant. I dread to think what odour is being covered up. O’Shea’s right though: there’s no reception and no receptionist, just what looks like a vending machine.

‘Ta da!’ he trills. ‘You’ve got to love the Japanese for giving us this concept. To avoid embarrassment, all you need to do is swipe your card.’ He takes the unfortunate Mr Thomson’s credit card and puts in the machine. ‘And then you simply choose your room. Would you like the water bed or the S&M theme room?’

I look at him. He nods. ‘You’re quite right. I’ve had enough of handcuffs recently too.’

He jabs in his selection and there’s a clunking sound as a key drops into the slot below. He scoops it out and offers it to me. I shake my head; I’m not touching that thing. I’ve got enough problems as it is without getting a communicable disease. He shrugs and pockets it.

‘Well, Bo, let’s see what delights room 302 has in store for us.’

God. I really want to punch him.

***

The room’s not as bad as I imagined it would be. The sheets on water bed smell clean and freshly laundered. It’ll do, I suppose. It’s better than sitting in the damp lock-up.

O’Shea sits down and takes out the phone I’d given him. ‘Only 999 hospitals to go!’

I ignore him and spread out the newspapers, flicking past the front pages to avoid seeing those horrific pictures again. These papers are little more than gossip rags; if the Heads of the Families were out and about yesterday, I’m betting it’ll be reported.

I get lucky in the very first newspaper. It seems the Bancroft Head spent all day in a very exclusive spa. Back, crack and sack, I wonder, before remembering the Bancroft Head is not a Lord – she’s a Lady. I pull open the drawer of a small side table. This might be a seedy love hotel, but it’s still got a Gideon bible in case you want a little spiritual as well as physical enlightenment. I rip out a blank page from the back and scribble down the spa’s details. When I look up, I realise O’Shea has stopped speaking into the phone and is staring at me, aghast.

‘What?’

‘You’re going to hell,’ he whispers.

‘You’re kidding me. You’ll steal from a dead man and deal in dodgy magic, but I’m the bad one for taking out a blank page from a bible?’

His expression doesn’t change. Jeez. Daemons. I go back to scanning the newspaper. When I reach the classified ads, I throw it onto the floor and pull over the next one. This has the spa story as well as a more serious article about a breakfast meeting between Gully and Stuart. The journalist was speculating whether they were considering joining forces to rid themselves of the other Families. That theory is ridiculous but the fact that two of them were together at the same time and in the same place – and just when I was entering Wiltshore Avenue – is going to make my life a damn sight easier. God bless those vampires for ostentatiously sitting in the middle of Hyde Park at a fully decked-out table. And god bless the nosy tourist who captured the entire thing on film and uploaded it to YouTube. If only I still had my smartphone, I could watch it right now.

I’m just finishing skimming through all the papers when there’s a crow of delight from O’Shea. He grins at me and gives a thumbs up. Excellent: he must have found Arzo. It finally feels as if we’re getting somewhere. There are still no answers, but at least there are places to go to ask some questions.

‘Brighton Hospital,’ he says. ‘I didn’t think I was ever going to find him with that one name but it turns out I’m even more charming than I’d realised.’

I try not to look too exasperated.

‘He’s out of surgery,’ he continues, ‘and doing well. Visiting hours are from nine am.’

I’m shocked that Arzo is on the mend. I’d have sworn his swarthy cheeks were pressed up against death’s door. ‘Good work,’ I say to O’Shea.

He pats himself on the shoulder. ‘I know.’

I check my watch. The sky outside has lightened but it’s still only seven am. The Steam Team will be open again in another hour. If I’m to venture outside though, I need some kind of disguise.

My eyes settle on the cream pillow case. It’s not perfect but it’ll do. I pull at the seams of the case, ripping it apart until it is one long strip of material. I pile my hair on top of my head and wind the fabric around it. I look at my reflection in the wall-to-wall ceiling mirror. It looks a bit weird, but it’ll do at a push until I can get hold of something better. Judging by the expression on O’Shea’s face, it’s not the most attractive look in the world but I’m hardly trying to garner any admirers right now.

‘You need to stay here until I can get you some clean clothes,’ I say.

He seems relieved. To be fair, he was almost killed yesterday and he probably still needs rest and recuperation. In fact, I’d quite like to hunker down and hide away from the world too. But more than that, I want to find the bastard who’s setting me up and who destroyed my firm. I raise a hand to O’Shea in brief farewell and return to the big, scary world.

It’s considerably busier on the streets now. Fortunately, most people are in a rush to get to work and either half-asleep or too downtrodden to pay me attention. Equally helpfully, Londoners have this habit of avoiding looking strangers in the eye so they can pretend nobody else exists. Some days it annoys me; today it could save my life. I walk briskly to the car and nobody gives me a second glance, then I drive to The Steam Team.

I arrive early, parking round the back. I’m more nervous than I’d like to admit. The remnants of my smashed smartphone are probably still on the pavement in front of Rebecca’s dry cleaners. It would be stupid to imagine that the police haven’t already been around to check the premises and it’s possible they’re still keeping them under surveillance. At least I know that there’s a back door.

I hurry down a small alleyway, then clamber over the stone wall at the end, jumping into the scrap of back garden that belongs to the shop. Whoever attacked O’Shea must have done this back at Wiltshore Avenue to avoid me catching sight of them. I smile grimly. I need to be better at sneaking around than they were.

I quickly pick the lock on the back door and let myself inside to wait for Becks. I’m relieved to spot my leather jacket and the rest of my clothes hanging up on one of the doors. As much as I like the dress, it’s impractical and, given all the crawling around and sweating I’ve been doing, it’s rather smelly. I nip into the room where I showered before and quickly change. It’s a gamble putting on the same clothes I was wearing yesterday morning but I decide it’s exactly what my pursuers – be they of the human or triber variety – won’t expect.

In the back room where the unclaimed clothes are kept, I find a spare suit that looks like it’ll fit O’Shea, and a flowery hat that was probably worn by some over-bearing mother-in-law at a wedding. It’s an incongruous look with the dark leather, but it’s a step up from the pillow case and I decide it makes me look like some kind of funky art student. I’m just adjusting it when I hear Rebecca come in.

‘I don’t know why you’re here again,’ she says.

I freeze. Shit. Someone is with her. ‘As I told you, I’ve not seen Bo Blackman for at least a month.’

‘And as I told you, I find that difficult to believe.’

It’s a deep male voice. There’s an edge to it that suggests it’s more than just human. Which means he’s probably a vampire. I keep very still and try not to breathe. Vampire is much worse than police.

‘I don’t want to hurt Ms Blackman.’

Lie.

‘I just want to ask her a few questions.’

Utter horseshit.

‘Well, if I see her I’ll tell her you’re looking for her. What’s your name again?’ I have to give it to Becks, she’s remarkably unruffled. I silently applaud her control. But if this is the same vampire who’s responsible for the other attacks, then she could be in a lot of danger. I tense, ready to spring out if need be. Not that I have any chance of facing off against a vampire, but maybe the sight of me will distract him.

‘Ursus.’

I blink. Sounds like arse. Quite fitting, really.

‘Here’s my card. She can call me on that number day or night.’

The door jangles, signalling his departure. I hear Becks exhale in relief. I stay where I am, waiting for her to come round to the back to find me. Arse probably still has eyes on the front of the shop. I’m tempted to leave her in peace; she’ll be safer if I leave without seeing her, but I need to see that card. I need to know which Family that vampire is from.

As soon as she rounds the corner and sees me, she shrieks, then clutches her chest and gasps.

‘Bloody HELL, Bo, you just about gave me a heart attack!’

‘I’m sorry.’ I give her a moment to recover. ‘I won’t stay. It’s not safe for you if I’m here. I just need to see the card that vampire left.’

She looks surprised, then passes it over. ‘I was going to chuck it in the bin with the others.’

‘What others?’

She looks grim. ‘Wait here.’

While Rebecca disappears into her office, I check the card. It’s a deep midnight blue, signifying the Montserrat Family. I’m feeling pleased with myself until she emerges holding several other cards. I flip through each one, my horror growing. Red: Medici. Black: Stuart. Silver: Gully. White: Bancroft. Every single freaking vampire Family has been here looking for me.

‘Do you want these too?’ She holds out several more cards. ‘They’re from the police.’

‘No, I…’ I stutter and end up just shaking my head.

‘I saw what happened at Dire Straits, Bo. What the hell is going on?’

‘I’m damned if I know.’

‘You know if there’s anything I can do…’

I know,’ I say softly. ‘You’ve already done enough, Becks. I’ll stay away for the near future. Don’t worry about me. I’ve got a plan.’

She looks at me sceptically. She knows me too well. I wish I really did have a plan though.

Chapter Nine: Doctors and Nurses

By the time I leave The Steam Team and start driving towards Brighton Hospital, the London traffic is in full swing and it’s not long before I hit full gridlock. I feel the frustration building up inside me. The driver in front seems more concerned with checking her make-up in the mirror than paying attention to the lights, whilst on my right there’s a kid who not only looks too young to be driving, but also has some kind of godawful rap music blaring out at maximum volume.

Telling myself there’s nothing I can possibly do to make the traffic move any faster, I grab the burner phone. I’ll have to discard it after these calls; it’s probably almost out of credit anyway. Ignoring all the laws about mobile phone use while driving – not that you could call moving at two miles an hour driving – I ring the ridiculously exclusive spa where the Bancroft Family Head spent her day. My call is answered within three rings.

‘Good morning, Spa de Loti, Angelique speaking,’ the receptionist trills. ‘How may I help you?’

I adapt my accent to the way I speak when I want to needle my grandfather. ‘Good morning, Angelique. This is Midnight calling from the Bancroft estate.’ I know Midnight is a silly name, but I also know a human will accept it at a vampire nom de plume more readily than, say, Trudy or Jane.

There’s the slightest intake of breath, then Angelique speaks again. ‘I’ll transfer you to our Spa Director.’

‘Oh, goodness, Angelique, there’s no need for that.’ Repeatedly using someone’s name helps them to connect to you; the more often I say ‘Angelique’, the more likely she is to trust me. ‘It’s not a serious matter. It’s simply that La Bancroft enjoyed her day so much yesterday, I’ve been requested to make a note of her treatments so she can repeat the experience.’

‘Oh, yes, okay, I’ll get that information for you. It’s the same treatment she has every Wednesday though. I don’t think there was anything different this week. Shall I email it all across anyway?’

‘There’s no need for that,’ I respond smoothly. ‘It’ll be more helpful if you could just tell me now.’ I hope that the Spa De Loti receptionist is unnerved enough to be speaking to a vampire to not question my request.

‘Uh, certainly, yes. Please hold the line.’

New Age muzak fills my ear. I hold the phone away for a moment, but that just makes the rap music from the next car seem louder. I have visions of Angelique wearing a white mock doctor’s outfit, double checking with the Bancroft Family on another line and then telling me in a suddenly rediscovered Cockney accent to piss off. She’s not that suspicious, however.

‘Ms Midnight? The treatments were our acid burn exfoliate body scrub, smouldering hot stone massage and sensory deprivation tub.’

‘I see. Angelique, can you confirm for me when the deprivation tub began and ended? I’ve heard it’s so amazing that it feels like five minutes when it’s actually an hour. I’d like to have the definitive answer for Ms Bancroft.’

‘It started at two o’clock and finished at four. It’s rather a long period of time but I guess you guys are used to be in small enclosed spaces like coffins.’

Oops, Angelique, I think to myself, you forgot yourself for a second there. ‘We don’t sleep in coffins,’ I say, in my chilliest tones.

‘Oh, goodness, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you! I’m sorry, I didn’t…’

‘That will be all.’ I hang up on the poor girl who is still apologising.

The lights turn green and a slow trickle of cars seeps through. I drive forward, making it to the front of the queue just as they flick red again. Tapping my fingers impatiently on the steering wheel, I consider the information I’ve been given. Aside from the fact that Spa De Loti has some seriously disturbing sounding treatments – acid burn exfoliate, anyone? – I feel like I can cross Bancroft off my list for the incident at Tam’s office.

The Families all have immunity from human prosecution. They don’t stop randomly killing people because they’re worried they’ll end up in prison: they stop themselves because it’s bad PR. I can’t believe that the Head responsible for the worst bloodguzzler attack in years would be out of contact while it was going down. Then I think of the fact that every single Family dropped in to see Rebecca. Perhaps they’ve banded together, put aside their usual animosity and are all in it together.

No. They may have an uneasy truce but they’ve been at each other’s throats for the last three hundred years. A stupid enhancement spell from a dodgy daemon isn’t going to change that. I move the Bancroft Family to the bottom of my list of suspects. I have to trust my gut on this.

Once I’m past Marble Arch, the traffic eases and I put my foot down. I swing into the Brighton Hospital car park a little after ten o’clock. I balk at the displayed parking charges – how can a hospital expect people to pay that much? I’m down to my last few coins and they won’t even cover half an hour. I’m tempted to drive around and find somewhere cheaper but the traffic has annoyed me and I’m going to have to return this car sooner or later. Where would be safer to leave it than here? I feel a little guilty about racking up hefty charges for the owner. I promise myself that I’ll pay it back as soon as I can access my bank account safely again.

I stroll nonchalantly into the hospital’s main entrance, going by the maxim that if you look as if you know where you’re going, no one will stop you. It works. The ICU ward is on the third floor so I stick on a bright, confident smile and murmur good morning to several startled people. There’s not a flicker of recognition on anyone’s face, so the silly hat must be doing its job. I go into the lift and press the button for the fourth floor – paediatrics.

When the lift opens I ignore the main desk and turn right, hoping I’ll find the doctor’s lounge. I’m in luck. There’s a nurse inside sipping a cup of coffee. She barely glances at me so I mutter a brief greeting and make a hasty exit. I walk to the end of the corridor, glancing into the rooms until I find what I’m looking for.

By the fifth room, where the occupant is hooked up to a beeping machine, I’ve got what I need. I look around then duck inside.

The person in the bed is a young boy, about eight years old. His face is pale and his eyes are closed. I smooth back a lock of hair from his forehead and check the chart at the foot of his bed. Cycling accident with internal haemorrhaging. Poor kid.

The beeping is from his heart monitor. It’s not connected to anything other than the boy himself so removing it will do no damage. I fiddle with the back of it until I find the cable then I yank it out. It continues to beep for a few moments before falling silent. I check the boy is okay, while the alarm at the main desk begins to sound, then I dash out of the room and nip into the next one to avoid being spotted.

A small girl is sitting up in bed and clutching a teddy bear. She gives me a solemn look. ‘You’re not a doctor.’

I smile at her. ‘I’m a special doctor.’

She juts her bottom lip out in an expression that’s remarkably similar to O’Shea’s. ‘No, you’re not.’

‘I am. I’m a secret doctor. I only help people in dire straits.’

She frowns. ‘What’s dire straits?’

‘When you’re in lots of trouble.’

She tightens her grip on the teddy. ‘I’m not in dire straits. I’m in remish.’ She screws up her face to concentrate on getting the word out, ‘Remission’.

‘Oh! Then I’m in entirely the wrong room. Don’t tell anyone I was here. They’ll think I made a mistake.’

‘But you did make a mistake.’

She has me there. ‘Yes, you’re right. I did. But I’ll get into trouble if anyone finds out.’

‘’Kay then.’ She looks at me shyly. ‘I like your hat.’

Bugger. ‘Then it’s yours!’ I pull it off my head and carefully place it on hers.

A huge smile spreads across face, making its loss suddenly worthwhile. ‘Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome.’ I place my finger to my lips and leave.

I only have a few seconds. I head back to the lounge and find a discarded white coat on the back of the door. I pull it on, glad it’s large enough to fit over my jacket, then pull out several disposable surgical masks from a box on the coffee table and stuff them into the pocket. I duck out, just as the coffee-drinking nurse returns. I keep my head down, tie on one of the masks and take the lift back down to the third floor.

There’s a different atmosphere here. Everyone speaks in hushed tones, as if by talking normally they might disturb the unconscious patients. I pray that Arzo isn’t one of the unconscious ones.

The ward is bisected by a long corridor. I’ll give myself away if I have to check every single room. Fortunately I spot a group of doctors clustered by the nurses’ station. Students. Perfect.

I join them, hanging around at the back. A few turn round and give me odd looks but no one says anything. I nod at them as if I’m equally engaged in the serious business of learning medicine. I hope they’re about to start their rounds and not just finishing them.

I’m in luck. An older looking woman approaches holding a clipboard. ‘Come on then,’ she says briskly and turns on her heel.

As one, we trot after her. She steers us into the first room, halting by a patient who is using breathing apparatus and is surrounded by an array of machines.

‘Admitted three days ago after collapsing from chest pains,’ she states, ‘later diagnosed as a myocardial infarction. Subsequent exploratory surgery revealed the disruption of an atherosclerotic plaque in an epicardial coronary artery. The biotelemetry indicates returning function, however he still has ventricular tachycardia.’

It’s just as well I’m wearing the surgical mask because my jaw drops. I’ve not been this baffled by the English language since the last time I ventured into Starbucks.

‘You.’

I realise with horror that she’s pointing at me. ‘What next steps should the trauma team take to ensure recovery?’

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. My mind races, alighting on a re-run of ER which I saw recently. ‘Er, pulmonary embolism.’

‘What about it?’ Her eyes bore into me.

‘We should be careful of it,’ I say, feeling and sounding like a total idiot. Going by the expression on her face, she feels exactly the same. I’m dismissed with a disgusted wave of her hand and she directs her question to someone else. I stick my head down and look at my feet. There must be an easier way to sneak into a hospital room.

At least I was so rubbish at answering her first question that she doesn’t ask me anything else. We shuffle from bed to bed and room to room, discussing a range of patients who all seem to be at death’s door. Between the clinical hospital smell, the endless trail of misery and the emotionless Q&A, I feel like my soul is being sucked away. I had been nervous about seeing Arzo again but, by the time our little group comes across him, I’m so relieved I have to stop myself from leaping on him to give him a great big kiss.

Despite the fact there are eleven of us in the group, his eyes immediately fall on me. His expression doesn’t change but I get the feeling he’s been waiting for me to arrive. I praise the gods that he’s conscious and alert. He doesn’t actually seem that sick.

‘Um, doctor?’ One of the students puts up a nervous hand. ‘Why is this patient in ICU?’

She chuckles. I’m surprised by the sudden show of humour. ‘He presented yesterday with severe trauma after an attack. As you can see he is recovering swiftly, however, and is about to transferred to another ward.’

The students are murmuring to each other. If he were a triber, he wouldn’t be in this ward; he wouldn’t even be in this wing. But his bright-eyed awareness and rapid recovery time are causing a bit of anxiety. I’m feeling somewhat anxious myself. I’m convinced there’s something odd going on here. After all, I could have sworn he was bloody well dead yesterday.

I hover behind when the group leaves, hoping they won’t notice my absence. I close the door quietly and turn to face him.

‘Hey darlin’.’

I give him a half smile. ‘Hey Arzo.’ I don’t have time to beat around the bush. ‘Did Tam try to have me framed for murder?’

‘What? No grapes or flowers?’

I pull off the mask and glare at him. ‘Answer the sodding question.’

There’s a spark of answering anger in his face. ‘Tam’s dead.’

‘I know. I was there.’

‘Hiding in the ceiling like a goddamn rat.’

I guess we’re past the ‘hey darling’ stage now. ‘I had good reason.’ I lean forward. ‘Whether Tam’s dead or not doesn’t answer my question.’

‘You’ve worked at Dire Straits for two years, Bo. Why would he do something like that?’

‘You tell me.’

‘Tam wouldn’t do that.’

‘Then how do you explain the fact that the target I was supposed to serve with a summons yesterday was about to bleed out? And about thirty seconds after I was supposed to enter the property the freaking police showed up? And not just the normal police either – these guys had guns! Since when do armed police make house calls at a place like Wiltshore Avenue?’ My voice is getting higher and I can feel myself shaking. But I don’t care. I need some answers.

‘If Tam was trying to set you up, why was he attacked a couple of hours later?’

‘How in the hell do I know? Maybe they were pissed off that it didn’t work so they came after him instead.’

‘What do you mean “it didn’t work”? All I know is you had a summons for the Agathos court against some half-breed called O’Shee.’

‘O’Shea,’ I correct, suspicious of his pleas of ignorance.

‘I don’t know what happened to you yesterday, Bo. Talk me through it.’

I circle his bed like a caged cat. ‘Put your hands where I can see them first.’

He looks at me, exasperated, but does as I ask, placing them on top of the sheet. ‘I’m in ICU, Bo. I’m hardly in a position to attack you.’

‘You look pretty damn healthy to me.’

‘Check my chart,’ he says quietly.

I retrieve his chart and scan it. My face pales.

‘That vampire severed my spinal cord.’

I stare at him.

‘I’m never going to walk again.’

I swallow hard. ‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper. ‘But that doesn’t mean you didn’t betray me.’

‘There was no betrayal, Bo. Not from me and not from Tam.’

I sit on a chair by the bed. ‘So talk to me, Arzo. Tell me what happened and how it went down.’

A muscle jerks in his cheek. ‘All I know is that we received a request from a barrister over at the Agathos court. It was nothing out of the ordinary. They just needed someone to deliver a summons to a daemon dealing in under-the-counter magic. We’ve had hundreds of cases like it. You know that.’

‘What’s the lawyer’s name?’

‘Something French. D’Argneau, perhaps.’

‘Has he used us before?’

‘Once or twice.’

I’m not going to give him an inch. ‘Was it once or was it twice?’

He gives an odd, humourless laugh. ‘You know, when Tam hired you I had a lot of misgivings. Now I’m starting to understand what he saw in you.’

I don’t blink. Arzo sighs. ‘It was twice. Both were summons. I think Boris took them.’

‘Why didn’t Boris take this one?’

He shrugs. ‘He was on another case.’

My body tenses in anticipation of my next question. ‘I need to know this, Arzo. Did this lawyer ask specifically for me?’

‘No.’ His gaze is frank and honest.

‘Why did Tam assign me?’

‘Because your name was at the top of the fucking list, that’s all. You were the next person due out.’

I absorb this information. As far as I can tell, he’s speaking the truth.

‘So why was Dire Straits attacked?’

‘I don’t know,’ he says helplessly. ‘I have no goddamn idea.’

‘It has to be connected to O’Shea. It’s too much of a coincidence not to be. Which Family was the vampire from? From where I was hiding, I could only see his head.’

‘There was nothing. No colours or badges that I saw.’

I give him a hard look. ‘Are you sure?’

He nods.

‘It’s possible that all the Families are involved.’ I tell him about the different cards that have been left with Rebecca. Oddly, he doesn’t seem too surprised. In fact, he shifts somewhat uncomfortably.

‘Ah,’ he says, ‘yes, they’re all taking an interest.’

I’m immediately on my guard. After all, he’s been in hospital for the better part of the last day. ‘How do you know?’

A shadow falls across the bed and a deep voice interrupts us. ‘Because I told him.’

I look up and immediately recognise the Montserrat Family Head.

Chapter Ten: The Offer

It takes me less than three seconds to leap to my feet, pick up the chair and lift it in the air. I fling it with all my might at the vampire but he neatly sidesteps, moving faster than I’d have thought possible, and the chair splinters against the opposite wall.

‘You work with some interesting people, Arzo,’ the vampire comments in oddly accented English.

I growl and back away. There’s a window to my left but we’re on the third floor. Even if I could open it and jump out, it’s unlikely that I’d escape without breaking several limbs. The vampire is blocking the only other exit. Flight is out; I’m going to have to fight.

I fumble inside my jacket to pull out the pepper spray which I returned to its usual pocket before leaving The Steam Team. Due to the stupid doctor’s coat I’m still wearing, it’s hard to extricate although I finally manage it.

‘Bo,’ Arzo begins.

‘Shut up,’ I hiss. I can’t believe I fell for his freaking lies.

‘It’s not what you think, Bo,’ he continues.

I ignore him and keep my eyes trained on the vampire. He’s larger in person than he looks in the photos. His frame fits the entire doorway although it’s clear there’s not an ounce of fat on his body – if vampires can get fat, that is. No, this guy’s all muscle. He’s wearing a well-tailored suit in the Montserrat colour of midnight blue, but it defines the strength in his body rather than disguising it. Trust me to get on the wrong side of the one Family Head who’s capable of doing his own dirty work. It’ll be a miracle if I get out of this alive.

He inclines his head. His hair is dark and close-cropped. He’s not the bloodguzzler who attacked Dire Straits but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t one of his minions. In fact, it’s looking increasingly likely. No wonder Arzo survived when everyone else was slaughtered – he must be working for them. I bet he’s pissed off about having to spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair as a result. I wonder for a moment if that was part of the plan to make his own story more believable. It’s a hell of a sacrifice if it’s true.

‘I’ve met your grandfather a few times, Ms Blackman. He’s an’ – the vampire licks his lips for a moment, displaying white, even teeth – ‘interesting person.’ At least he’s keeping his fangs hidden.

‘He’ll be an even more interesting person to know when he discovers you’ve murdered me,’ I snarl.

He looks surprised then smiles. ‘Oh, I’m not here to hurt you.’

‘Bo,’ interrupts Arzo, ‘listen to him. He’s telling the truth.’

‘I thought I told you to shut up.’

The vampire raises his eyebrows at Arzo. ‘She’s feisty.’

I grip the pepper spray. Maybe if I can get a small dose in his eyes, then leap over the bed and kick him in the side to get out of the door…

‘Ms Blackman,’ he holds his palms up towards me, ‘please put that silly spray down.’

I raise it an inch higher. If I’m going down, it’s not without a fight.

‘It’s not going to help you.’ The tone is his voice is slightly patronising. It’s amazing how often people speak to me like that because of my height. Normally it doesn’t bother me; right now I feel intensely annoyed.

‘Just tell me one thing, Arzo,’ I say, deciding to piss off the vampire by ignoring him. ‘How long have you been working for the fucking bloodguzzlers?’

‘I don’t work for them, Bo,’ Arzo begins.

Before he can finish, I take advantage of the fact that the looming vampire flicks his eyes towards Arzo and press down on the canister, letting loose a jet of stinging spray. Then I bounce up, using one toe on the edge of the hospital bed to launch up and over. I’m not even back on the ground when I realise my attempt is futile. The spray hasn’t affected Montserrat and, even though I attempt to kick out and connect with his ribs to knock him to the side, he grabs me by the waist. Pulling me down, he twists my body round until he’s holding me against him but facing Arzo.

‘Dumb move,’ he whispers in my ear. He smells of dark masculine spice.

I draw my elbow back to ram it into his stomach but his arm tightens until I can’t move. In fact, I can barely breathe.

Arzo looks exasperated. ‘You’re good, Bo, but you’re not that good.’

‘It was worth a try,’ I mutter.

‘As I was saying,’ he says, ‘I don’t work for the vampires.’

‘That’s not what it looks like from here.’

‘I work with the vampires,’ he continues.

I sneer. ‘Nobody works with the vampires, Arzo. They stick to their own. You’re fooling yourself if you think otherwise.’

Montserrat chuckles. ‘Oh, but he is our own, Ms Blackman.’

I stop trying to resist his hold. ‘He’s no bloodguzzler.’

‘No,’ says Arzo. ‘I’m Sanguine.’

I frown at him. That was Rogu3’s word of the week a couple of years ago so I know exactly what it means. ‘Optimistic and buoyant in the face of adversity?’ I ask sarcastically.

‘He was recruited,’ says Montserrat. ‘But it didn’t take.’

‘What in hell do you mean?’

Arzo sighs. ‘What do you know about the Families’ recruitment?’

I try to shrug but my movement is limited thanks to my captor. ‘Every ten years or so they recruit enough new members to keep their numbers steady at around five hundred. The process is kept secret but not everyone makes it. That’s it, that’s all I know.’

‘In order to turn you,’ Montserrat says silkily into my ear, ‘I would inject you with blood from of one of our higher-order vampires. It takes a full moon cycle to change completely.’

‘So? So what?’

‘Your body only accepts the change when you drink.’

‘When I guzzle blood, you mean.’

His grip tightens until it’s painful. ‘We don’t like the term bloodguzzler, Ms Blackman. And as I was saying, you need to drink blood to fully turn. It’s a show of strength to last the full term. Most only hold out a couple of days but some make it right up to the end.’

‘And some,’ Arzo adds, ‘never drink.’

I look at him. ‘You were turned? But you didn’t drink blood?’

He nods.

‘So are you a vampire or not?’

‘I’m not. I’m Sanguine. I have traces of vampire blood in my system so I heal quickly and I’m stronger than most.’ He glances up at Montserrat. ‘I’m also loyal to my Family. But I’m still human.’

‘Are you sure about that?’

‘The Families aren’t evil, Bo.’

‘Try telling Tam that.’

‘He wasn’t a sanctioned hit,’ Montserrat says.

‘Bullshit. No vampire makes a move unless the Head says so. Even I know that.’

‘That used to be the case. But there have been several unexplained deaths and disappearances across all five Families. And in each case, we’ve tracked their movements. They’ve all met with the daemon.’

‘O’Shea?’

‘Yes.’

‘So you ordered someone to take him down and sent me to take the fall?’

‘We don’t want him dead, Ms Blackman. We want to talk to him. We had nothing to do with what happened to him.’

‘It was a vampire. There and at Dire Straits.’

‘We know. That’s why we need to find the culprits and deal with them before this becomes a bloodbath.’

‘It’s already a bloodbath,’ I retort. ‘Besides, I don’t know where O’Shea is. I’ve not seen him since yesterday.’

Montserrat finally releases me. I spin round and take several steps backwards. He watches me with cool, dark eyes.

‘You’re not a very good liar.’

I’m a damn good liar. I scowl at him.

‘We have O’Shea.’ He folds his arms across his chest. ‘I’m not sure your employer would be pleased to know that your target is also your lover.’

I stare at him blankly.

‘Water bed?’ His eyes dance.

I feel sick to my stomach. ‘My employer’s dead.’ I look into his eyes. ‘Is O’Shea?’

‘I told you. We only want to talk to him.’

If O’Shea refuses to answer their questions, I can only imagine what the consequences will be. Montserrat must sense what I’m thinking because he adds quickly, ‘We’re not going to hurt him. We’re not monsters.’

I snort.

‘You’ve proven yourself resourceful, Ms Blackman. You got this far and you’re still alive. You’re also out of options.’

‘No, I’m not,’ I’m betting he doesn’t know about Rogu3.

‘The police are after you because of the daemon. And you don’t even have him any more. It’s just a matter of time before one of the other Families catches up with you and drains you of every drop of blood in your system.’

I sense there’s something else he wants to say so I wait.

‘I’ll recruit you.’

Whatever I’m expecting, it isn’t that. ‘It’s not even recruiting season. And I don’t want to be a damn vampire.’

He takes a step towards me. I hold my ground. ‘The recent deaths allow me to set a precedent and open up the ranks early. I can include you on the list.’

‘Why?’

‘I need someone with investigative skills who can find out what is going on with my vampires.’ There’s a note of frustration in his voice that his vampires might be turning traitor but I can’t shake the feeling that none of this fits.

I jerk my head at Arzo. ‘Use him.’

‘He’s already known. You’re not.’

‘I don’t want to be a vampire,’ I repeat.

‘Just don’t drink,’ Arzo interjects. ‘Hold out for next full moon and you’ll remain human.’

I throw him a look. From what he’s already intimated, that might be easier said than done.

‘It’s hard, Bo,’ he says softly. ‘It’s not impossible.’

‘No.’ My response is flat.

‘You’ll be protected from the police.’

‘I can protect myself.’

‘The other Families want to talk to you. They know you’re involved. I doubt they’ll be as reasonable as I’m being,’ Montserrat says

‘Except I’m not involved,’ I point out. ‘I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.’

‘Involved by default.’ He looks at me seriously. ‘Do this and you’ll find out who set you up. Who killed your boss and your friends.’

‘I don’t need to be a fucking vampire to do that.’

‘Yes, Ms Blackman, you do. You’ll gain access to everyone who might have something to do with this. You already know it was a vampire. Sign up and you’ll find out which one.’

‘I won’t do it. Every Family wants to talk to me. That means the mastermind behind all this knows I was at Wiltshore and that I worked for Dire Straits. Let’s face it,’ I scoff, ‘my picture’s been all over the news. As I soon as I show up as a newly-minted vampire recruit, I’ll be mincemeat.’

His eyes gleam. ‘But that’s where the genius of this lies. You can be so angry that your life has been taken away from you that you’ll do anything to screw up the Families.’

‘I am angry that my life has been taken away.’

‘So do something about it,’ he challenges.

‘No.’

‘Bo, take a day or two to think about it,’ Arzo says. ‘It’s not the new moon until Saturday. You’ve got time.’

I stare at them both defiantly. ‘I’m not going to change my mind.’

Montserrat remains impassive although Arzo visibly sags.

‘Are you going to let me leave?’ I ask. ‘Or are you going to kill me because I won’t accept your desirable offer?’

A muscle throbs in the vampire’s cheek. For a moment, I’m genuinely not sure what he’s going to do then he steps aside and gestures to the door. ‘You’re free to go.’

‘Bo, don’t do this. Don’t walk away,’ pleads Arzo.

I straighten the lapels of my doctor’s coat and start to walk out. I’m almost at the door when Montserrat catches my arm. I stop and look at him. His face is inches from mine. He reaches into his suit pocket and pulls out a card. It’s midnight blue, like his suit.

‘I’ve already got one of those,’ I say, thinking about the ones Rebecca gave me earlier.

‘This is a direct line.’ He holds it up. ‘In case you change your mind.’

I look at the card then at him. ‘I’m not going to change my mind.’

‘Take it anyway.’

I sigh and, for the sake of getting out alive, I take it.

‘I’ll see you around, Ms Blackman.’

I give him an evil look. ‘Not if I see you first.’ And without a backward glance at Arzo, I stalk out.

Chapter Eleven: The Tail

It’s not until I’m back in the car park, with the surgical mask firmly in place, that I finally allow myself to relax. In fact, I stagger round the side of the hospital out of sight from any curious eyes and double over. Nausea surges through me and I yank up the mask to be sick but nothing comes up. Becoming a member of one of the Families is obviously not the most appealing prospect.

When I finally straighten up, I think about what just happened. I’m still not convinced that Tam wasn’t involved in framing me but I’m prepared to acknowledge that Arzo is innocent. As innocent as someone in league with the vampires can be. No wonder he survived the attack at Dire Straits. Being Sanguine clearly offers a lot in terms of physical strength. I can’t believe I’d not heard of them before. It also occurs to me there are hundreds, perhaps thousands, of people out there who would be thrilled to be given a direct pass like this into the Montserrat Family.

I smile slightly at the thought of what my grandfather would say were he to find out I’d joined forces with the vampires, then I get with the programme. I feel bad about O’Shea and I hope they don’t kill him. He may have his faults but I don’t think he’s a bad sort. I don’t care about him enough to stage a rescue, however. He’s on his own – much like I feel now.

I could walk away. Whatever is going on, the Families are going to deal with it. I could give myself up to the police and let the cards fall where they may. But I still find it hard to believe any vampire would turn on their Family Head, regardless of what Montserrat has told me. Equally, there’s the burning need for revenge for all that’s happened. I also like the idea of solving this case and getting one over on the vampires. And I still have two leads: O’Shea’s mysterious client Lucy, and now the lawyer, D’Argneau. I ain’t giving up just yet.

I have one burner phone left. I’m tempted to call Rogu3 to find out what he’s discovered but he’ll be in school now and won’t thank me for interrupting. He may be a hacker but he takes his education seriously. That leaves the lawyer.

With nothing more to go on than his name, I need to do some research. I’m fairly certain there’s a public library less than twenty minutes away so, ignoring the car, I jog off to find it, shoving the doctor’s coat into a nearby bin as I go. I keep the surgical mask on. Maybe I can get away with looking like someone who’s trying to avoid picking up a seasonal cold.

It works. Even though I pass a police station with my own badly-posed photo staring out at me, no one bats an eyelid. How on earth do the police catch anyone when the public walk around in their own little worlds, never registering the people around them? Good for me; bad for the world.

It doesn’t take long to get to the library. It’s an old building, its grimy bricks testifying to years of pollution, but it has a certain elegance. I slow to a walk as I reach the front entrance and pass under an impressive colonnade. There’s a warm and welcoming atmosphere inside. Brightly coloured posters tell of forthcoming readings and new books. A young guy pushing a loaded trolley smiles at me. I ask him where the computers are and he directs me towards a sunny area at the back of the building.

As it’s still early, most of the computers are free. There’s a tired looking woman at one of the desks scanning through job advertisements, and someone who looks like a student writing an assignment. Other than that, I’ve got the space to myself. I pull up a chair and start typing.

Thanks to the fact that D’Argneau is an unusual name, it doesn’t take long to find what I’m looking for. There are only two barristers with that surname and one deals only with the human family courts. I click on the second one and am taken immediately to D’Argneau & Associates. That’s interesting. He’s not just a lawyer – he leads his own firm, and a large one by the looks of it. It seems strange that he wouldn’t use his own investigative facilities or that he’d waste his time dealing in what initially appeared to be such a small matter.

I scan through the different pages on the site until I find the bouncily titled ‘Our Team’. When the photos and biographies appear, however, I’m absolutely floored. I stare at D’Argneau’s picture, trying to make sense of it. There’s no doubt – same horn-rimmed glasses, same snappy suit and same hair. The lawyer D’Argneau is none other than Mr Tortoiseshell whom I almost shagged in the middle of the street. I try to ignore the return of rising nausea.

I clench and unclench my fists, reading his history. He graduated from Cambridge, opening D’Argneau & Associates when he was only twenty-five years old. Since then the practice has gone from strength to strength. He’s worked with both triber and human clients, although there’s no mention of any of the Families. There’s nothing about his personal life. I search some more, hoping that the less corporate websites will offer more information. All I find are news articles about different cases he’s fought. He seems to have a high success rate. Many of them involve the Agathos court; one includes a high-profile case that I remember reading about. Something to do with a daemon deciding to launch an attack on Buckingham Palace, of all places. The daemon was banged up for five years, although he’s likely to be freed sooner than that. The legal community seemed to be of the opinion that D’Argneau did a sterling job of defending him and, were he to have had any other lawyer, he’d be in prison for a good deal longer.

I make a note of the firm’s address, quelling the tremble in my hand and trying to remain unemotional. It’s pretty fucking difficult. They have swanky offices smack bang in the centre of the city. D’Argneau is clearly doing very well for himself, although not so well that he doesn’t feel the need to hang around lousy nightclubs in the middle of the night. Unless that’s part of the plan – whatever it may be.

I move to YouTube to find the video of Gully and Stuart’s public meeting. I’m not about to take Montserrat’s word that the Family Heads are not involved. The library’s internet isn’t particularly fast and the video takes a long time to buffer. I lean back in my chair and glance around. The student is fast asleep, his head buried in his arms, while the jobseeker is looking more optimistic, tapping enthusiastically at her keyboard. Another person is sitting in front of the computer next to her. I casually crane my neck around and freeze. It’s a woman whom I’ve definitely seen before: she was the driver putting on her make-up in the car in front of me when I was on my way to the hospital. I realise she couldn’t have been doing her lippy at all – she was observing me.

Ice-cold fear hits my stomach. I thought I’d done a good job checking for tails. Clearly I’m getting sloppy. This is a screw-up which could cost me dearly.

Trying not to appear obvious, I swivel back to my screen and clear the history. Someone like Rogu3 could easily find out which sites I visited and what I searched for; I’m banking on the fact that few people are as skilled as him. Once I’m satisfied I’ve done the best job I can concealing my tracks, I head for the restroom.

As soon as I enter, I realise I’ve made a mistake. It’s a tiny room with only one stall and the window is too small to squeeze through. I glance at the ceiling for old times’ sake but, even if I could clamber up inside it, it would be a stupid idea. I wouldn’t get anywhere fast and I’d end up stuck inside this building with someone who may very well want my head on a bloody platter. However, my follower is unlikely to know there’s no way out so I take my time, hovering at the sink.

I’m correct in my assumption. After a few minutes, the restroom door opens and she enters. I give her the brief meaningless smile of a stranger and turn on the tap. Now she’s up close, I can tell she’s entirely human. She doesn’t seem like a copper so I have to assume she’s either working officially for one of the Families, which would be odd given her humanity, or she’s with Montserrat’s theoretically rogue bloodguzzlers. At least she doesn’t smell of rosewater.

My plan is to confront her and find out who she is and what’s going on but, as she heads into the stall to maintain her cover of having a pee, I register the tell-tale bulge at her back in the mirror’s reflection. I’m not about to take any chances with anyone who has a gun. There are smarter ways to play this.

I make sure the tap is on full blast so the gushing water will cover the sound of the opening door, then I quickly duck out and head for the library exit. As soon as I’m outside, I race across the road, dodging a couple of irritated drivers, then crouch down behind a parked vehicle opposite. If I stick my head up far enough, I have a clear line of sight towards the library doors. It takes her less than twenty seconds to appear and she’s less circumspect now, glancing up and down the street to work out where I’ve gone. I watch her, taking note of her panicked expression then, when she decides to turn right and head for the busy pedestrian precinct, I follow.

I’m aware that I’m in a precarious position. She has no idea which direction I’ve gone in so she keeps twisting her head around to look for me. I have to veer in between people to stay hidden from her view. Once I dash into a shop when she stops in her tracks and turns towards me. I maintain a good distance from her but my situation is far from ideal. Any good tracker will never be alone; there could be a team which can switch places with her and avoid detection. I’m on my own although, as far as I can tell, so is she. I can’t help wondering if she’s O’Shea’s online Lucy.

We continue like this for some time. There’s something about her twitchy attitude that confuses me. The fact she’s carrying a gun suggests she’s a professional. We’re in not in the United States of America, after all. It’s not easy to get hold of a weapon in this country, even in London, unless you’re connected. She’s not particularly well versed in the art of tailing though and that makes me think she’s more amateur than she should be.

Eventually she seems to give up on me and stops in the middle of the street. I watch her from behind a bus shelter while she stares dejectedly at her feet. Then she turns round, makes her way down the steps to the Underground, and the darkness quickly swallows her up.

I dash back across the street, narrowly avoiding being run over by a courier cyclist who has other things on his mind, and jog down after her. If she’s getting on a train, I’ll lose her.

I hop over the turnstile, ignoring the shocked gasp from the commuters around me, and sprint forward. My heart sinks as I register two separate platforms: one for trains heading north and one for the southbound. I have a fifty-fifty shot of getting it right. I choose north and run down the next set of stairs. As soon as I hit the platform, I realise I’ve made the wrong decision. She’s standing across the tracks and her mouth opens wide as she spots me. I’m expecting her to pull out her gun and shoot.

Instead, she continues to stare as a train trundles noisily into view, stopping on her side. I remain where I am. I have no hope of getting round to the southern platform in time to catch the same train. My view of her is blocked. Either she’s now scared that I’ve turned the tables on her and she’s going to get on the train and get as far away from me as she can, or she’s running back up the stairs in my direction. I have the feeling she’s not out to kill me unless she can possibly help it. If she were, she had the perfect opportunity in the library bathroom. It doesn’t mean she won’t threaten me with her gun, though.

It takes an age for the train to leave. I keep one eye on it and the other on the staircase leading down to where I’m standing. When the train finally departs, I’m surprised. She’s still on the opposite platform, staring at me.

‘What do you want?’ I shout, trying to sound threatening.

The few other people around me turn and gape. I ignore them. Even from this distance, I can tell she’s shaking.

‘I need to find Devlin,’ she calls back across the tracks.

It takes me a moment to realise who she means. With O’Shea already in Montserrat custody, I can rule out that she’s working for them.

‘What do you want him for?’

‘They’ll kill me if I can’t find him.’

‘Who? Who will kill you?’

‘The vampires,’ she answers. There’s a hiss of shock combined with rubbernecker delight from the waiting passengers.

‘Which ones?’ I try not to sound as desperate as I feel.

She shakes her head, aware of our growing audience.

‘Stay there,’ I yell. ‘I’m coming over.’ I glance at the people bouncing their eyes between me and her as if they’re at a championship tennis game. ‘Performance theatre,’ I mutter to them, before running to the other platform.

She’s still there when I reach the other side. I walk slowly towards her. I don’t know who she is or how she’s involved in any of this but she’s obviously more spooked than I am. A train comes in, ridding the northern platform of our audience. When I reach her, I stop a few feet away and hold up my palms to indicate that I’m unarmed.

‘Are you Lucy?’ I ask.

She looks startled and more than a little afraid. I nod, satisfied. That’s one mystery solved at least. It turns out I didn’t require Rogu3’s services after all.

‘Where’s Devlin?’ she asks, not acknowledging my question.

‘The Montserrat Family have got him,’ I tell her. I can give her that much information.

It doesn’t appease her fears. ‘What? No, no, no, no, no, that’s bad.’

I take a step towards her and she flinches. ‘Why, Lucy? Why is it bad?’

‘They needed the spell. If he tells anyone about it…’ Her voice drifts off and she wrings her hands.

O’Shea’s little enhancement project. I wonder why it’s so important though right now I’m less concerned with motive than perpetrator. ‘Who are they?’

‘They made me contact him. They wanted the spell,’ she babbles. ‘They needed it.’

I’m getting impatient; this much I already know. ‘Who are they?’ I repeat.

‘I don’t know!’ she yells. ‘They’re all involved with the Families though. Every single one of them.’

I watch her carefully. She seems to be telling the truth. That means Montserrat was too but it doesn’t make me feel any more warm and fuzzy towards him.

‘No vampire has ever done that, Lucy. They obey the Head. It’s part of who they are.’

‘They are obeying their Head,’ she moans.

I curse. ‘Which one? Is it Montserrat?’

‘No, you don’t get it.’

‘What? What don’t I get?’

‘There’s a new Family. A new Head. They’re obeying her.’

My eyes narrow. It actually makes sense. The vampires’ innate desire to follow the leader would still hold. None of the existing Heads would normally risk the fragile peace between the Families by stealing each other’s members. A new Head, however, might not feel the same sense of responsibility. I wonder if Montserrat realises this. He has to, otherwise he’d never believe that there were traitors. I don’t know why he wouldn’t tell me though.

‘Who’s the new Head?’ I keep my voice quiet and steady.

She opens her mouth but whatever she says is swallowed in the roar of an oncoming train.

‘Pardon?’

Out of nowhere, there’s a flash of movement that comes from behind me and launches itself towards her. I spring forward but it’s already too late. Her body is shoved directly into the path of the train. It happens so fast that I can do little more than stare aghast as her blood spatters across the platform and hits me in the face while she is dragged along the tracks. I’m dimly aware of screams and yells from the other people on the train and the platform.

I look up and the vampire grins at me. He’s blond so obviously not Tam’s murderer. Not that that is going to help Lucy – or whoever she was. He lunges towards me with and I instinctively put up my hands to protect myself. There are several shouts from behind me. The vampire pulls back and gives me another grin that chills me to my core. ‘Another time,’ he hisses, before vaulting onto to the roof of the stationary train and disappearing down the other side.

I’ve not even lowered my hands when someone from behind grabs my wrists and yanks them behind my back. In one swift, practised motion a plastic tie secures my hands.

My captor leans in towards me. ‘You’re under arrest for murder.’

Bugger.

Chapter Twelve: The Cell

I’m hauled away unceremoniously while an impossibly young looking copper reads me my rights. I’m about to protest my innocence when I think better about opening my big mouth in case I blab something I shouldn’t. As we pass the gaping commuters and the train with Lucy’s gruesome remains clinging to its front, I try to avert my eyes but I can’t stop myself from looking. I wish I hadn’t.

Ten minutes later, I’m shoved into a small beige room complete with CCTV camera, what is obviously a two-way mirror mounted on one wall, and a small desk and chairs. The door is slammed shut and I’m left on my own. I kick the nearest chair and swear loudly. In the mirror I can see high points of colour on my cheeks. My hair is a dark, unruly mess of curls. I look like a mad woman. The sort of mad woman who would be capable of pushing someone under a train. I grit my teeth, use my foot to return the chair to a standing position and sit down. I’m not going to get anywhere if I lose my cool.

It’s not long before I’m joined by two plainclothes police officers. The first one has a lined face, reflecting the many injustices in the world. He glances at me warily as he enters. His partner, a younger woman, smiles. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you every cliché of police work in the book, I think sardonically, from good cop, bad cop to old partner versus new copper. I just manage to avoid rolling my eyes.

They sit down across from me.

‘Hello, Bo,’ says the woman. ‘I’m Sergeant Nicholls and this is Inspector Foxworthy. Do you know why you’re here?’

I keep my mouth resolutely shut.

Foxworthy opens a manila folder, placing a series of photos in front of me. There’s a shot of the façade of the Wiltshore Avenue hellhole, followed by several of the interior. Then there are technicolour displays of the room where O’Shea almost pegged it: the blood-spattered walls, the half-destroyed chair, a set of footprints.

‘Where did you bury his body?’

I’m surprised and a little alarmed that they believe O’Shea is dead.

‘Bo,’ Nicholls coos, ‘we know Devlin O’Shea is no longer with us.’

‘And we know you killed him,’ interrupts Foxworthy. Nicholls shoots him an annoyed look; clearly these two have their routine down to a perfect art form.

‘What we don’t know,’ she continues, ‘is where his body is or why you did it. He was a lowlife, Bo, we know that.’ She ticks off her fingers. ‘Dealing in black magic, stealing, ripping off innocent people. He was scum. Let’s face it, the planet is better off without him.’

All I can think is that I really hope he’s still alive. If Montserrat has killed him and disposed of his body then I’m well and truly up shit creek without a paddle.

Foxworthy leans in. ‘Is that why you murdered him, Ms Blackman?’ He draws out the ‘Mizz’ until it sounds like an insult.

‘We wouldn’t blame you if you did,’ adds Nicholls, trying to appeal to my better nature. ‘His family will want to know where he is. They’ll still want to give him a decent burial. Most of them are human, Bo. Even if he was a bastard, they still care for him.’

I’m interested in her line of questioning. Is she suggesting that his daemon relations don’t care for him? Or is she assuming that I killed him because he was a daemon and I’m a racist bitch?

Foxworthy changes tack abruptly. ‘Who was the woman you threw off the tracks?’

I stare at him. There must have been upwards of a dozen witnesses to the vampire, not to mention the footage from the security cameras.

‘You look surprised, Ms Blackman.’

I forget my promise to myself to stay quiet. ‘It was a freaking vampire!’

I receive a scornful look in return. ‘Why would a bloodguzzler kill someone by shoving them under a train? That would be a waste of good blood, don’t you think?’ He folds his arms. ‘Besides, we can’t prosecute vampires. But we can prosecute you.’

It’d take less than two minutes of their time to find proof that I had nothing to do with Lucy’s murder. They obviously know this and they don’t care. Or they’re using the fact of her death to lure me into telling them about O’Shea. I gnaw at my lip. There’s more than enough evidence to prove I didn’t kill either Lucy or O’Shea. I wonder if they care.

‘Don’t you have anything to say?’

‘Come on, Bo,’ Nicholls urges, ‘just tell us what’s going on.’

I could call my grandfather and get him to send someone round but I have a better idea. ‘I’d like a lawyer,’ I announce.

Something flickers in Nicholls’ expression although Foxworthy remains impassive. ‘We can appoint someone for you,’ he says.

I shake my head. ‘No. I have a lawyer.’

‘Who?’

‘D’Argneau,’ I say calmly. ‘Harry D’Argneau.’

I’m left cooling my heels while they make the call. I honestly have no idea whether D’Argneau will actually show or not. I rest my forehead on the table and close my eyes. Lucy’s horrified expression as she flies in midair into the path of the train replays itself in my head over and over again. Several times I have to force down rising bile. At some point Nicholls re-enters and leaves me a glass of water. I chug it down then continue to wait.

With no clock in the room, and my watch removed with my other few personal possessions when I entered the station, I have no way of knowing what time it is when the door eventually re-opens. I look up and see D’Argneau striding in. I’d forgotten how good looking he is. He pauses for a moment, his eyes widening infinitesimally in what can only be an unfaked reaction to my presence. Then he quickly recovers and takes the chair vacated by Inspector Foxworthy.

‘You’re Bo Blackman?’ he asks.

I nod.

‘I once met your…’

‘Grandfather. Yeah, whatever,’ I grunt.

He takes out a notepad. ‘So, you’re being investigated on the count of two separate murders. That of Devlin O’Shea, an Agathos daemon, and an as-yet unnamed human woman.’

I think of Rogu3. He’s probably discovered her true identity by now. There’s no way I’m going to tell D’Argneau about him, though. At the moment, even though I’m the one cuffed and being held in a police station, he’s one of my prime suspects. I don’t care that he’s not a vampire, there’s no way he’s not involved.

‘Lucy,’ I say. ‘All I know is that she called herself Lucy. Check the surveillance cameras. She was pushed onto the tracks by a vampire.’

The lawyer raises his eyebrows then scribbles something. ‘I’ll do that. How do you,’ he coughs, ‘sorry, how did you know her?’

‘She was following me.’

‘And the cameras will also attest to this.’

Ah. Not exactly. ‘She was following me then I turned the tables and starting following her instead.’

His eyebrows knit together. ‘I see.’

It’s clear he doesn’t. ‘Look,’ I sigh, ‘check the cameras from the station and talk to the witnesses. I had nothing to do with her death.’

‘And the daemon?’

‘He’s not dead.’ I watch him carefully for his reaction.

D’Argneau looks at me. I look back at him unwaveringly. I do hope Montserrat isn’t making a liar out of me.

‘Where is he?’

I shrug. ‘Tied up.’ Most probably.

‘Okay. Is he likely to present himself at any point?’

‘Well, that’s difficult to say.’ My ear itches so I lift up one shoulder and rub it awkwardly. ‘You see, he’s still rather worried about losing his life. The firm I work for…’

‘Dire Straits,’ he interrupts. ‘The one in the news.’

‘Yes. And I’d like to point out I’m no more responsible for what happened there than for anything else.’ I direct this comment at the two-way mirror. Lawyer–client conversations are meant to be confidential but right now I don’t trust anything. ‘They tasked me with serving O’Shea with a summons. I found him half dead.’ I smile humourlessly. ‘The summons came from a barrister seconded to the Agathos court.’

D’Argneau’s pen stops. I meet his eyes and we stare at each other. The silence chokes the tiny room.

‘I have nothing to do with this, Ms Blackman.’

I press my lips together.

‘Are you setting me up?’ he asks quietly.

‘I’m the one being framed here, D’Argneau. You hired me to serve the summons on O’Shea.’

‘I hired Dire Straits. I’d never even heard of you.’

I ignore him. ‘And then you suddenly show up in the middle of the night at the same club I decide to have a drink in.’

His face tightens with anger. ‘Let’s get one thing clear, Ms Blackman. I was already at that club when you walked in. I didn’t follow you. You followed me.’

‘Where else was I going to go at that time of night?’

He leans in towards me, his voice lowering. ‘Is that what the little show was out on the street? Were you trying to get hold of my DNA?’

‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ I sound screechy, but I don’t care. ‘I’m the one in handcuffs here! I’m the one about to be charged with murder! And I’m the one who walked away from you after the club!’

His eyes flash. ‘Maybe that’s because you’d already got what you wanted. A few strands of my hair perhaps? Or some saliva?’

I make a face. ‘Ewww! You think I sucked your spit and kept it in my mouth for a later date? Get real, buster.’

‘I don’t care what family connections you’ve got,’ he snarls, ‘you won’t get away with this.’

Nothing is going the way I expect. I try to calm down. ‘D’Argneau, look at me. I’m not getting away with anything. But I’ve not done anything.’

He pushes back his hair and stands up. ‘Whatever game you’ve got going on here, it’s not going to wash.’

‘Wait! D’Argneau!’

He doesn’t stop. Instead he just walks out of the little room, the door banging behind him. My shoulders sink and I stare at the empty chair. Either that was an Oscar-winning performance or the lawyer is telling the truth. I mull over the idea that it was merely a coincidence we bumped into each other. It’s just so incredibly unlikely.

‘Your barrister doesn’t want you,’ states Foxworthy, strolling into the room.

I glare at him. ‘Charge me,’ I growl, ‘or let me go.’

He smirks, making a deliberate show of checking his watch. ‘We’ve got forty-one hours to question you before we need to make that decision, Ms Blackman. There’s no rush.’ He pulls my arm, forcing me to my feet. ‘How about a little break from all this?’ There’s a nasty gleam in his eye, the first real emotion I’ve seen from him. It sends a ripple of uneasiness through me.

‘I can keep going,’ I say. ‘I’ll answer your questions.’

‘Like I said,’ he smiles, ‘there’s plenty of time for that.’

***

I’m led into a cell. There’s already another occupant, an older man with no irises in his eyes and an instantly recognisable tattoo on his cheek. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse.

‘Foxworthy, let me out of these damned restraints!’ I call desperately.

‘You’re here as a result of a double murder. You may have been involved in the slaughter of several of your work colleagues. That makes you a potential serial killer and far too dangerous to be allowed to go unfettered, Ms Blackman.’ The emphasis he puts on my surname is unmistakable. The black witch in the corner straightens, interested.

‘Blackman?’

I back away, warily. ‘Look, honour among thieves, right? We’re both in this cell together.’

‘Any relation to Arbuthnot Blackman?’

I try to feign ignorance. ‘Er, who?’

It doesn’t work. The witch opens his mouth and runs a red tongue over his lips. Then he takes a step towards me. His hands, I notice, are uncuffed.

‘Okay,’ I say, ‘let’s not be hasty here. Yes, I’m related to Arbuthnot Blackman. But I think he’s as much of a bastard as you do.’

The witch takes another step. The cell is tiny and my back is literally against the wall. I glance up at the ceiling and note the camera mounted there. Much good it’s going to do me. Not for the first time, I curse my grandfather.

The witch launches himself at me. Despite my best efforts to protect myself, his fist flies into my face and I see a flash of blinding light and feel an explosion of pain as he breaks my nose. Threads of pain travel outwards across my cheekbones and up through my eyeballs. I lash out instinctively with my foot, catching him in the stomach. He staggers back, groaning, then he’s on me again.

He knocks me down hard onto the floor and I narrowly avoid hitting my head on the steel corner of the bed. I roll underneath it. The last thing I need is to come on too strong and do the witch some serious damage. If I do, it’ll no doubt be added to the list of grievances against me. He shakes the bed and it rattles hard against the floor, but fortunately it’s screwed tightly into place. He bends down. I spit out blood and push myself further back but he grabs my ankle to pull me out. I kick against his grip but it’s no use. With my hands behind my back, I can’t fight against him and I’m dragged out, inch by inch. His other hand swoops down and encircles my throat, then he thrusts me up against the wall. He’s not trying to kill me; he’s having far too much fun for that.

I flail against him. I’ve just about had enough of this. My knee jerks upwards, connecting with his groin. He snarls in pain.

‘Having fun?’

The pair of us twist round. Both Foxworthy and Nicholls are standing in the doorway, watching us.

‘Enjoying the show?’ I say, as the witch finally releases his grip. My voice is weak. I put a hand up to my face and it comes away covered in my own blood.

‘There’s someone to see you,’ Foxworthy says, moving aside. For a moment I think he’s addressing the witch, then I realise he’s referring to me. I wonder if my grandfather has been informed.

Foxworthy offers me an old, greying towel. I’m tempted to throw it back in his face but I need something to wipe off the blood. The centre of my face feels as if it’s been smacked with a sledgehammer. I follow him and Nicholls out of the cell and I’m expecting to be led back into the same interview room but, instead, I end up out at the front of the station. Standing there are Montserrat and a very pale Devlin O’Shea.

‘The daemon’s alive,’ says Nicholls cheerfully. ‘And we’ve reviewed the footage from the station. It appears it wasn’t you who threw Charity Weathers under a train.’

I realise that Charity Weathers must be the unfortunate Lucy.

‘However, Ms Blackman, we would like to question you further regarding your role in the Dire Straits massacre. So don’t do anything stupid like leave the country.’

Without looking at Montserrat, I tighten my core muscles and take a deep breath. ‘Actually, you’re no longer in a position to do that,’ I say.

‘Why not?’ Foxcroft enquires coolly.

‘I’m about to be recruited into the Family Montserrat.’

As soon as the words leave my mouth, an ache rises in the centre of my chest. Out of the corner of my eye, I see O’Shea looking shocked and Montserrat smiling with a little dimple displayed in one cheek. He takes my arm and together we walk out into the cool night. I resist the urge to look back and smirk.

Chapter Thirteen: The Car

Montserrat doesn’t say anything until we’re in the back of his extraordinarily large limousine and driving away from the police station. I hope we’re driving very, very far away.

‘I’m glad you’ve decided to help us.’

I pull the towel away from my face. ‘I’m not helping you,’ I snarl. ‘I’m helping me.’

He shrugs elegantly. ‘Regardless.’

I flick a glance at O’Shea, then back to the vampire. ‘Thanks for coming to get me,’ I mutter. ‘And for not killing him.’

Montserrat opens a small compartment to reveal an array of neatly stacked drinks. I point to the whisky and he pours me a generous shot.

‘I told you, Ms Blackman,’ he says, handing me the drink, ‘we’re not monsters.’

I take a sip, wincing as it burns down my throat. The monsters part remains to be seen although I wisely refrain from saying so.

After Foxworthy’s interrogation, I decide I hate the moniker Ms Blackman. ‘Call me Bo,’ I tell the vampire.

He smiles. ‘In that case you may call me Michael.’

‘Michael?’

‘Yes. Like Michael Douglas.’

More like Michael Corleone, I think. I dab carefully at my nose. ‘Okay then.’

‘May I check your face?’ he asks politely.

I draw back for a moment and he laughs. ‘I’ve been around too long for your blood to tempt me, Bo. I think I can manage to restrain myself.’

I realise my reaction was stupid and I turn to face him. He cups my face in his hands and frowns. ‘Did the police do this to you?’

‘No. There was a black witch. He recognised my name.’

‘Ah, I see.’

Does he indeed? I try to sniff and end up wincing with pain. He takes the towel and is about to wipe my face with it when he grimaces and tosses it away. He pulls out a handkerchief from his top pocket and carefully wipes away the worst of the blood. I try not to stare. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anyone other than my grandfather use a linen handkerchief before.

His touch is surprisingly gentle. It’s making me feel a little uncomfortable so I focus on O’Shea as a distraction. ‘Are you alright?’ I ask him.

He nods. ‘They’ve treated me well.’

Well, he would say that given his captor is sitting right next to him. O’Shea’s next words belie that thought, however. ‘Perhaps, Michael, when you’re done cleaning up her face, you can touch up mine.’ He pouts and, despite myself, I start to giggle.

‘I take it you two didn’t share the water bed then,’ Montserrat says.

‘I’m sure it’s still available.’ I look at them from under my lashes and grin.

Montserrat rolls his eyes but O’Shea returns my smile.

‘How’s Arzo?’ I ask.

The vampire tuts. ‘You need to stop talking. I can’t get all this blood off when you keep moving. And Arzo’s fine.’ He grimaces. ‘At least as fine as a paraplegic can be.’

‘Why can’t his vampire blood heal that?’

‘I told you to be quiet,’ he says, wetting a corner of the handkerchief with his tongue and brushing it across my mouth. ‘Arzo is Sanguine. His blood helps him to heal more quickly but it won’t work miracles.’

I open my mouth to ask another question, but Montserrat scowls at me and I subside into silence.

‘Let me guess,’ he says drily, ‘you want to know more about the Sanguine?’

I blink in acknowledgement, while his fingers trace the tender flesh around my nose.

‘It’s an odd phenomenon. The Sanguine aren’t exactly secret but we don’t go around broadcasting their existence. To be fair, there have never been enough of them to warrant making a big deal out of it. Most people who come to us to be recruited want to be vampires. I’m not going to tell you Arzo’s story, that’s up to him. Suffice it to say, the path to becoming Sanguine isn’t easy. It’s only fair that you know that.’

‘How many of these Sanguine are there?’ asks O’Shea.

Montserrat doesn’t answer immediately. I narrow my eyes and his hands leave my face. ‘You’ll probably need to get that set before you turn, or you may be stuck with a crooked nose.’

Right now I don’t give a damn about my nose. ‘How many?’ I say, repeating the daemon’s question.

‘As I said, most people want to be vampire.’

‘Montserrat…’

‘I told you to call me Michael.’ He rubs his chin with his thumb. ‘There are three,’ he says finally. His voice is quiet.

I swallow. ‘Three? You mean in London?’

‘No, Bo. In the world.’

For a moment, kaleidoscopic pinpricks of light dance in front of my eyes. I squeeze them shut. ‘Why so few?’ I ask. ‘I mean, I get that most people don’t want to be Sanguine. But…’

‘There are others,’ he answers, ‘who wish to take the Sanguine path. And in the 1940s, there were experiments to create more. But to become Sanguine you have to resist the pull of blood. You have to avoid drinking. The temptation is high.’

I open my eyes and look at him. He meets my gaze.

‘As I told you in the hospital, it’s considered a show of strength to last as long as possible before tasting blood. It’s not been proven but it’s believed that the longer you last, the more powerful a vampire you eventually become.’

‘How long did you last?’

‘Twenty-two days. Most, however, don’t make it beyond day three.’

Jesus. I’d understood from Arzo it was going to be difficult. I hadn’t reckoned on it being virtually impossible.

‘We need you, Bo. We need someone to infiltrate the new recruits and find out what is going on. I understand how much I’m asking of you, though. You can still change your mind.’

I think about the events of the last two days. It would be smart to walk away from all this and hide under a stone somewhere until everything blows over. I have no idea how far I can trust Montserrat, even though I sense that everything he’s told me so far is the truth.

With this in mind, I go for a full-frontal attack. ‘When were you planning to tell me about the new Family?’

For the first time, he appears nonplussed. ‘What?’

‘The new Family,’ I repeat. ‘The ones who wanted O’Shea’s spell.’

He is obviously baffled. ‘There is no new Family. What are you talking about?’

I tell him about Lucy – or rather Charity Weathers – and what she told me before her life ended so abruptly. He leans back in his seat, his face shuttered as he absorbs the information.

‘I assumed it was a few malcontents. I mean, it’s serious. We’ve never had a situation like this before and I wouldn’t be involving you if it wasn’t something that required fresh eyes and a different way of thinking. But a new Family? There’s not been a new Family since Mary Queen of Scots was executed.’

‘The Stuarts?’

He nods.

‘Let’s say someone did want to start a new Family,’ I say. ‘How would they fit in with the current set up?’

‘It simply wouldn’t work.’ His dark eyes are troubled.

‘Why not?’

‘It’s difficult for outsiders to understand, but there’s a considerable amount of rivalry between the Familes. The ties and alliances shift depending on the issue at hand. However, because there are five of us, it works.’

‘Explain.’

He frowns. ‘It’ll be easier to give you an example. The last time we all met, it was because the government wanted to send in monitors. There’s growing unease amongst the humans about the way we keep the Families’ actions and motives secret. The Head of the Stuarts and I wanted to agree. Openness will provide better understanding. The population will be less wary of us and we’ll open more trade doors as a result.’

‘But the others disagreed?’

‘Medici and Bancroft. They argued that how we conduct ourselves is none of the humans’ business. They were also concerned that it would create problems between the Families themselves. With everything above board and openly advertised, we’d each have a better gauge of the state of the other Families and, if we so chose, be in a position to undermine each other.’

I imagine that ‘undermine’ in the vampire world means a bit more than merely giving out a few playground taunts. Although I agree with Montserrat’s position, I can see that there are potential problems.

‘And Gully?’

‘They listened to both sides and ultimately went with the Medicis and the Bancrofts.’

I nod my head thoughtfully. ‘Without an odd number of Families, disagreements will rarely be solved.’

‘Indeed.’

‘Except,’ I add, trying to glean as much information as I can from him, ‘why should I care? If there’s a new Family and it means you’re all at loggerheads, what does it matter to humans?’

‘The power afforded by being vampire is heady. And the power granted to the Families as a result of their combined strength is almost incomprehensible. It’s the reason we cap our own numbers at five hundred.’ He takes my hand and gently squeezes. An odd tingle runs up my arm. ‘Imagine a new Family with no allegiances and no desire to follow any of the rules that have been in place for hundreds of years.’

‘Vampires could over-run daemons,’ whispers O’Shea, realisation dawning.

‘And humans,’ says Montserrat grimly. ‘And without checks in place to prevent unwarranted attacks…’

‘The results could be catastrophic,’ I finish. I ponder the very real danger this new Family might pose. ‘But what if it’s not like that? What if these vampires just want a new Family and will abide by the laws you already have?’

‘Then why are they being so secretive? Why not be open about creating a new Family? Breaking the ties of loyalty that already exist in each Family is proof that they won’t toe the line.’

I’m tempted to point out that perhaps he should be doing more to encourage that loyalty and to stop errant Family members from leaving but I reckon he’s probably worked that out by now.

‘They’ve already shown that they’re remarkably keen to kill people,’ muses O’Shea, rubbing at the remains of the wound on his neck.

‘Why would this new Family want your spell?’ I ask him.

‘I have no idea. Maybe they’re kind of horny?’

‘It has to be to do with the passivity side effects. Maybe it’s how they’re getting so many previously loyal vampires to join them.’ I glance at Montserrat. ‘How many do you know who are involved?’

‘I’ll give you the files later, if you decide to join us that is. But there have been at least half a dozen confirmed deaths and several more disappearances in Montserrat. The other Families have given similar numbers, although they may be lying.’

‘And they all met with you?’ I ask O’Shea.

He nods.

‘You didn’t think there was anything odd about having so many vampires interested in your spell?’

He looks slightly embarrassed. ‘I was making a lot of money. How was I to know what it was really about?’

I exhale in irritation, then pull my knees up to my chest and hug them tightly. My nose is still throbbing, although the hurt is somewhat diminished after Montserrat’s ministrations. I gaze out of the window at the passing streets. It must have rained recently because there are puddles reflecting the street lights as we zip by. Most of the shops are closed now but, from time to time, I see an off-license or take-away restaurant which remains open. I gulp down the remainder of the whisky. Imagining a world where the vampires don’t self-limit their own power is terrifying.

‘Stop the car,’ I say suddenly.

‘Bo…’

I growl, ‘I said stop the goddamn car.’

For a moment, Montserrat doesn’t respond, then he taps on the window separating us from the driver and slides it open, muttering something into the front seat. The car glides to a halt.

‘I wish you’d take a bit more time,’ he begins.

‘Wait here,’ I say, opening the door and stepping out. Then I duck my head back in. ‘Do you have any loose change?’

He looks confused but digs into his pocket and hands over a few coins.

‘Thanks.’ I slam the door shut and jog over to a payphone. I grab the receiver, dropping in the coins as I dial. Rogu3 picks up straightaway.

‘Hello?’ His voice is cautious.

‘It’s me,’ I say.

‘Where the fuck have you been, Bo? I’ve been trying to track you for hours! I got you to the police station near Piccadilly, but then you were released…’

‘I’m fine. Honest.’ And then, more because it’s automatic than for any other reason, ‘Don’t swear.’

‘Where are you? What’s going on?’

I lick my lips. ‘Let’s just say the investigation is taking a new turn.’

‘Fine, well thanks for keeping me in the loop.’ He says it sarcastically and I can tell he’s hurt that I’ve not been in touch.

‘I’m sorry, Rogu3, but it’s better for you if you don’t know too much.’

He sniffs. ‘I know a lot about your Lucy character. Her real name is Charity Weathers. She works as a dental nurse out of some surgery in Brixton. Looks like she’s got a real habit for ice.’

I bite my lip. Being a drug addict would make her an easy target. All these bloody vamps would have to do is promise her some ice – or withhold it from her – and she’d be theirs to command. Poor bitch.

‘Can you tell who else she’s been in contact with?’

‘You mean other than your daemon buddy? Nah. She kept a pretty low online presence. No Facebook or Twitter or anything like that.’ He snorts. ‘You can tell by the way she writes online. All properly punctuated and with Standard English spelling. Not so much as a single emoticon.’

I remember what O’Shea said about being sure she was a woman because of her writing style. Not just a woman, but a woman who had no need for the internet. I wonder how she got herself wrapped up with the vampires in the first place. Via some scabby dealer, no doubt.

‘Thanks, Rogu3. That’s really useful.’ I don’t bother telling him I already know her name – I don’t want to hurt his feelings. ‘Look,’ I continue, ‘I’m going black for a while so I won’t be in touch. I might not ever be in touch again.’ I cross my fingers against this thought.

‘What?’ he screeches. ‘Why?’

I smile into the phone. ‘I didn’t know you cared.’

‘We’re not best buds or anything, but I thought we had an understanding.’

‘We do. That’s why I’ve got one last job for you. There’s no rush because, like I said, I don’t know if I’ll be in touch again but…’

‘I get it, I get it. What do you need?’

I give him Harry D’Argneau’s details. As honest as the barrister seems in person, he’s still a lead. I’m tempted to ask Rogu3 to hack into the Montserrat intranet for me as well. But for all his posturing, he’s still just a kid; the vampires are too big and too damn scary and I need him to stay safe.

‘I’ll make sure you get paid, no matter what.’

‘I don’t need the money,’ he says grumpily. ‘For what it’s worth, Bo, take care of yourself.’

I’m touched. ‘Thanks. Right back at you, kiddo.’

I hang up before I get too emotional. Then I take a deep breath and call the next number.

‘Arbuthnot Blackman.’

‘Hey, grandfather,’ I say softly.

‘Bo! Where are you? I was told you were arrested.’

I don’t want to get into that now. ‘I’m going away,’ I tell him. ‘I might not be back.’

He’s immediately suspicious. ‘Where?’

I think about all those families I investigated when I was working for the insurance company and how desperate they were to know what had really happened to their loved ones. I take the plunge and tell the truth. ‘I’m being recruited.’

The silence stretches out for so long that I’m starting to wonder if he’s still there.

‘Grandfather?’

His voice is strained. ‘Why?’

‘It’s just something I have to do. I’m going to try to come back though.’

‘You mean Sanguine.’

I’m surprised. ‘You’ve heard of them?’

‘Please.’ He sighs. ‘Very few people make it that far, you know. We tried with someone once. Sent them into the Bancroft fold. Never heard from them again.’

‘There are always exceptions,’ I say, attempting to keep my tone light.

‘If anyone can be an exception, you can. I’ve always been proud of you, you know.’

I’m taken aback by the softness in his voice. ‘Uh, thanks.’

‘Is there another way? Is there something I can do to help?’

‘No. I need to do this on my own. Don’t try to…’ I swallow. ‘Don’t try to send anyone after me or anything like that. I’ll either make it or I won’t. Either way, this is best course of action.’

‘Then I trust your judgment. But don’t trust the guzzlers, Bo. There’s more to them than you realise.’

I wonder if I’ve gotten the old man wrong all these years. The last thing I’d been expecting was his implicit blessing. ‘Thank you,’ I say again. ‘There is one thing I need you to do, though.’

‘Name it.’

I give him Rogu3’s bank details. ‘I’ll pay you back, one way or another. There’s money in my account which I can…’

‘I’ll sort it out. Can’t have the hoi polloi going destitute because a Blackman hasn’t paid their bills, can we? Bo, have you told your mother about this vampire business?’

‘I don’t know where she is.’

‘Gallivanting somewhere, no doubt. When she gets in touch, I’ll let her know.’

‘Tell her I love her.’ My voice shakes. ‘I love you too.’ Blood is thicker than water after all.

‘Goodbye, Bo.’ He hangs up.

I stand there for a moment, still holding the receiver. Then I replace it and walk back to the limousine. The driver gets out this time and opens the door for me. I smile at him briefly and get in.

‘I have a phone,’ Montserrat says stiffly.

‘Just because I’m going to work for you doesn’t mean I trust you. It was a private call.’

Something flashes in his eyes but it’s gone before I can work out what it means. ‘You made two calls.’

‘They were both private,’ I say shortly. He can mind his own damn business. Allowing myself to be recruited into the Montserrat Family doesn’t mean I’m going to be their property.

A muscle throbs in Montserrat’s cheek. He taps the driver’s window and the car glides off. ‘You’re going to stay?’

‘Yes. I’m also going to be Sanguine. I can stick out a month of bloodlust,’ I say, with far more confidence than I feel.

He merely nods and we lapse into an uncomfortable silence.

Chapter Fourteen: Fear

I’m expecting us to head straight for the Montserrat headquarters on the edge of Hyde Park but, instead of going in that direction, the car turns left and we pull up outside an old building. It’s a majestic piece of architecture, built out of sandstone; it looks as if it’s been here for hundreds of years.

‘Nice place,’ I comment.

‘Recruitment doesn’t start until tomorrow so you can stay here. It’ll be safe.’

‘And where is here, exactly?’

‘My apartment,’ Montserrat answers shortly.

O’Shea clambers out and whistles. ‘I like a man with style.’

‘If you want to stay alive,’ Montserrat tells the daemon, ‘then you’ll stay here and out of sight.’

O’Shea purses his lips. ‘Do you have satellite TV?’ Montserrat looks at him. ‘Okay, okay. I’ll stay here and hide away. It’s nice of you to be so concerned for my safety.’

I smile involuntarily and Montserrat glares at me. ‘You can stay here tonight too.’

‘Great. Thanks,’ I mutter.

There’s no doorman at the front but the security is still impressive. Montserrat enters by pressing his thumb to an electronic sensor. ‘If you leave, you won’t be able to get back in,’ he warns.

O’Shea and I nod dutifully. The door clicks open and we wander into the grand lobby. It’s a darn sight better than the last place I stayed at.

Montserrat leads us to the lift. The walls are mirrored and I wince at my reflection. There are dark bruises under my eyes and my nose is an interesting shade of purple. I touch it gingerly and hiss with pain. Both of them look at me.

‘It hurts, alright?’

‘So don’t touch it,’ Montserrat says. He turns away while I stick my tongue out childishly at him. Unfortunately, he catches me in the mirror.

‘You’re not going to get away with that when you’re recruited.’

‘I didn’t ask to join your Family,’ I point out.

‘You’ve agreed now.’

I sigh. I suppose I have. Never one to let a moment pass, however, I say, ‘I can still back out.’

‘Yes. You can.’ Then, without warning, he leaps towards me.

Alarmed, I lash out with my fists, but he reaches for my nose and, with one swift movement, jerks it hard to the side. There’s a loud cracking sound and I scream.

He inspects his handiwork. ‘There,’ he says. ‘That’s better.’

I slap him. O’Shea stares at us with wide eyes.

‘Um, Bo?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Maybe don’t piss off the bloodsucking powerhouse.’

I shoot the daemon a nasty look. ‘He started it.’

Montserrat smirks. It’s just as well the lift stops at that moment or I might not be responsible for my actions. My nose is smarting like hell but I stride past the vampire as if I’ve never felt better and gaze around.

‘Wow,’ O’Shea says. ‘This is a serious pad.’

He’s right. Montserrat’s place is as sharp as his suits. The floor is wooden, a burnished amber that warms the room, and is covered in expensive looking rugs. A vast sofa faces a fireplace and there’s a modern kitchen towards the back. The wall to my left is covered from floor to ceiling with books; to the right, great bay windows look out over the London skyline.

‘It’ll do.’ I hope I don’t sound over-awed. I’m still pissed off with him for the nose thing.

‘Not as nice as the love hotel?’ Montserrat asks.

‘How did you know we were there?’

He puts on a mock accent. ‘Vee have vays.’

I stare at him. The vampire Head has a sense of humour. Who knew?

He smiles. ‘Come on. I’ll show you the bedroom. The daemon can sleep on the sofa for tonight. I’ll take the floor.’

He opens a huge wooden door and I gape. The bed is king size and then some. It’s covered in black satin sheets and looks like it’s been designed for the set of a porn movie. I guess Montserrat is currently single.

‘I think the bed is big enough for both us,’ I say, grinning. ‘I won’t bite if you don’t.’ As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realise they sound like an invitation and I start to blush. Montserrat doesn’t seem to notice.

‘Whatever you’re comfortable with.’ He points to another door to the left. ‘The bathroom’s in there if you want to clean up. I can get you a clean t-shirt or something to wear.’

Feeling awkward now, I mumble thank you. He stands in front of me and gazes down, his dark eyes glinting. ‘Thank you, Bo. I know what you’re giving up by doing this. I won’t forget it.’

‘I’m not giving up anything,’ I answer. And it’s the truth. ‘I no longer have a job. I’ve got a bunch of traitor vampires out for my blood. And it’s only until the full moon. I’ll be Sanguine.’

His eyes fill with unexpected warmth. ‘Good.’

We both remain standing like that until O’Shea calls out from the main room. ‘Do you have any snacks?’

Montserrat shakes himself. ‘I’ll get you that t-shirt.’

‘Cheers.’ I walk into the bathroom and take a very deep breath.

***

Montserrat comes to bed far later than me. I’m not sure what he’s doing, whether he’s telling O’Shea where he can find the cornflakes and how to work the remote control, or he’s off doing some mysterious ‘Head of Bloodguzzling Family’ work. Hell, for all I know, he has a willing victim tied up in a cupboard somewhere and he was off for a snack. Regardless, when he finally clambers in to the far side of the huge bed, I’m still wide awake. I don’t pretend to be asleep; he’s a vampire, after all, I’m sure he’d know if I were faking it. But I’m not in the mood for night-time chit-chat and my glib remark about not minding sharing a bed with him now seems rash. I don’t turn around but I sense him keeping a fair distance away and doing his best not to disturb me. I lie there, listening to his steady breathing, and gaze across the room.

I’m worried about whether I’m making the right choice. I think part of me had hoped that my grandfather would put his foot down and refuse to let me to take this step. Of course, I’d have ranted and railed and gone ahead regardless. Except … despite being a grown woman, sometimes a tiny part of me hankers for the simplicity of being a child again and having big decisions taken out of my hands. With only three Sanguines in the entire bloody world, my chances of making it through the moon’s cycle are miniscule. That’s not to mention the dangers of trying to turn vampire in the first place, and the fact that the group of traitorous bloodguzzlers may want to continue their efforts to slit my throat rather than welcome me into the fold. Whatever does happen when I turn tomorrow, I’m going to have to tread carefully.

I flip onto my back, annoyed with myself for still being awake. This is probably the last time I’ll have the opportunity for safe, uninterrupted sleep. Montserrat doesn’t stir. I glance over at him, registering his bare skin and taut, clearly delineated muscles. The dark twisting shape of a tattoo is etched across his upper back and curves round his arms, although the light is too dim to work out what it actually is.

Something in me tenses. It’s not that I expected him to be wearing stripy pyjamas but he looks as if he’s completely naked. It’s difficult to tell because the satin sheet is pulled up to his waist. Without thinking, I turn fully in his direction to check. Maybe it’s de rigeur for vampires to sleep in the buff. Despite my snarky comments to Angelique about not sleeping in coffins, I actually have no idea how vampires sleep. Or eat. Or do anything. I smile grimly to myself. I suppose I’m about to find out.

Curiosity gets the better of me so very, very carefully, I tug at the sheet. It falls half an inch, displaying well-toned dimples on either side of his spine. I’m convinced now that he’s naked. The man has no sense of propriety. Apparently neither do I because I tug the sheet down a little bit more.

‘Bo.’

My hearts leaps in my chest. Oops.

‘What are you doing?’

I can’t think of any answer that makes sense. ‘I can’t sleep,’ I mutter eventually, sitting up.

He turns over, resting his head on one elbow. Despite the darkness, I can make out the wicked dance in his eyes as if he is perfectly aware of what I was trying to do. I look down and see that the tattoo travels all the way from his tanned back to his broad chest. I realise it’s an intricately drawn set of wings that wraps around his skin from his shoulder blades to his collar bone, the lower edges just millimetres away from his dark nipples.

‘I can help you with that,’ he murmurs.

I feel tense and suspicious. ‘What do you mean?’

He rubs the stubble around his jawline. ‘I can help you sleep.’

A tiny, terrified part of me wonders if he means permanently. ‘Oh?’ I squeak.

He sits up, swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands up. He’s wearing white drawstring trousers. Oh well.

He grins, as if he knows what I’m thinking. ‘Wait here.’

He pads out of the bedroom. Avoiding thinking about how I just made myself look a total idiot, I also get up. Instead of following him, I walk to the window and draw back the heavy curtains to stare out at the night. I can’t see the moon from here, which is just as well because it would only remind me of what is to come. There are, however, several visible stars. I stay where I am, even when I hear Montserrat return. I can’t help wondering if this will be the last time I look out on the night sky with human eyes.

He comes up next to me, his bare footsteps as light as a cat’s, and hands me a mug. I stare at it stupidly.

‘It’s hot cocoa,’ he tells me.

He’ll be offering me a pair of fluffy slippers and a dressing gown next. I take the mug and sip it cautiously. It scalds the inside of my mouth but it tastes good.

‘Thanks.’

He watches me with hooded eyes. ‘I stayed up all night,’ he says, suddenly.

I’m confused. ‘What…?’

‘The night before I turned. I stayed up all night.’

‘I’m afraid,’ I whisper.

‘I know.’

I’m grateful he doesn’t waste time offering platitudes. It’s enough to know that he understands how I feel. I drain the mug.

‘Go to sleep,’ he says softly.

‘I’ll try.’ I head back to my side of the bed and lie down. Moments later I’m fast asleep.

***

It’s early when I wake up. The sunlight streaming in from the open curtains has a bright new quality – the sort you only get shortly after dawn. I turn over but Montserrat’s not there, although there’s a dent in the pillow where his head was. Butterflies dance in my stomach. I have no idea what the day will bring but I know that it will change my life irrevocably. I stay where I am for a moment, thinking about Charity Weathers and Tam and Tansy and everyone else from Dire Straits. I think about how different things might be if O’Shea had died in that grubby room. And then I get out of bed, splash water on my face and get dressed before carefully making the bed and erasing any evidence of my presence. Bring. It. On.

Unfortunately, when I go to the living room, my determination is already starting to desert me. I find O’Shea sprawled across the sofa, his arms stretched behind his head. He springs up. ‘Hey!’ His voice is far too bright and breezy. ‘How are you feeling? Ready to join the triber clans?’

I give him a dirty look but he just shrugs amiably. ‘At least you’ll be busy. I have to stay holed up here.’

I’m tempted to tell him he’s damn lucky to be alive but I manage to bite my tongue. ‘Where’s Montserrat?’

‘Michael? He’s gone already. Said to tell you not to worry about breakfast, it’ll be provided later. There’ll be a car to pick you up in about a couple of hours and take you to the headquarters.’

‘Okay.’ I sit down heavily down on the sofa. O’Shea sits next to me.

I need something to take my mind off my impending doom. ‘Do you have records I can look at for the vampires who came to get the spell?’ I ask.

‘Are you nuts? Keeping records is a sure fire way to get caught.’

‘Well, how many clients were there?’

‘At least sixty.’

Christ. ‘Do you know any of their names?’

O’Shea shakes his head.

‘Distinguishing features? Especially for the Montserrat ones?’

‘Mate, all vampires look the same to me.’

I struggle to see how this is true. I try a different tack. ‘Why do you think they tried to kill you? I mean, if sixty of them used the spell, why not keep going? Or why not kill you after they took it the first time?’

‘Copyright.’

‘Huh?’

‘I copyrighted it. I don’t want some other dealer stealing my shit and making money from it that should be mine, so I placed a copyright on it.’

I frown. ‘What does that mean exactly?’

‘That each spell only has a one-time use. You can’t buy it, then pass it round all your friends for free. If they want it, they have to purchase their own. I’m a businessman.’ He rubs his fingers together. ‘It’s all about profit.’

‘Look where that profit got you,’ I mutter. ‘What changed?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You said they leached the spell from you before trying to kill you. If it’s copyrighted, as you say, then how could they use it?’

‘They must have found a way around it.’ He doesn’t appear particularly upset. ‘People usually do eventually.’

It sounds remarkably similar to what Rogu3 does. He told me once that companies keep putting in place bigger and better firewalls and security systems to beat the hackers, but they are only temporary measures because sooner or later the hackers always find a way round them. I wonder if there’s an endpoint – a time when people will stop this cycle of security and slash. Probably not.

***

Two hours later, I’m still feeling anxious and wondering whether I’m doing the right thing when my musings are interrupted by the doorbell. The butterflies in my stomach go into overdrive.

‘That’ll be your chauffeur,’ O’Shea says cheerily.

I stand up but my legs shake, so I sit back down abruptly. The daemon pulls me upright and grabs the lapels of my jacket. ‘You’ll be fine. You’ll find the killers, solve the mystery and get to the end of the full moon cycle as a newly fledged and wholly powerful Sanguine. Go you!’

I don’t want to be a wholly powerful Sanguine though. I’m perfectly happy being a weakass human in a leather jacket.

O’Shea gives me a push towards the door. ‘Off you go.’

For a moment, I dig my heels into Montserrat’s perfectly varnished floor. I have to force myself to walk forward. I now realise where the phrase ‘rooted to the spot in terror’ comes from. I swallow hard. This is the fate I’ve chosen. I need to deal with it.

***

Less than twenty minutes later, I’m deposited by the taciturn driver at the front of the imposing Montserrat headquarters. If you were to look up ‘vampire lair’ in a visual dictionary, the building in front of me would probably be what you’d see. It may be situated on the edge of a busy thoroughfare and right next to the bustle of Hyde Park, but there’s an odd atmosphere of silence around it, as if it’s in a bubble. The masonry is old; I have no idea how long the Montserrat Family have been holed up here although I’ve heard tales about how they still hold a grudge against the human royal family for opening up the park to the public. Considering that happened back in 1637, I guess they’ve been there for a bloody long time. Chillingly, if you turn and look back at the park, the old site of the Tyburn gallows is perfectly visible. The last person to have been executed there might have been way back in the eighteenth century but it still gives me the willies.

I stare up at the grey stone walls and the turrets and gargoyles. I’ve passed this building many times before and never given it more than a cursory glance. Now, as I’m about to enter, I find myself looking at it with entirely new eyes.

Unusually for this time of year in London, there’s not a single cloud in the sky. The sun beams down at me mockingly. I have to admit that as I step over the threshold, I’m kind of hoping some burly bloodguzzler will clamp their hand on my shoulder and throw me out because there’s been a mistake and I’m not supposed to be here after all. My luck, such as it has been over the last few days, doesn’t change.

The interior is bright and airy, quite the opposite of what I expected. Standing to my left is a fully tuxedoed butler, holding out a silver tray with glasses of brown liquid. I take one and sniff it suspiciously but it seems to be nothing more than sherry. As tempted as I am to partake of a little Dutch courage, I don’t drink it. I want to keep my senses fully alert. Besides, who knows what the vampires have dropped in to the alcohol?

A trim female vampire holding a clipboard glances at me from the crowd in the centre of the hall. The people surrounding her all appear to be human. I’m surprised at how many of the new recruits have brought family members to see them off, as if they were going on a European cruise rather than giving up their lives to the vampires. A couple of the family members are upset: there is one older woman in particular whose muffled sobs provide an uncomfortable backdrop to the smiling faces of the majority. I’m with the sobber. The logical part of me recognises that the vampires offer security and inhuman longevity and health. It’s the inhuman part that bothers me. I don’t have anything against tribers – far from it. I’m just happy with who I am now. I wonder if my feelings will be different this time tomorrow. I sincerely hope not.

Still holding the sherry glass, I push my way carefully through to Clipboard Lady and give her my name. She smiles at me, but it’s far more functional and perfunctory than welcoming or reassuring. I sense a coldness in her that seems to be directed entirely at me.

‘Ms Blackman,’ she says. ‘Welcome to Family Montserrat.’

For some reason I think of the soundtrack to The Sound of Music. I can’t quite imagine Michael Montserrat in lederhosen, though.

‘Thank you,’ I murmur, hoping I have quelled the fear in my voice enough to avoid raising suspicion.

‘You may say your last goodbyes now. The opening ceremony will begin in about fifteen minutes.’

I have no one to say goodbye to. I spare my mother a brief thought but I know that, unlike my grandfather, she feels her job as a parent was done and dusted the day I reached eighteen. There are no bad feelings between us and she wasn’t a bad mother. Merely … busy with other things, I suppose. It would be different if my father were still alive. I hope he’d have understood what I am doing.

I make my way through a set of mahogany doors and into what looks like a hotel conference room. Apart from the vials of glistening red blood sitting on the silver platter at the front, that is. There’s only one other person in here – a silver-haired man who is sitting near the vials and staring at them. I can’t work out whether the expression on his face is resignation or anticipation.

I’d like to head for the safety of the back row but I’m here for one specific reason. The other recruits will probably be too new to be involved in what is really going on but that doesn’t mean they won’t be targeted at some point. I need to get each one to take me into their confidence. The last thing I want is to have a dozen new BFFs – actually, no, scratch that: the last thing I want is to be turned into a vampire. But if I’m going down this route, I’m going to make it worth everyone’s while. I draw back my shoulders, take a deep breath and smile. Not too broadly – any recruit would feel a bit scared and nervous – but hopefully enough to put the man at his ease.

I sit next to him. He twitches slightly as if he’s trying to pull away.

‘This is surreal, isn’t it?’ I offer as an opening gambit.

His head jerks but he stays quiet. I stick my hand out. ‘Bo Blackman,’ I say. ‘By the look on your face, I think we’re both feeling the same right about now.’

For a moment, I think he’s going to ignore me but eventually he grasps my hand and shakes it. His palm is dry and his grip is strong, contradicting what I assumed was terror on his part.

‘Peter,’ he answers. ‘Peter Allen.’ He raises his eyes to mine. ‘And how are you feeling then?’

‘Excited. Nervous.’ I swallow. ‘Scared.’ At least I don’t need to fake those last two emotions.

He looks down at his lap. I realise with a jolt that he’s holding a crucifix, twisting it over and over in his fingers. It seems baffling that a devout Christian would want to give themselves over to the vampires. Back in the sixties, there was a long drawn-out publicity campaign to persuade the public at large that vampires did indeed have souls and that they were not an affront to God, no matter which version of God you believed in. I remember watching one of those nostalgic television programmes a year or so ago – you know, the type that’s dirt cheap to make, pulls in an audience by the million and includes Z-list celebrity pundits commenting on a countdown of the best moments of … whatever. One of the clips which made it into the top ten was of a bloodguzzler being doused in a vat of holy water, grinning and smiling into the camera the entire time. As I recall, this particular clip wasn’t included as proof that vampires aren’t harmed by religion (and therefore are not considered evil in the eyes of God) but more because at the same moment the vampire volunteer’s head went under, a seagull decided to dive bomb the outdoor bath constructed specially for the event.

Despite the success of the campaign across middle England, many humans still rail against the vampires’ existence. They point to sections of the Bible like that one from Leviticus: ‘If any one of the house of Israel or of the strangers who sojourn among them eats any blood, I will set my face against that person who eats blood and will cut him off from among his people.’ They conveniently choose to forget other parts which don’t fit with current beliefs. Pointing out that the Bible also says stubborn children should be stoned doesn’t lessen their antipathy to the bloodguzzlers. It’s easy to pick and choose quotes to suit your purpose. Regardless, the majority of churchgoers avoid the vampires whenever they can.

Peter notices my reaction to his cross. He tries to laugh, although the result is more of a choke than a guffaw. ‘Silly, isn’t it?’ he says. ‘I guess I am feeling scared and nervous, just like you. I need something to cling to.’

I’m curious. ‘Is it helping?’

‘The cross?’

I nod.

‘No, I think it’s actually making me feel worse. What if…?’ his voice trails off.

Impulsively I reach over and squeeze his hand. ‘You’re no longer considered clean in God’s eyes? We’re probably all thinking that, even those of us who aren’t sure if we have faith in a higher power.’

‘Why are you here?’ he asks.

I’m prepared for this. O’Shea and I spent time discussing various scenarios to explain why I’ve decided to join the vampires and then choosing the most plausible – and the one likely to garner me the most ‘friends’ as a result. For this plan to work, I need the traitors to believe I’m prepared to turn on the Family and help destroy it from the inside. I also need the other new recruits to trust me in case they are approached themselves. I’m not in a position to lie too blatantly either – I’ve been in the news too much lately to pretend to be someone I’m not.

I give a heavy sigh. For a moment I think I’ve been too melodramatic but Peter squeezes my hand as if to reassure me. ‘Joining any of the Families wasn’t something I considered until a few days ago,’ I admit. Lies are always more believable when they’re woven with half-truths. ‘I had a good life. I mean, I was lonely, but I had a good life.’

‘Lonely?’

‘My father passed away several years ago and my mother is always away. I have a grandfather who I see from time to time but he’s,’ I pause, as if searching for the right word, ‘difficult.’ I let Peter read into that what he will. ‘And I have no significant other to speak of. I always wanted children,’ I add sadly.

‘But you’re young! There’s plenty of time to meet someone.’

I nod. ‘Well, I had met someone. I was in love with my boss.’ Sorry, Tam, I tell him silently. It’s for a good cause.

A knowing look flashes across Peter’s face. ‘Is he married?’ he asks gently.

‘Divorced. I thought there was a chance that one day…’ I sigh again. ‘Except now he’s dead. A vampire killed him and all my colleagues.’

He looks shocked. I hope I’ve hit the right balance between bitterness and pain.

‘Why would you join a Family when a Family killed the man you loved?’

‘I need to understand why. Maybe by becoming a recruit, I’ll discover how he incurred their wrath. And…’ I look down and awkwardly tug at my hair.

‘Yes?’ prompts Peter.

‘I’ve heard that vampires don’t experience emotions the same way that we do.’ According to my grandfather this theory is rubbish but it serves my purpose, so I continue. ‘This could be a good way to shut off the pain. It also means the police won’t come after me any more.’ I glance up at him. ‘They think I’m responsible for killing Tam. My boss.’

‘You?’

I try not to be irritated by Peter’s incredulity. ‘I know! It’s ridiculous to think that I could do such a thing!’

He moves his hand up my arm and gently turns me towards him. ‘That’s terrible. Simply terrible.’

I sniff and sneak a look at his eyes from under my lashes. Peter Allen does indeed appear to be swallowing my story whole.

‘If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em,’ he murmurs.

I try not to smile. Score one for the daemon, then. I’d suggested to O’Shea that I say that myself. He told me the words would be too pat but it was a good strategy to imply them. I have to give him credit for being more cunning than I’d thought. No wonder he got away with his dodgy dealings until now.

‘How about you?’ I ask, deciding the time is right to encourage my fellow recruit to take part in everyone’s favourite pastime – talking about themselves. Now that I’ve delivered my own story, I can focus on everyone else. With any luck, Peter will turn out to be a bit of a gossip and I won’t need to repeat my tale to every new recruit.

He withdraws, however, and his face clouds over. ‘I’d rather not talk about it.’

I wait a few beats. It’s amazing how often people will say they’d ‘rather not talk about it’ and then open up. Apparently, Peter is the exception to the rule. He stays mum.

‘I understand,’ I murmur, cursing inwardly. ‘We all have our secrets.’

He smiles gratefully. I wonder if his reticence has anything to do with the crucifix that he is still clutching tightly. Before I can say anything else, however, the relative silence of the small auditorium is interrupted.

‘OM smegging G!’

I wince. The ‘I’m too lazy to use actual words’ voice belongs to a bouffant bottle-blonde. She’s done up to the nines: high heels, tight black dress, sparkling jewels and long scarlet fingernails. So much for it being difficult to gain admission into the Families. Maybe Michael Montserrat is wanting a little relief from his darker Family members.

The blonde is followed by several others. Peter goes back to staring at the floor but I reckon a little curiosity about the other recruits won’t be out of place so I stare openly at them all. By the time everyone is inside, I’ve counted an unlucky baker’s dozen. I’m not particularly superstitious, but I can’t help thinking it isn’t a coincidence that our little band numbers thirteen.

There is a young girl in a wheelchair; no prizes for guessing her motives for being here. I spot a couple of older men including, I note, a retired politician who has often been on the front pages for all the wrong reasons. I seem to remember there were allegations of fraud. It surprises me that he’s here; I guess he was innocent after all. The others are a mish-mash of the nondescript and the showy: bespectacled nerds, beefed-up athletes and straitlaced suits.

Someone once said not to judge a book by its cover. Whoever it was clearly never worked as a private investigator. How people look can give an observer information about who they really are. Attention to detail is vital. It’s something I’m not particularly skilled at, but I’m training myself to get better. For example, the youngish man in a suit who sits diagonally behind me may look dapper but his cheap, scuffed shoes and ever-so-faint twitch in his upper eyelid suggest an entirely different story. I’m interested in one woman whose hair suggests downtrodden housewife but whose clothes are more rebellious teenager. Anyone sporting contrasts in their appearance usually reflects those same contrasts in their personality. According to Tam, anyway. I make a mental note to talk to her as soon as I can.

I realise that the loud blonde is assessing me in much the same way as I am examining everyone else. She lifts an eyebrow in my direction when she sees me watching her, and raises a tanned hand to her perfectly coiffed hair. I register the watch on her wrist: a Timex. It doesn’t match her clothes and make-up or the way she holds herself. Perhaps I’ll speak to her soon, too.

By my side, Peter mutters something. I turn back to him just as the door closes with a deafening finality. My stomach drops unexpectedly at the sound. I see a vampire looping a twisted red rope around the handle, effectively locking us in. I understand it’s symbolic rather than a real barrier, but it’s clear that everyone in the room feels the same. The turning is about to begin.

Chapter Fifteen: Bloody PowerPoint

I suppose I’d been assuming it would be Michael Montserrat himself. Instead, the door behind the table of vials opens and a large male vampire strides in. As soon as he begins to speak, I recognise his voice: it’s Ursus, the one who came after me at The Steam Team. He doesn’t waste time smiling.

‘Good morning. The Family Montserrat is pleased to welcome you into our midst.’ He gazes around at all of us expectantly as if waiting for a reply. When there is none, he continues. ‘Before the turning takes place, there are some matters that need to be addressed. I understand that you are all nervous and keen to start as soon as possible.’ His mouth widens as if he’s going through the motions of smiling but not quite managing it. ‘However, it is vital you fully understand what is about to happen.’

He gestures to some invisible force and a projector screen drops down. A part of me squirms. Death by PowerPoint.

As soon as the screen clicks into place, an image appears of the Montserrat logo. It’s a twisting, almost Celtic, design and no doubt familiar to everyone in the room. I think it’s supposed to suggest eternity and strength; it’s unfortunate that these days it looks more like a tattoo you can get in any high street shop. In fact, I’m fairly certain I’ve seen it for sale as a temporary skin transfer. But I suppose that pretending to be a vampire for a day is easier than actually becoming one.

Ursus clicks on a handheld device and the next slide appears, filled with dense, tightly packed writing which he reads aloud. Despite the style of his delivery, I am rapt.

‘You are the lucky few,’ he intones. ‘Thousands apply to join us and few are accepted. It is not an easy road to take. From the moment you accept the Montserrat blood into your veins, you are beholden to us. Loyalty is non-negotiable and we do not tolerate anything other than obedience.’ Given the current circumstances, that’s obviously not as true as he’d like us to believe. ‘You will leave your human lives behind. Many of you will never see your biological families again. Some of you may not survive the turning process.’

Out of the corner of my eye, I see one of the more serious looking recruits raise a nervous hand. ‘How likely is it that we won’t make it?’

Ursus moves onto the next slide. Clearly this question has been anticipated. ‘Between eight and fourteen percent of new recruits do not make the turn. The reason why is unknown. We have studied our intakes for many years and there is no pattern. However, expect that at least one of you will not see what tomorrow brings.’

There’s a sudden nervous shifting. People start eyeing each other up. Who will be the statistical death? Several turn to the girl in the wheelchair with knowing glances. I feel my insides tighten. Ursus’s words remind me that I could well be making the worst decision of my life. I think of the alternative: of running away and hiding so I can be tracked down and killed by the rogue vampires while their buddies take over the world. It doesn’t make me feel a whole lot better.

The next slide appears. ‘There are numerous myths you need to be aware of,’ Ursus continues. ‘To begin with, vampires are not immortal.’ I already know this and I’m sure the rest of the recruits do too. Everyone, however, leans forward slightly. ‘Your lives will be lengthened to an expectancy of around three hundred years. You will not be invincible, although you will be freed from the majority of illness that strikes other species. Accidental death and,’ he pauses, ‘death by design do still occur occasionally. Predators remain.’

Another hand goes up. ‘What about sunlight?’

‘You will be vulnerable to the sun’s glare between the first twenty to sixty months from the date of your turning. Everyone is different. After that, while you will not enjoy beach holidays, you will be able to venture outside without feeling too uncomfortable. Holy water and crucifixes will not hurt you. By becoming one of us, you are neither relinquishing your soul nor your faith.’ Next to me, Peter sits a little straighter. ‘A stake through the heart will pretty much finish you off, as will fire or beheading. And for the first year, you will find your body remains as weak as a human’s.’ Ursus attempts another smile. It still doesn’t work. ‘However, the concept of threshold boundaries holds true – unless the property is a business or uninhabited.’

I’d often wondered about that. It’s reassuring to know that a vampire cannot just break into your house and drink from you.

‘By joining our Family, you are subject to our laws. Let me stress that murder is verboten. You will drink blood but you will not drain, and for the first few years you will only drink from pre-assigned volunteers.’ I repress a shudder at the thought the many vampettes exposing their jugulars for our delectation. ‘There are, of course, other crimes. If you are found guilty of any crime, the response is usually immediate execution.’

‘So you can be killed even if you just steal something?’ someone blurts out.

Ursus turns cold eyes on the speaker. ‘Are you planning to steal something?’

‘I… I…’ she stutters. ‘No, of course not but…’

‘Well, then, what’s the problem?’ He carries on as if she’s not spoken. ‘Until your solar weakness is diminished, you will remain here. We will train you and help you find your new path in life, whatever that may be. Once you leave here, you will be required to attend meetings and fulfil duties as determined by the senior members of the Family. You will also pay a monthly tithe. Contact with other Families is not forbidden but we do require you to inform us of any exchanges that occur, no matter how innocuous. These are issues that we will explain in more detail before you venture back into the real world.’

Clipboard Lady appears and hands Ursus a bundle of papers. He holds it up. ‘Here are the contracts. You will sign in your own blood then, when you feel ready, collect a vial and exit through this door.’ He points to the one behind him. ‘The Montserrat blood will be injected directly into your system, after which it will take up to three days for the turning process to complete. You may experience some discomfort during this time.’

I push breath out through the gap in my teeth. Whenever a doctor tells you there will be some ‘discomfort’, it usually means there will be considerable pain. With seventy-two hours to turn, I dread to think what it will really be like.

‘You may still change your mind. We simply ask that you remain in this room and sign a binding non-disclosure agreement about what you have experienced thus far.’

I force myself not to look at the roped door. The distrustful human part of me finds it hard to believe that we can simply leave after all of this.

Ursus turns to go but there’s one more person with a question. It’s the blonde.

‘So when do we meet Michael?’ she asks.

The vampire doesn’t bother to turn around. ‘You will address him as my Lord.’ He disappears out the door along with Clipboard Lady without answering the question.

Once he’s gone we sit in silence for several moments. Then someone stands up and walks over to where Ursus left the contracts. It’s one of the muscle-bound recruits. He twists his neck round and flashes us all a confident smile. I dislike him already. Everyone watches him, holding their breath. He picks up a small silver knife, polished so skilfully that I could probably do my make-up in its reflection, and pricks his index finger. A bead of blood appears. He flips through to the contract’s final page without bothering to read the words and presses the tip of his finger down. Nothing happens – no thunderclap or applause. He scoops up a vial, takes the contract and follows the vampires.

As soon as he disappears, it’s like a spell is broken. People move to the table, forming an orderly queue. Even in a situation like this, the British sense of propriety is in place and there’s no jostling or shoving for position. I watch as, one by one, they follow the protocol then disappear out the door. A few people grimace in pain when they prick their fingers and the blonde lets out a small squeal. I notice that everyone else has the sense to take the time to read the pages first. Despite this, it’s not long until the only people left are Peter and I and the girl in the wheelchair.

‘I’m scared,’ she whispers.

I give her a quick smile. ‘Me too,’ I admit.

Peter just wrings his hands.

‘What’s your name?’ I ask.

‘Nicky.’ She takes a deep breath then wheels herself up to the table. I’m tempted to ask if she needs any help but she may find that insulting, so I wait instead. She has no problems reaching the contract and the blade.

‘I hope don’t catch any nasty disease off this,’ she jokes half-heartedly. Her hand shakes visibly as she cuts. She, like Mr Muscles, doesn’t read the contract before adding her blood to the final page. I put his lack of care down to machismo; I wonder what her reason is.

She struggles with the door, so I jump up and open it. She gives me a grateful smile, then she’s gone.

I look at Peter. ‘Are you okay?’

He licks his lips nervously. His gaze flicks between me and the remaining two vials, then back to the door through which we entered.

‘I’m not sure.’

‘You can change your mind. It’s not too late.’

‘Do you think the non-disclosure agreement really works?’

I know what he’s asking. ‘I’m pretty sure that they won’t kill you if you change your mind.’ I hope I’m right.

He stands up. ‘No,’ he says finally. ‘I’m going to do this.’ He signs and then I’m left alone.

The silence in the room is oppressive. I look at the table and away again. I’m not usually an indecisive person but signing my life away is a whole different kettle of fish to the sort of decisions I normally make. Deep down, I know what I’m going to do; my fate was sealed the second I walked out of that police station with Montserrat. But I want to feel as if I really am in charge of my own fate. I realise that reading the contract isn’t going to make any difference so, like Nicky and the gym fiend, I flip to the last page. There’s a dotted line and nothing more.

I pick up the knife. It’s surprisingly heavy for such a small thing. It’s also remarkably clean considering it has already sliced the fingers of twelve people. I take a deep breath. I’m glad I waited to the end so that I’m doing this without an audience. I touch the knife tip to my finger and watch the bright red blood well up. Then I press down and sign, sealing my fate. I take the one remaining vial and am about to open the door when my gaze falls on Peter’s crucifix. It’s lying forlornly on his empty chair. I scoop it up then shove it in my pocket, just in case.

It’s time to go.

***

I find myself in a small ante-room with several doors. Clipboard Lady raises her eyebrows at me and points to the right. I follow her directions and walk through. There, waiting, is Michael Montserrat. Unfortunately he’s fully dressed this time, although the well-tailored suit does nothing to hide his toned physique.

‘I wasn’t sure if you were going to go through with it,’ he says, his dark eyes boring into me.

I shrug. ‘I wasn’t in a rush, my Lord. I thought I’d take my time.’

He scowls. ‘You don’t have to call me that.’

‘I’m going to be a good girl and do as I’m told.’

He laughs. ‘Really?’

I grin. If you make people think you’re toeing the line and following the rules, it’s amazing what you can get away with. ‘Of course,’ I tell him.

He obviously doubts me but lets it go for now. I hand him the vial and roll up my sleeve. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

He takes it but, rather than pulling out a syringe as I’d expected, he places the blood to the side. ‘We’re going to do this the old-fashioned way, Bo. You’ll have a better chance of beating the bloodlust and becoming Sanguine that way.’

My mouth dries. ‘Uh, the old-fashioned way?’

‘I’m sure you’ve seen Nosferatu.’

‘You’re going to bite me?’ My voice is high-pitched and squeaky.

He looks amused. ‘Yes. And then you’re going to drink a pint of my finest.’ He unbuttons the cuff of his left sleeve and rolls it up, exposing his tanned forearm.

I back away, my fingers scrabbling for the doorknob. ‘No! I can’t drink. If I drink I won’t become Sanguine,’ I protest.

He smiles at me genially although I can’t help likening him to a cat gazing at the mouse it’s about to pounce on. ‘Human blood, Bo,’ he says softly. ‘You can’t drink human blood. Mine is vampire through and through. It won’t provide you with sustenance after you’ve turned but you will need it to complete the process. It’s the same as injecting.’

‘Why doesn’t everyone turn this way then?’

Montserrat looks momentarily pained. ‘This isn’t always the easiest process. It’s very intimate. It can create feelings of possession in the vampire doing the turning.’

I don’t like the sound of this at all. ‘And the turnee?’

‘Sometimes they feel obligated towards their sire and can become overly attached to them.’ He takes a step towards me and holds out his hand. ‘But as I’m the Family Head, you’re going to do what I say regardless. Remember you just said that you’re going to do as you’re told.’

I stare at his outstretched hand. ‘If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll pass.’

He shrugs. ‘It’s up to you. But if you really mean to avoid drinking blood so you can become Sanguine, this is your best shot. The injection, which is made up of mixed blood from all the senior Family members, hits your bloodstream so directly and quickly that it can be almost impossible to fight the feelings that come afterwards.’

‘That’s even if I survive this,’ I grunt.

‘Somehow I think you’re too stubborn to allow yourself not to make it through the turn. But,’ his face remains impassive, ‘ultimately it is your choice. If you’d rather have the jab, I can have someone come in here to administer it properly.’

My legs feel like jelly. Neither option is particularly desirable. The last thing I want is to feel ‘overly attached’ to him. But if I can sweat through the lunar month and become Sanguine…

‘Fine,’ I say. ‘Lets it do it your way.’

Montserrat inclines his head towards me. ‘As you wish.’ He extends his hand a little further. When I don’t move, exasperation fills his voice. ‘Bo, you’re going to need to come a bit closer.’

Shakily, I step forward. He smiles down at me. ‘You really are very short,’ he comments.

I scowl. ‘So?’

‘So nothing.’ His tone is mild. ‘If I can stoop down to kiss you, then I can certainly make it to your throat.’

‘Kiss?’ I half shriek.

‘I just meant that I can still do this, Bo. Nothing else.’ His eyes gleam. ‘Although I will bite even if you don’t.’

My entire spine is rigid with wariness, despite his amused reference to my faux-pas in his bedroom. So much for thinking that he’d not registered what I’d said.

He sighs. ‘It’ll go easier if you turn around.’ When I don’t immediately respond, he reaches out and brushes his thumb across my cheek. I flinch. ‘You can trust me.’

‘Said the spider to the fly,’ I mutter. However, I turn around so my back is to him.

I feel him step towards me until his entire body is warm against mine. He bends down until his breath is hot against the flushed skin of my neck. I feel his fingers gently pull away my hair and I stiffen involuntarily.

‘Relax,’ he whispers softly in my ear. Then his teeth graze my throat.

His tongue darts out and licks and I stop breathing. I can sense him shifting his weight behind me, one hand remaining at my head, fingers entwined in my hair to keep it back, and his other resting lightly on my hip. I feel more nervous than I’ve ever felt in my life.

‘Last chance to change your mind,’ he says.

‘I can’t,’ I begin, ‘I’ve already signed…’

I gasp as there’s a sharp nip of pain. His teeth sink into my flesh and I’m dimly aware of a rippling shudder running through his body behind me before a warm glow starts in my throat and begins to spread down my veins as he sucks. I lean against him, closing my eyes, while his fingers tighten their grip. My heart is thudding so loudly in my ears that I’m amazed Montserrat’s not deafened by it. There’s pain, but it’s not unpleasant and I can feel my toes tightening in an almost enjoyable response. I moan lightly.

His hand leaves my hip and moves upwards across my ribcage until it rests just under my breasts and pulls me tighter against him. Sparking pinpricks of light dance across my shuttered lids and I involuntarily reach behind and grab his body, my hands now gripping his hips. He makes an odd sound, almost like a purr and I can feel his fangs pushing deeper into my throat. My breath quickens.

Abruptly, and without warning, his mouth leaves my skin although his hard body remains in place. He removes his hand from my hair, letting it drop back into place, then shifts his arm upwards. He’s breathing as hard as I am.

‘Open your eyes, Bo.’

I do as he instructs. His exposed arm is now in front of my face and there’s a single trickle of blood travelling down his nut-brown skin from a small wound in his wrist.

‘You need to drink,’ he says, moving his wrist towards my hungry mouth.

Weakness attacks my legs and I’m sure I’d fall if he weren’t holding me. I clutch his arm and pull it closer, then begin to suck. Salty blood fills my mouth and my gag reflex automatically kicks in. I choke but he murmurs something in my ear and I relax and swallow the hot sticky liquid, mouthful after mouthful.

Just when I think I can’t take any more, he pulls his arm away and twists my body round. I look up into his dark, glittering eyes. His face is flushed red and he is staring at me. Then I’m overcome by a wave of dizziness and everything fades to black.

Chapter Sixteen: Truth and Lies

When I finally come to, I’m lying on a single bed in a tiny room. I try to sit up but the effort is too much. Nausea fills my stomach and I’m covered in sweat. At least I’m alone. I twist onto my side, panting with effort. There’s a small wooden table next to me with a jug and an empty glass.

My mouth is painfully dry and my lips are cracked and sore. Just how long have I been here? I reach for the jug but it’s just out of my grasp. Bugger – I’m going to have sit up after all. I curl my fingers round the mattress and pull my feet up, take a deep breath and push myself up onto my elbows. The room spins.

Gritting my teeth, I force myself upwards until I’m almost sitting. I turn my head too sharply and my stomach lurches in response. I breathe in through my mouth, until I manage to regain a little equilibrium. I’m still wearing the clothes I arrived in, although my leather jacket is missing. My arms are bare and covered in goosebumps. I rub them up and down and try to reach the jug again.

I misjudge the distance and fall onto the cold tiled floor. I grimace in pain, cursing my stupidity. The effort to get back up seems too great so I lie there, cold, shaking and very much in need of a drink.

The door to the room opens. From the angle I’m lying at, all I can see is a pair of shoes so shiny that I can see my reflection in them. There’s a loud tut, then arms reach down and pull me back onto the bed. I hear the sound of liquid being poured and a glass is placed in my hands. I raise it gingerly to my lips, sniffing first. Fortunately it is just water. I sip it carefully then look up. My benefactor is Ursus. He’s standing there, watching me with his arms crossed.

‘So,’ he says, ‘you made it then.’

‘I’m a vampire?’ I croak, with equal measures of dismay and relief.

He laughs humourlessly. ‘Not yet. For that you need to drink.’ He gestures down at the cup in my hand. ‘And I don’t mean water.’

‘Blood.’

He nods. ‘Would you like some now?’

Hell no. I shake my head then wish I hadn’t as the room starts to spin again. Ursus raises his eyebrows but doesn’t say anything.

‘Did everyone make it?’ I ask.

He shakes his head. ‘We lost three.’ For a second, his impassive mask wavers. I realise he’s angry about it and he goes up in my estimation. I feel a flicker of sorrow at the deaths but I quash it. Whoever they were, they knew what they were getting themselves in to. But I can’t help hoping that nervy Peter Allen wasn’t one of them.

Ursus points to the door. ‘When you feel ready, you’ll find a shower room two doors to the right. There is clean clothing. Let me know if you change your mind about the blood.’

‘Thanks, Ursus.’

He stares at me and I kick myself mentally. I know his name from overhearing him at The Steam Team; he has never introduced himself to any of us. He must know who I am and be wondering how I went from running from the vampires to joining them. I’m too shaky to think of any good answers right now, so I’m grateful that he does nothing more than purse his lips before opening the door.

I watch him go. Clearly, he is unaware of my real reasons for being here. I’m glad. It seems obvious that there are traitors at the heart of the Montserrat Family. It’s good that Michael doesn’t trust anyone; that will make my job easier if any of the culprits turn out to be men he thought he was close to.

I touch my neck where Michael drank but there’s nothing there – not even a scab. It throbs under my fingers when I press down, although I can’t be sure whether that’s a real sensation or I’m imagining it. I suppose my new healing powers will prevent any awkward questions about why I have a fresh wound when I was meant to be injected. To test my theory about healing, I reach up with both hands and prod at my nose. It doesn’t hurt. Maybe there are benefits to being a vampire after all.

I stand up when I feel strong enough. I wobble slightly but maintain my balance. I feel grubby; a hot shower is definitely in order to make me feel more human again. So to speak. I slowly edge my way towards the door. The exertion is draining and seems to take an age but I finally reach the shower room.

It’s a large communal area with cubicles lining either side. On one wall there are hooks, each one holding a midnight-blue jumpsuit. I count ten in total, meaning that, with three already dead and gone, none of my fellow recruits have yet emerged from their own private hell of turning.

When I lean forward, I see names printed on small labels above each hook. Both Nicky’s and Peter’s names are there and I exhale in relief that they are among the survivors. Without knowing anyone else’s name, it’s difficult to tell who else has made it. I’m fairly certain that two of the men and one woman are the unlucky ones though. Three seems a high number considering Ursus’s statistics. I wonder if more people would have backed out had they known in advance how many would die.

I pull off the jumpsuit under my own name and frown. It’s certainly not an outfit I’d have chosen for myself but I suppose it’ll have to do. I take it and my tired body into the nearest shower and strip off. There’s already a towel hanging on the back of the door.

The water is hot, scalding my skin. I grab the bar of soap and scrub myself from head to toe before washing my hair. Then I simply stand immobile under the torrent of water for a long time.

When I finally emerge from the cubicle, another shower is running. I’m curious to see who else has made it so I check the names on the hooks. The missing jumpsuit belongs to someone called Matt. If he spends as long in the shower as I did, I’ll be waiting for quite some time to see who he is, so I decide to leave him to it.

As I step into the corridor, I jump in surprise. Clipboard Lady is standing there. She points to a basket on the floor; I’m sure it wasn’t there when I went into the shower room.

‘You can leave your old clothes in there,’ she tells me.

I hug my clothes to my chest. I don’t want to give them up. Right now, they’re all I have to remind me of who I really am. Her eyes narrow, however, and I know I can’t appear too eager to hang on to my old life so I drop them in.

‘You’ve been fast.’

I stare at her, not sure what she means. She explains, ‘Turning. You’ve recovered in record time. I think only Lord Montserrat himself managed to wake up more quickly.’

It’s probably because I went through the turning process by being bitten rather than injected but I can’t help feeling a flicker of pride.

‘I’m not the only one,’ I tell her. ‘Someone called Matt is in there too.’

She nods. ‘Yes. He’s been fast too.’

I wait for her to pass further comment but she doesn’t say anything, instead just points down the hall. Rather than following her directions, I get to work.

‘I didn’t catch your name,’ I say.

She appraises me coolly. ‘Ria.’

I smile at her. ‘It’s good to meet you. I’m Bo.’

‘I know who you are.’ She doesn’t return my smile. ‘Why are you here?’

I try to ignore the flash of panic and keep my amiable expression firmly in place. ‘Why does anyone become a vampire? Long life, ready-made family, lots of perks. It’s win-win.’

She leans towards me. ‘Lord Montserrat put me in one of the teams that looked for you after the daemon was attacked. You looked like someone who was trying to avoid having anything to do with us.’

‘I thought you were trying to kill me.’

‘Who says we weren’t?’ Her voice is low; there’s definitely a veiled threat in it.

‘I was being framed for the daemon.’ I deliberately don’t say whether O’Shea is dead or alive; I have no way of knowing what information Michael Montserrat has disseminated to his followers. ‘Everyone I worked with was slaughtered.’

‘By a vampire. And yet you choose to become a vampire yourself.’

I stare her down. ‘I realised that if I was going to survive, I needed to join you. Not fight you. Michael, I mean Lord Montserrat, assured me that the Montserrat Family had nothing to do with any of that. The boss I loved is dead. I’ve got no one else.’ I shrug. ‘I had no reason left not to join.’

Her pupils narrow to slits. ‘Revenge is a good reason.’

I have to tread very carefully. ‘Oh, I’m angry,’ I say, with conviction. ‘But revenge is a tricky thing. Without knowing for sure who is ultimately,’ I stress this last word, ‘responsible, revenge becomes meaningless. I hope that by joining the power of the Montserrat Family, I can prevent other innocents from being hurt.’

I pray that my answer is ambiguous enough for the traitors to believe I’d be willing to join their side. Theoretically, if they believe I can be persuaded into thinking that Michael Montserrat and the Montserrat clan are responsible for destroying my life, then I might be approached. It’s a long shot but if the traitors are desperate enough it may just work. I’ll need to ensure that if I come face to face with Michael in a public setting, I show enough dislike of him to be believed. Considering what he told me about the side effects of my turning, I’m hoping that’s not going to be too difficult.

Ria glares at me. ‘You think you can stop innocents from being hurt? What do you think the rest of us have been doing?’

I’ve clearly hit a nerve. I’m not surprised. If she’s got no part in the new Family, then she’ll feel threatened by the idea that vampires are going around willy-nilly and killing whoever gets in their way. I don’t get a chance to respond, however, as the shower room door opens and we both turn round.

Matt is the muscle-bound man who stepped up first to the table. He appears surprised and not particularly pleased to see me. ‘You recovered first?’

I try not to grin at the incredulity in his voice. I need to ingratiate myself with everyone, not piss them off, so I shrug and look baffled. ‘Yeah, I don’t know how that happened. I feel like shit though. Maybe I should have slept for a bit longer.’

He seems slightly mollified and flexes his muscles. It must be some kind of unconscious reaction. ‘I feel fine,’ he informs me.

‘I wish I was that lucky.’ Ria is looking at me suspiciously so I smile at her. ‘I’ve got nothing to hide. I just want to fit in and make a new life for myself.’

She makes a noncommittal noise but I feel that I’ve pacified her – for now. I drop my head just a touch to appear subordinate to the pair of them and leave them to it. Keeping this front up is going to be bloody hard.

***

A few hours later, there are four of us. Matt and I spend the first hour sitting on comfortable sofas, shooting the breeze. Well, to be more accurate, he talks and I listen. He is full of bravado and wastes no time in telling me that he is going to ‘shake things up in the vampire world’. He asserts that he’ll be able to hold off drinking blood until the final day of the lunar month. I wish I shared his optimism.

We are joined by Nell, the woman who was so affronted by the idea that she might be summarily executed for stealing and, surprise, surprise, a now upright and walking Nicky. Her steps as she enters the room are shaky, but she gives us a tremulous smile and refuses to sit down. Half an hour later she is still standing, an expression of wonder on her face every time she glances down at her legs. I feel happy for her.

The door opens again and Ria comes in. She’s carrying a tray of crystal goblets filled with what looks like blood. I swallow hard, my eyes tracking her every movement as she places the tray down in front of us.

‘You are all welcome to partake,’ she says, gesturing to the glasses.

No one moves. A tiny, knowing smile curves at the edges of her mouth. ‘In that case, Lord Montserrat is ready for you.’

‘What about the others?’ Nell asks.

‘They’re not ready yet. I imagine they will join you tomorrow.’ She eyes us all. ‘Turning is harder for some than others. Remember, the process is not fully complete until you take your first drink.’

We all know she’s not referring to water. She walks out, holding open the door, so we trail after her. Matt is in the lead, then Nell, Nicky and me. We go back down the corridor, past the bedrooms and out to a vast sweeping staircase that even Scarlett O’Hara would be proud of. There’s a huge ornate mirror at the top. Matt stops and glances at his reflection.

‘I can still see myself!’ he exclaims. He touches his hair then, satisfied that it’s looking good, opens his mouth and examines his teeth.

Ria rolls her eyes and I grin at her. We share an amused glance before she remembers that she’s supposed to be suspicious of me. ‘We wouldn’t always look this good if we didn’t have reflections,’ she says, brusquely.

I realise she’s not boasting, merely telling the truth. And she’s right. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a vampire who’s not perfectly turned out. My thoughts turn involuntarily to Michael and his elegant suit. Then I force him out of my mind. I run my tongue over my teeth and turn back to Ria. ‘Our fangs…’

‘Will start growing after your first drink.’

Matt continues to admire his reflection. ‘Mine are going to be huge.’

Nell nudges me. ‘You know what they say – big fangs, small…’ Matt frowns at her in the mirror ‘…feet,’ she finishes.

I smirk.

We follow Ria down the staircase and into an atrium. I realise with a jolt that it’s night time. Stars twinkle at us from far above the glass roof.

‘It’s dark,’ Nicky whispers.

Ria hears her. ‘Until you develop immunity to the sun, you will remain fully nocturnal. It’s safer that way.’

‘Why have this at all then?’ asks Nell. ‘Wouldn’t it better to avoid sunlight altogether?’

A familiar voice speaks. It’s Michael. ‘You’ll find that when you get used to the sun’s rays, you will crave them and seek them out whenever they are not too strong to hurt you. And we’re not taking any chances as you are all so new; these glass panes are specially treated to filter out any ultra-violet light.’

We all gape at him. He’s a well-known figure and it’s clear that he’s immediately recognised. His gaze flicks briefly to me and my stomach squirms while Matt rushes forward and takes his hand, starting to pump it enthusiastically.

‘It’s an honour, sir. My Lord.’

‘You’re Matthew Baldwick. Your military experience will serve us well.’

Matt beams proudly. I should have guessed from his bearing that he was ex-army.

Michael turns to the rest of us. ‘Nell Singer.’

She flushes. I watch her, interested. I wonder whether she’ll still be able to blush once she’s a fully-fledged vampire. Then I remember the red tinge on Michael’s skin after I drank from him. I guess she will.

‘Nicola Temerlaine.’ Compassion lights his eyes as he looks at her. I file it away for future reference.

Nicky grins, her cheeks dimpling and making her look even younger than she probably is. He looks at me, although this time his face remains bland.

‘Bo Blackman.’

I dip into a curtsey. ‘My Lord.’ Although my words are respectful, I inject them with the faintest hint of disdain. I hope he understands why. Something flashes across his eyes, but otherwise he doesn’t react.

‘From now on, you will no longer use those surnames. You are part of the Family Montserrat and will be addressed as such.’ He smiles. ‘Although you will lose your name, you will gain much, much more.’

I try not to cringe. All I hope to gain is the status of Sanguine and the names of the traitors who’ve ruined my life.

‘We were told we were going to be trained, my Lord,’ Matt interjects eagerly. ‘When does that happen? What do we learn?’

‘That will begin tomorrow,’ Michael responds smoothly, ‘once your companions have also recovered. Your schedule is light for the first month until the transition period is complete. For now, I suggest you explore the house and the grounds.’

‘We can go outside?’ exclaims Nicky.

He smiles. ‘Only the garden. But, yes, some fresh air will probably do you good. You may also enter any room, apart from those tied at the handle with a red ribbon.’

I raise my eyebrows. It’s like the dorm of an American university.

‘We are a close-knit Family,’ he adds, ‘but personal privacy is still important.’ He looks at me as he says this. I try hard not to look away.

Michael draws Ria to the side. A frisson of emotion runs through me as I watch his head bend towards hers and I realise that what I’m feeling is jealousy. Bugger it – my turning really has produced the side effects he promised.

‘Come on,’ I mutter to the others, ‘they’re obviously busy. Let’s explore.’

Matt snorts. ‘I’m going off on my own. The last thing I need to listen to right now is a bunch of chicks talking.’ He walks off.

I gaze after his retreating back. I’ll need to do some more ego-stroking to get him to trust me. No matter; there’ll be plenty of time to work on that later.

‘Ladies?’ I say, glancing at the other two.

They both grin.

‘Let’s do it,’ Nell says, taking my arm in hers.

Nicky darts round to my other side and does the same. ‘Yes,’ she says, her eyes shining. ‘Let’s.’

***

Both Nell and Nicky’s excitement buzzes until I feel almost the same as them. Almost. We wander around the enormous house, gawping at the artwork, stained glass and intricately carved mahogany woodwork. We’re careful to avoid the rooms with red ribbons tied around the doors, though I wonder how long it will be before I’m sneaking into those closed-off areas on my real quest. Still, I can feel a bond forming between us; we may have been thrown together by chance, but there’s a strong sense of kinship as we explore together.

We venture down one long hallway, the walls of which are covered in portraits. I recognise several of the Montserrat Family Heads from years past. It’s apparent that the gender imbalance which affects the human corporate world is alive and kicking in the vampire world too. Apart from the Bancroft Family the other Heads are male and it appears there’s never been a female Montserrat Head.

When we reach the end of the corridor, we come to Michael’s portrait. The artist has done a fine job of capturing his enigmatic dark eyes and strong jawline. There’s just the faintest suggestion of the dimple in his cheek. I look at it, trying to ignore the light shiver that runs deliciously down my spine.

Nell comes up to my side. ‘He’s good-looking, isn’t he?’

I turn away, embarrassed to be caught admiring his likeness. ‘If you like that sort of thing.’

‘Damn, I do,’ Nell says. ‘I doubt he’d be interested in little old me, though.’

I force myself to smile. ‘Never say never.’

‘Guys! Over here!’ Nicky calls out.

I breathe a silent sigh of relief at her intervention. ‘What is it?’

‘The garden.’ Her chest is moving rapidly up and down. ‘It’s been a long time since I’ve walked anywhere outside.’

Sympathy fills me. ‘What happened?’

‘I was very young so I’m not entirely sure. I remember some things. My mother screaming. My father…’ her voice trails off.

‘You were attacked?’

‘Yes.’ She straightens her shoulders and stares out at the dark trees and bushes. ‘That part of my life is over now. I have a new family now.’

I squeeze her arm. ‘And new legs.’

She grins at me. ‘Then I’d damn well better make use of them, hadn’t I?’ She opens the door and steps outside, with both Nell and me following close behind.

I suck in the fresh night air. It feels good to be outside. It reminds me that I’m not dead. I’m not a vampire – not quite and not yet. I watch Nicky dancing forward and smile. Perhaps there’s hope for us all.

We follow the twisting paths. I can’t help marvelling at the size of the garden; considering we’re in central London, this is quite some space. It’s very well kept; patently there’s a Montserrat gardener or two in the mix. The three of us stop and breathe in the heady smell from a rosebush in full bloom.

‘I love roses.’ Nicky sighs, sinking down cross-legged.

Nell joins her, stroking one of the petals. ‘Beauty and danger all at the same time,’ she agrees. ‘You’ve got to admire nature.’

‘Yup. Every rose has its thorn.’

Nell and I glance at each other and burst into song. Nicky looks baffled. ‘What did I say?’

‘It’s an old rock song,’ Nell laughs. ‘You’re probably too young to know it.’

‘I’ll have to find it and listen to it.’ Suddenly she looks worried. ‘Do you think vampires listen to music?’

‘They must, surely.’

‘I dunno. For some reason I imagine them all sitting around listening to piano concertos.’

We giggle like a bunch of school girls.

‘I still can’t believe it’s true,’ Nell says. ‘That I’ve been recruited. I hoped I would be, but you hear such stories. I thought all the recruits would be like Matt.’

‘There must be a reason why you were selected,’ I say.

‘I’m an artist,’ she replies, although an inexplicable shadow crosses her eyes. ‘Not a scientist or a soldier or anything useful at all.’

I feel an absurd sense of warmth towards the Montserrat Family for recognising art as meritorious. ‘Art feeds our souls,’ I tell her. ‘I guess even vampires appreciate that.’

‘What about you, Bo?’

I have to tell the truth here. ‘I’m a private investigator.’ I pick at the grass. ‘I’ve only been doing it for a couple of years and I’m not particularly good. Maybe with a bit of direction from the Montserrat investigators, I can get better.’

‘I’m sure you’re better than you think,’ Nicky says loyally. ‘Otherwise they wouldn’t have recruited you.’

They recruited me because I have too much invested in this whole mess, I think, not because I’m particularly skilled at my job. Aloud I ask, ‘And you?’

‘I fix things. Clocks, music boxes, toys, that kind of thing. I’m not much good with modern things, but if it’s old-fashioned and has been around for a few decades then I’m a dab hand.’

‘I guess we’re all going to serve a purpose,’ I say slowly. I think about the vampires who were killed because they went to see O’Shea. Perhaps their purpose in serving the Montserrat Family would be a good place to start. I lean back, knotting my hands behind my head, and gaze up at the sliver of moon. I have limited time to do all this and I’m itching to get started.

‘I’m pretty exhausted,’ I tell the others. ‘I might head in and get some kip.’

‘You were the first of us to turn, Bo. You’ve been up for longer.’

‘Either that or I’m getting old,’ I joke, then stand up and dust off my jumpsuit. ‘I’ll see you two tomorrow.’

They grin at me and wave. Feeling like I’ve achieved something, even if it’s only getting a couple of the other new recruits to trust me, I head back inside, hoping I don’t get lost along the way. Navigating the streets of London seems easier than finding my way around the vast maze of the Montserrat house.

I get lucky and find the staircase we descended with Ria. I go up, thinking I’ll catch an hour’s sleep before looking for Michael to give me some useful intelligence on the Montserrat vampires. I pause, however, at the door to the small living room area where we’d congregated and push it open. The four crystal goblets still stand where Ria left them. One is empty.

I pick it up. There’s not a single drop of blood left in it, not even at the very bottom. Matt’s self-control clearly isn’t as good as he thought it was. I place it carefully back down and pick up another one by the stem, raising it up to my nose. I’d have thought that after all the blood I’ve been subjected to recently, the smell would make me retch. But the vampire is taking root inside me because my stomach actually grumbles. I return the glass hastily to the tray and leave.

Chapter Seventeen: Showers and Heels

As soon as I get back to my room, I know that something is different. I can’t tell whether it’s a smell in the air or just a spooky sixth sense that I’ve now gained from the turning, but I know that things are not the way I left them. It doesn’t take long to work out what. Underneath the pillow there’s a laptop. Since I’m fairly certain that even in my weakened state I’d have noticed if I’d been sleeping on its hard shell, I assume that Michael left it very recently.

I open it up, waiting for it to whirr into action. The cursor blinks at me and I’m asked for a password. I lean back, frowning. Whoever left it, whether it was Michael or someone else, expected that I would know what to put in. I think for a minute, then type sanguine. Satisfyingly, the computer immediately accepts it and I’m through to the main desktop.

‘Take that, computer,’ I tell it, with just the slightest tinge of gloating.

There’s almost nothing there, not even wifi access so that I can sneak a look at what’s happening in the world. All that I can see is a folder marked Personnel and a desktop of picture of O’Shea grinning out at me. I roll my eyes at the virtual daemon and click on the folder.

Scanning through the contents, it’s clear that Michael Montserrat has come good. There are 497 names, accounting for all the members of the Montserrat Family, and one section marked with an X which I take to be those vampires who are no longer with us. I scroll down and, although I don’t recognise most of the names, I can’t stop myself from halting at Michael’s to open his file. It reveals a single sentence.

Naughty, naughty, Bo. I don’t think you’ll find your traitor here. M x

I smile. Clearly, I’m just too predictable. I close down his file and move on, deciding to start with the people I’ve already met. It’s easier to think about those I know than those I don’t. I find Ria’s name and open up the file.

Ria, who was originally known as Maria Temple, has been with the Montserrat Family for almost forty years. She was recruited back in the seventies after suffering a horrific car crash. I feel a brief shiver as I read that she’d been drink driving. What was not widely revealed at the time was that she was the then Prime Minister’s secretary. I think of her clipboard and brisk efficiency. Yeah, it fits. She had a son who was told she had passed away and who, by all accounts, is now close to retirement himself. She seems to have risen through the Montserrat ranks remarkably quickly but I can’t find anything to suggest that she would be involved in all this. Lucy – or Charity, as I keep reminding myself to think of her – made it very clear that this new Family Head was female. It fits with what I know of O’Shea’s enhancement spell as it only works on males. However, despite her apparent wariness towards me, I can’t find any shred of evidence or a gut feeling that points towards Ria. I create a new folder and mark it ‘Unlikely’ before dropping in her file.

I pull out all of the other files pertaining to Montserrat’s female vampires and place them in a separate folder too. Other than Nicky and Nell, I’ve not met any other female vampires, so at this point I have nothing more to go on than the hard facts detailed by the Montserrat record keepers. There are fewer than two hundred and I wonder why fewer women than men choose to turn bloodguzzler. I’ll have to ask Michael next time I get the chance.

I pick a new file at random and start reading. Alison Jones, recruited in 1892, lives off site in the Lake District. Goodness only knows what use she is there. She apparently killed her husband after years of domestic abuse. I try another: Ursula Hauptman, 1921, works for a famous celebrity publicist. She was a suffragette who used arson to draw attention to her cause. Good grief. Linda Tomkinson, 1753, journalist. Back in her day, she worked as a back-street abortionist and many of her patients died as a result of her ministrations. I shudder. An inordinate number of these vampires seem to have done bad things in their former lives. I guess the human race has more capacity for, if not black evil, then at least several shades of grey. After skimming through eighteen files, I massage my temples. Even if I knew what I was looking for, I doubt whether I’ll find it.

I give up on the women and switch to the X files. The ache in my shoulders and the persistent throb in my forehead stop me smiling at the name. I open the most recent additions; these have to be related to O’Shea and his spell, which means they have to be linked somehow to the mysterious killer queen.

Five of the vampires are missing, presumed but not confirmed dead. Either that or they’re holed up somewhere plotting against the other Families. The other eight have been discovered. The first few bodies were mutilated to avoid identification but the Montserrat labs are top-notch and it didn’t take the boffins long to find out who they really were – even the first two, who were virtually cremated. Whoever was involved in their deaths must have realised this, because the more recent ones have simply been dumped at random locations around the city. No one has, as yet, discovered a pattern to the drops. All of the victims were male and several showed signs of increased libido in the weeks before their deaths. I smile grimly to myself. O’Shea’s spell. But did they take it voluntarily or was it forced upon them?

I think that Michael must have been remarkably restrained in his dealings with the daemon to allow the deaths of several of his flock to go unpunished. Whether O’Shea intended it or not, it’s his spell that links them together. I’m no forensic investigator but I’d love to be able to pull apart his enhancement potion to find out how it really works.

My thoughts are interrupted by a loud thump. I hastily return the laptop to its hiding place and go out to investigate. On the floor, in a tangled pile of limbs, are Peter Allen and the blonde.

‘Smegging Jesus,’ she hisses, ‘get off me!’

He mutters something from underneath her, which I think is an admonition about taking the Lord’s name in vain. It’s difficult to be sure.

I’m tempted to reach down and help them extricate themselves but it’s far more entertaining to watch. The zipper of the blonde’s jumpsuit seems to be caught up in Peter’s clothes. He’s not yet changed so he must be on his way to the shower room. They roll around, banging against the walls, and several other doors open. I realise from the number of heads peering out that most of my fellow recruits have now turned. Like Peter, they look drawn and tired. The blonde, irritatingly, appears fresh faced and well rested. I’m amused to note that instead of the standard issue slip-on shoes, she’s still wearing her stilettos. She digs one into Peter’s calf and he yells.

Ursus appears from nowhere. He growls at all of us – the curious onlookers as well as Blondie and Peter. Something in his manner terrifies me, so I crouch down and help the flailing pair to separate. As soon as they’re free, they leap up. Peter looks embarrassed.

‘What in hell is going on?’

‘He wasn’t watching where he was going!’

‘If you’d not been lurking around the corridor,’ Peter grunts, with more vehemence than I’d have thought he was capable of, ‘then I wouldn’t have banged into you.’

Ursus snarls, ‘Beth, you’re supposed to be on the tour. Why are you still here?’

I watch her carefully. Yes, Beth, why are you still here? Peter’s words suggest she was hanging around outside my door.

‘I’m tired,’ she sniffs, ‘I was going back to bed.’

She doesn’t look in the slightest bit tired. There’s definitely something going on – and that means it’s time for me to put on my best friend-making face.

‘You too?’ I exclaim. ‘My head hurts, my muscles ache and all I want to do is sleep.’

She turns to me with a look that’s more wary than grateful. After staring at me for a long moment, she finally mutters, ‘See? I’m not the only one who’s feeling crap after this turning nonsense.’

Ursus’s eyebrows shoot up. ‘Turning nonsense? You volunteered.’

I’m hoping to hear her response, but he launches into a tirade about her shoes. I let him continue while Beth does her best to stand up to him about her choice of footwear and sidle over to Peter instead. ‘How are you doing?’ I whisper.

‘Okay.’ He gives me a wan look, raising one hand to his neck then suddenly dropping it again.

‘I’m glad you made it,’ I tell him, and I mean it. I rather like the quiet man.

His mouth turns up at the edges but it’s a forced smile.

‘What actually happened?’

He shrugs. ‘I wasn’t looking where I was going. But she,’ he jerks his head at Beth, ‘couldn’t have been moving or I’d have noticed her. She must have just been standing here.’

Right outside my door, I think. Stilettoed Beth is definitely my new pet project. I interrupt Ursus’s lambasting. ‘I think Beth’s shoes are lovely,’ I say. ‘Who cares what we wear?’

‘It’s not about what you wear,’ he growls, ‘it’s about doing what you’re damned well told.’

‘Come on, Ursus,’ I coax. ‘A pair of shoes is hardly going to bring the Montserrat Family crashing down upon our heads.’

A shadow crosses his face and he opens his mouth to say something but thinks better of it. I take Beth’s arm and smile. I can feel her tense under my touch but she doesn’t pull away.

‘Fine,’ he snaps eventually. ‘But the whole lot of you need to get to bed. You’ve got a long night ahead of you tomorrow.’ There’s a threat in his tone. I continue to smile. Smiley, happy Bo, that’s me.

Ursus turns on his heel and stalks off.

‘Thank you,’ Beth says once he’s gone. ‘I appreciate the help.’

‘Hey, it’s all in the name female solidarity, right?’ I hope I’m striking the right note. It doesn’t make sense for a recruit to be the new Family Head but I’m more and more certain that blonde Beth is involved somehow. I spot Nicky’s face peeking out from behind her door, her dark eyes a striking contrast to her pale skin. I give her a reassuring grin.

‘We should do what he says and get some rest,’ I tell them all. ‘This turning stuff is bloody hard.’

‘Speaking of blood,’ Beth murmurs giving me an arch glance, ‘have you drunk yet?’

I scan her face. It’s obvious that I’ve not, so I’m curious why she’s asked the question.

‘No, not yet. I want to hold out a few more days. I’ve heard that the longer you last without drinking, the more powerful you eventually become.’ I pat my stomach. ‘I can cope with a few hunger pangs.’ As if in immediate response, my tummy growls and I flinch slightly. I can’t tell whether Beth is displeased or not at my comment.

‘Well, thanks again, Bo,’ she says, and glides off down the corridor to her room. I watch her go. She just made the same mistake that I did with Ursus: I hadn’t told her my name.

I smile at Nicky and Peter, say goodnight, then slip back into my room. I take the jug and glass off the bedside table, place them on the floor and move the table to the door. It’s not particularly heavy and won’t stop someone who is trying to get in. One hard kick of a stiletto and it’ll open, but it’ll give me enough warning if I’m asleep. Then I pull out the laptop again and search for Beth’s file.

***

I awake up all at once, like a cat. Considering I used to doze in bed for hours, I’m not sure I like this vampire side effect. I sit up and glance at my makeshift barrier. It remains firmly in place; no one has tried to get in while I’ve been asleep. Satisfied, I put the table back in its original position and go for a quick shower. Unfortunately for me, Matt is standing, stark naked, in the middle of the room.

He gives me a slow lazy smile. I try to quash my shudder of disgust but don’t quite manage it. I’d have thought he’d be a bit shame-faced after giving into the bloodlust so quickly. Clearly, he’s not ashamed at all.

‘I was hoping for Beth,’ he drawls, ‘but you’ll do.’ He points to the nearest shower cubicle. ‘Let’s get clean.’

My eyes travel down his body and I register that he’s fully erect. I give him and his penis a pointed stare.

‘It’ll take more than that to interest me,’ I tell him with a sniff. Determined not to let him think I’m intimidated, I push past him into another cubicle. It’s not until I’m under the hot scalding spray of water that a thought suddenly occurs to me and I yelp in alarm. I twist round and wrench open the shower door, leaping out.

‘Matt!’

The shower is running in the cubicle he’d gestured me towards. I thump on the door. ‘Matt!’

He doesn’t answer. Shit. I step back and lash out with my right foot, attempting to kick it in. With my bare feet slick from soap and water, I do little damage. I slam my shoulder against the door instead. It doesn’t budge. Cursing, I jump up and curl my fingers around the top edge of the door. There’s about a foot gap between it and the ceiling so I pull myself up and peer over. As soon as I see Matt, his jumpsuit wrapped tightly round his neck at one end and to the shower head at the other, I climb over to join him. His lips are blue and his eyes are bulging, tell-tale shots of red blasting through the whites of his eyes as he suffocates.

I grab his waist and try to haul his body upwards to take his weight. He’s bloody heavy, however, and he keeps slipping down. I start yelling and kicking the door behind me, making as much of a racket as I can without dropping him. I hear someone’s voice on the other side as they try to open the shower door. They have more success than me and it springs open, catching my back and making me fall down and drop Matt’s body.

‘Smeg.’

Beth pushes me out of the way and grabs hold of him. Even without her heels, she’s considerably taller than me so she has more success at holding him up. She still struggles, though, and it won’t be long before he falls again.

I leap up, my hands and arms on opposite sides of the cubicle walls, and shimmy upwards. I reach over for the jumpsuit noose but no matter what I do, I can’t undo it: Matt’s body is stretching the knot too tightly.

I bring my legs up and over Beth’s body and squeeze round Matt’s hanging form. Then I jump with as much force as I can muster onto the shower head. I slam my weight down onto the metal several times until I feel it breaking away from the tiled wall. I pull and pull until I’m falling backwards onto Matt’s inert body.

Beth scrabbles out from underneath him and rips into the jumpsuit with her fingernails, loosening its hold around his neck. Without saying anything, she moves to his face and tilts his neck back while I crouch by chest and begin to pump.

‘Dah, dah, dah, dah, staying alive, staying alive,’ I sing to give myself the rhythm we need to start his heart again. As soon as I finish my final ‘alive’, Beth pinches his nose and breathes into his mouth.

We do it again. ‘Dah, dah, dah, dah, staying alive, staying alive.’

She breathes and I start pumping again. It’s not until the fifth time that he finally chokes and his chest moves of its own volition. I lean back, exhausted, and stare at Beth and then at Matt.

‘Interesting technique,’ she says.

I shrug. ‘As long as it works.’

She glances down at Matt’s face. ‘It doesn’t seem right that he could die like this. He’s meant to be a smegging vampire.’

‘A newly fledged vampire.’

I look up and see Michael watching us, a grim expression on his face. He gestures at someone behind him and two vampires appear. ‘Take him to the infirmary immediately,’ he instructs.

Beth stands up. Water is still gushing from the hole in the tiled wall where I yanked out the shower head, and she’s soaked from head to toe. At least she’s still wearing her jumpsuit, I think, suddenly abashed. I’m not usually particularly modest but crouching naked on the slippery tiles in front of them is making me feel vulnerable. Michael hands me the towel that was probably meant for Matt.

‘You’ve only just been turned. For the first six months at least, it’s easy to find ways to die if you want to kill yourself,’ he says.

I take the towel and wrap it round myself. I meet his eyes for a moment; we both know this is no botched suicide attempt.

‘I don’t understand why he’d want to do that.’ Beth is apparently oblivious to our shared look.

‘He drank last night,’ I inform her. ‘I think he wanted to hold out for longer. Maybe he felt like he’d failed.’

Beth’s expression is sceptical but my mind is whirring. Although I found little in her file to suggest she is with the traitors, I’m still convinced she’s wrapped up in all this. It doesn’t make sense that she’d help me save Matt’s life if that’s the case, though. And the blood that Matt drank – it had been sitting unguarded in the social area for at least two hours. Anyone could have dropped O’Shea’s spell into the goblets, and whoever drank would be affected. I wonder what the side effects are on women. I need to talk to O’Shea again.

Troubled, I turn back to Michael. ‘Will he be alright?’

‘I don’t know.’ His voice contains a note of barely controlled rage. If he finds out who’s responsible for this, they will wish they’d never been born. ‘You two should get yourselves cleaned up,’ he says tersely. ‘Your training is due to begin in an hour or so.’

I can’t believe that everything’s going to carry on as normal but I have no idea what the alternative could be, so I nod stiffly. Michael glances at Beth before looking at me for a long drawn-out moment. Then he turns and leaves.

Chapter Eighteen: Love and Blood

When we gather later, the mood is subdued. The news about Matt obviously whipped round the other recruits like wildfire. I note that Nicky’s hands are shaking. I take special care to downplay my part.

‘I heard something like choking,’ I tell them. ‘Something just didn’t feel right. Thank goodness Beth was there or he’d probably have died.’

Beth gives me an odd look but remains quiet. When Ursus enters, he doesn’t have the simmering rage that was evident in Michael, but his body is tense and his words are curt. ‘What happened to Matthew is regrettable,’ he says, ‘but we cannot let it interfere with your own turning. Whatever his reasons for wanting to kill himself, I am sure we’ll find them out when he regains consciousness. For now, you need to focus on your own progress. We have made a counsellor available. You may speak to him later about this appalling turn of events or about your own concerns regarding the change.’

I’m surprised that vampires use therapy – it seems a very modern phenomenon. I suspect that if I start talking about the trauma I’ve experienced over the last few days, I’ll end up a bawling, shaking mess.

‘Bo, your appointment is already scheduled for 3am.’

‘I don’t need counselling,’ I protest.

‘Regardless, you will take it.’ His tone brooks no argument.

My chest tightens. It is an almost impossible situation. I won’t be able to trust the counsellor so I’ll have to skirt around the important stuff as well as trying to appear to open up. Yet another thing to worry about.

Ursus turns on the projector and another PowerPoint presentation beams up, uninspiringly entitled ‘Rules and Regulations’. Despite our anxiety about Matt, there’s a collective groan. We settle in for a long session.

By the time we break for coffee and muffins – because it turns out vampires do eat real food – I’ve realised there’s an element of genius in Ursus’s monotonous lecture. It provides information we need to know and is delivered in such a boring manner that we have no choice but to calm down and stop fretting. More goblets of blood are produced, along with typical teatime fare, although I note that Ria hovers over them as if afraid to let them out of her sight. I bet they won’t be sitting unattended in any empty rooms from now on. I speculate whether she knows the truth about what’s going on, or whether she’s merely been told to stay with the blood without being given a reason.

One of the other recruits, an amiable man wearing glasses who has told me that his back acne has miraculously cleared up since he woke from his turning, eyes the goblets then makes a move towards them. Even though the others are engaged in conversation, everyone glances towards him and watches, some more surreptitiously than others.

He murmurs something to Ria and she hands him a glass, her face expressionless. He stares down at it, takes a deep breath and raises it to his lips. He gingerly takes a sip and his eyes widen. In about three seconds flat, he drains the whole thing. His eyes close in ecstasy although nothing else happens. I’m not quite sure what I was expecting. He certainly doesn’t immediately sprout long white fangs and there’s no clap of thunder.

My hands are trembling so I shove them into the pockets of my jumpsuit and turn away. As I do, I see Ursus looking at me. ‘It’s time,’ he says.

I nod, just as I see another one of our little group venture cautiously over to the blood. It’s been less than two days; there are still twenty-seven more to go. Unhappily, I follow the large vampire out.

He leads me towards the back of the mansion. We pass the corridor I discovered yesterday with Nicky and Nell, although this time I avoid pausing to check Michael’s portrait. I’m taken to a large office, complete with Victorian fireplace, vast mahogany desk and comfortable leather-backed chairs. Ursus backs out, closing the door behind him.

I’m expecting to see a friendly counsellor. Instead Arzo is by the window, gazing out from his wheelchair.

‘Are you my therapist?’ I ask him drily.

He turns, deftly spinning one wheel as if he’s been practising all his life, and looks me over, scanning every inch of my body as if to check I’m still in one piece. ‘In a manner of speaking.’

‘I kind of thought you’d be prettier.’

He snorts. ‘So did I. How’s it going, Bo?’

I lift my eyes to his. ‘Pretty bloody awful. You?’

‘You don’t want to know the trouble I’ve had with my bladder.’

‘Yeah, you’re right about that.’ I give him a half-smile. Pity for his situation is not going to be appreciated.

‘I heard about the recruit who tried to hang himself.’

‘Hmm,’ I murmur noncommittally, ‘right after he tried to shag me.’

‘It was definitely the spell then?’

I shrug. ‘What else could it be?’

Arzo runs his hand through his hair. ‘There’s never been anything like this before. It’s crazy.’

I sit down in one of the leather chairs. ‘Did Michael tell you about the theory that there’s a new Family Head trying to usurp everyone else?’

‘Michael?’ Suddenly I feel embarrassed. Arzo must register my discomfort because he dismisses it with a wave of his hand and answers my question. ‘Yes,’ he says grimly, ‘he told me.’

‘It’s got to be a woman. I smelled rosewater at Wiltshore Avenue just before I found O’Shea. And the fact that his spell targets men means it makes sense that a female, who’ll be immune to its effects, is orchestrating all this.’ A thought begins to form but it’s cloudy; before I can fully grasp it it’s gone and Arzo is speaking again.

‘There’s no evidence that it’s contagious.’

‘No, but it somehow makes sense. And Lucy, I mean Charity Weathers, told me it was a woman.’

‘You mean the human who was shoved under the train?’

I nod. ‘I would have been too, if the police hadn’t showed up.’

There’s a glimmer of anger in his eyes. ‘I heard about that.’

I shrug. Foxworthy and Nicholls’ actions seem like they happened an eternity ago. Besides, what was I going to do about it? I tell him about Beth and how it’s possible she’s involved.

He frowns. ‘And yet you say she helped you save this Matthew character?’

‘It could be a double bluff. You know, gain everyone’s trust, make it look like she’s the good guy. Maybe she knew I was on to her and this was the only way she could think of to make me believe otherwise.’ At Arzo’s look, I give a short laugh. ‘Yeah, I know. It seems unlikely to me, too. But there’s something about her that I don’t trust.’

‘So what’s next?’

‘I’m going to continue getting everyone to like me. Especially Beth.’

He starts to chuckle. Affronted, I glare at him. ‘What?’

‘You probably don’t need to try very hard.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘People generally like you, Bo. I’ve never seen you try very hard yet everyone who meets you wants to be your friend.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘Yes, it is. Give me an example of someone you know who doesn’t like you.’

I think about my grandfather. I’m sure he loves me; like is another matter. But I don’t think he likes anyone apart from that damn cat so I don’t suppose he really counts.

‘Boris,’ I say finally. ‘He despised me.’

‘Is that the best you can do?’

‘Michael Montserrat. I tried to attack him.’

‘Under duress,’ Arzo replies mildly. ‘Besides, I think Lord Montserrat likes you very much.’

I have nothing to say to that so I change the subject. There is something else I need to know. ‘Arzo, how hard is this going to be?’

He knows I don’t mean finding the creepy new vampire Head. ‘Harder than anything you’ve experienced before.’

‘Well, gee, don’t sugar coat it,’ I try to joke. It falls flat.

His expression is serious. ‘How do you feel so far?’

‘Tired. I’ve got a headache that doesn’t want to go away. And,’ I lick my lips, ‘earlier when someone else drank, my hands started to shake.’

‘That’ll get worse, Bo. Have you ever seen a heroin addict trying to kick the habit?’

‘Only on TV.’

‘Then you have no idea how rough it’s going to get. Night sweats, hallucinations, your body screaming in pain…’

‘You failed to mention all this before, you know.’

‘Would it have made a difference?’

I think about it. Probably not. ‘Why did you do it?’

He’s silent.

‘Why did you choose not to drink?’

‘I understood the question. I’ve just never really told anyone about it before.’

‘Not even Tam?’

He laughs slightly and shakes his head. ‘No, not even Tam.’ He sighs. ‘There was a girl. Dahlia. The most beautiful person I’d ever seen. We met in the National Gallery of all places.’

I try not to look surprised. I find it hard to imagine Arzo wandering around looking at paintings.

‘Yes, Bo,’ he continues gently, ‘I do have a cultured side. I’ve even been known to read poetry from time to time. Anyway, I bumped into Dahlia in front of Jane Austen’s portrait. She was a huge fan of Pride and Prejudice.’ His face twists. ‘I think she was looking for a Mr Darcy.’

I stay quiet. This is obviously a difficult story for Arzo to tell and I don’t want to interrupt with an inane question that’ll make him clam up.

‘We went on several dates. I knew within five minutes of meeting her that I was in love. Spending the rest of my life by her side was all I wanted.’ Pain crosses his face and he looks away. ‘Then she disappeared. There was no trace of her. She didn’t answer her phone. I couldn’t track her through it because this was in the days before mobile phones. Her family didn’t know where she was and she didn’t show up to work.’ He lapses into silence again.

I watch him for several moments. When it’s clear he’s not going to speak I ask, ‘You thought she’d been recruited?’

He nods. ‘My best friend told me she’d suggested it was what she was going to do. One day, when I’d been working, she’d taken him to look at this very house. So, because I would follow her to the ends of the earth, I persuaded Lord Montserrat to recruit me too.’

‘Michael?’

He nods.

‘Out of season?’

Arzo smiles faintly. ‘I can be very persuasive. And they had the space. For some reason, that was a particularly bad year for recruits surviving the turning process.’

Horrified, I stare at him. ‘Was Dahlia one of those who didn’t make it?’

‘No.’ He laughs humourlessly. ‘No, she wasn’t. She was back out in the real world, eloping to Gretna Green with my so-called friend.’

‘Oh, bloody hell, Arzo. I’m so sorry.’ I reach over to take his hand but he draws back. Pity is a bitch.

‘Of course, I didn’t know that at the time. I just thought I’d made a terrible mistake by turning because she wasn’t here after all. I didn’t drink. It was hell but I damned well didn’t drink. I was going back to get her. Except when I made it to the full moon and became Sanguine instead of vampire and went back out, I found them together.’ His mouth twists. ‘Blissfully happy.’

There’s nothing I can say that’s going to make him feel any better. This is a whole load of hurt that he’s obviously been carrying around for a long time. ‘I can’t believe he didn’t tell you,’ I murmur.

‘My friend?’

‘No. Bloody Michael Montserrat. I can’t believe he didn’t tell you she wasn’t here.’

‘It’s vampire policy, Bo. You know that. It’s a pledge of silence.’

‘He could have made a sodding exception. He didn’t have to recruit you.’

‘He needed an investigator.’ Arzo sighs. ‘It suited his purposes. No matter what else happens, Lord Montserrat is all about the Family.’

I feel guilty for making this about me but I can’t help feeling conned. ‘And now he’s got two.’ At Arzo’s confused look, I explain. ‘Two investigators.’

Comprehension flickers across his face, combined with sympathy. ‘He has more than us working for him these days. And he didn’t frame you for O’Shea, Bo. Nor did he have anything to do with the attack at Dire Straits.’ Arzo’s voice drops. ‘I helped persuade you as well.’

I look away. No one actually makes me do anything I don’t really want to do – my grandfather will attest to that. But Arzo isn’t lying when he says he joined in with Montserrat to persuade me. But what’s done is done. I still a feel a prickle of betrayal but there’s not much I can do about it now.

‘I’m sorry about what happened to you, Arzo. I really am,’ I say. Not just with Dahlia but with the Dire Straits’ attack too. I look him in the eyes. ‘I just don’t want to be a vampire.’

‘It’s less than a calendar month, Bo. You might be likeable but you’re stubborn as a goddamn mule. You’ll make it.’

I wish I had his optimism. I return to the matter in hand. ‘I need a phone and internet access, Arzo. It’s too suspicious for me to talk to Montserrat on his own so can you tell him to get them for me? I’ve got the personnel files but I’m sure he and half the freaking bloodguzzlers in this place have gone through them over and over again. I’ve got leads on the outside I need to follow, as well as what’s going on in here.’ And I don’t want to speak to Montserrat himself because I’m pissed off with him after hearing Arzo’s revelations.

My old colleague nods in agreement. ‘I’ll let him know.’

I stand up to go. ‘Is there anything that’ll help me beat the cravings?’

His face is curiously bland. ‘I found masturbation helped.’

I blink, nonplussed. ‘Er … okay.’

He grins. ‘You’ll be fine.’

I wrap my arms round my body and hug myself. ‘Mmm.’

Chapter Nineteen: Betrayal

The following nights pass very slowly. I continue with project Be Nice to Everyone In Case They Tell You They Are Part Of A New Vampire Conspiracy. I’ve brought Beth into our little girlie fold since Matt’s ‘suicide attempt’ and she, Nell, Nicky and I often spend our precious free time together. Keep your friends close and all that. It doesn’t really get me anywhere, though. I just feel more and more tired and Beth rarely seems to open up.

The day after my request for a phone and the internet, I receive a terse note in Montserrat’s now-familiar script. It informs me that I can tell him who to contact and what leads I want to follow outside the Family and he will see to them. As I’m not about to give Rogu3 up to anyone, no matter who they are, and I don’t want to subject the potentially innocent D’Argneau to a vampire-induced interrogation, I scribble a message back asking him to find out exactly how O’Shea’s spell breaks down and how women are affected by it. I expect another message in return, implying that if that’s all I have to go on then I’m a fairly useless private investigator. Oddly, however, I hear nothing.

I’m fairly certain I didn’t imagine the teasing, light-hearted turn our relationship had taken so the current silence between us troubles me. I still feel annoyed on Arzo’s behalf and, as the hours and days pass, that emotion grows. I’ve scarcely seen Michael except when he’s swept by on his way to goodness knows where, and that encourages the antipathy. This is his sodding Family – what is he doing exactly to keep it intact and safe? There’s not even any information about what’s happening with Matt, although I assume he’s still alive or we’d have heard otherwise. I try to catch Montserrat’s eye when he passes by, indicating that I need to talk to him, but he either doesn’t notice or ignores me.

The lack of action disturbs me so, by the third night when I’m confident that the others are tied up in a debate over Edgar Allen Poe and why he saw fit to hide his vampiric self from the world when his writing made it so patently obvious, I try to be more proactive. At least Tam would approve. All this skulking around and ingratiating myself is getting me nowhere.

On the pretext that I need some study notes, I head back to the recruits’ bedrooms. Matt’s door is wide open and the room is clearly unoccupied; his bed has been stripped of its sheets. The sight makes me shiver. I guess they’re not expecting him to return any time soon. I go past my own room then down to Beth’s. Like most of us, old human habits die hard and her door is firmly closed. Theoretically, there’s no reason for it; none of us have any personal possessions or things to hide. We’re all one big happy Family. Of course, I’ve got Montserrat’s laptop – much good it’s doing me – but neither Beth nor anyone else should have any contraband. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that’s not actually true.

I pause outside, one ear cocked just in case one of the others has decided to follow me. When I’m positive there’s nothing but silence, I twist the doorknob. The door creaks slightly and I wince at the sound. I nudge it open and peer inside.

Her room is identical to mine in size and layout. Beth is apparently a bit of a slob. A discarded jumpsuit lies crumpled at the foot of the bed and her sheets are twisted. Not that I’m a neat freak or anything – the state of my car attests to that – but I’ve never been able to leave my room in the morning unless my bed is made up. I guess everyone has their little foibles.

I make a mental snapshot of what the room looks like. Normally I’d use a camera to avoid making silly mistakes when I carry out a search but I don’t have that option any more. Once I’m satisfied that I have memorised the details, I start with the bed. There’s nothing under the pillow or inside the pillowcase; the mess of sheets hides nothing more than the off-putting smell of stale sweat and body odour. It’s good to know that Beth’s sleep is being disturbed in the same way as mine: I’m waking up several times a night covered in clammy sweat while the pit of my stomach whispers to me that it needs just one tiny drop of blood to settle it down.

I lift up her mattress. There’s nothing there. The walls are bare and, other than some clean underwear shoved into the drawer in the bedside table and the standard-issue recruit shoes that she refuses to wear, I can’t see anything suspicious. I pick up her jumpsuit and pat it down, then stick my hand into each pocket. Again I come up empty. Either Beth is cleverer than most blondes get credit for or there’s simply nothing here.

I’m just about to edge my way back out again when my gaze falls on the jug next to the bed. It’s exactly the same as mine. I glance inside, swirling the dregs of the water that remains at the bottom. It’s just water. Disappointed, I put it down, making sure it’s in exactly the same position. That’s when I realise that something feels wrong.

I pick the jug up again and inspect the base. As soon as I register the slim white packet stuck underneath, I stop breathing. I sniff it and can detect no trace of anything peculiar. But if there is nothing peculiar about it, then Beth wouldn’t have hidden it. I’m desperate to peel it off and check its contents. Whatever is inside has got to be tiny. I poke it and feel a grainy substance, almost like sand.

I debate my options. I could take it to Montserrat as proof of Beth’s underhandedness. Surely this is some physical version of O’Shea’s spell. She has to be in league with the traitors. The trouble is, if I take it away she’ll know that I’m on to her and I’ll scare her off. Or whoever gave it to her in the first place. Right now, without any lab work, it’s not much proof of anything – but if I leave it where it is and she uses it to hurt someone else...

I return the jug to its original place. At least I have a better idea about where to focus my efforts and I’m glad that my instincts about her were right, regardless of the way she helped me ‘save’ Matt. It’s impossible that she’s the mastermind; she’s not even a full vampire yet. But I’d bet all my meagre savings that she is wrapped up in all this. I need to act fast and find Michael.

I double check the room to make sure nothing appears disturbed, then leave. I’m barely three feet away from her door when she suddenly appears.

‘You didn’t find what you needed then, Bo?’

I freeze. Damn. Yes, I did find what I needed and now I’m bloody scared about what you’re going to do, I think.

‘Your notes?’ she prompts.

The relief is overwhelming. ‘Er, my handwriting is so messy, I can barely decipher what I’ve written,’ I stammer. ‘I decided to leave them.’

Beth laughs, although I sense an edge to the sound. She leans her head to one side and regards me steadily. I try to read her expression and fail.

I try a different tactic. ‘Actually, the truth is that I got distracted,’ I admit. ‘I passed Matt’s empty room and it completely threw me. It’s as if he’s never going to return and everyone’s already accepted it.’

Her eyes narrow. ‘Yes,’ she agrees, ‘it’s smegging unnerving.’

Not as unnerving as finding the physical form of O’Shea’s spell hidden under your water jug.

‘Do you think he’s dead?’ I ask.

She shrugs and looks uncomfortable. ‘I don’t know. He was alive the last time either of us saw him. As recruits, we’re not exactly in the loop. Did you talk about him much to the counsellor?’

I suddenly see a way out. ‘No,’ I say slowly, ‘I didn’t. It was too soon, I guess. But maybe I should talk about it some more. All I can think about is the way his eyes…’ I let my voice drift off. I don’t need to fake the horror in my tone at the way Matt looked hanging from that showerhead.

She nods her head. ‘I think she’s free now actually. Alan came out from talking to her while you were gone.’

‘I’ll do that.’ I hadn’t realised there was a real counsellor hovering around and that it wasn’t just a ruse so I could meet with Arzo. I try not to feel too hurt that I was never offered the option to speak to someone. Maybe Michael or Arzo were too afraid I’d end up blabbing.

I force a smile in Beth’s direction then walk past her, trying not to pick up speed and start running. I begin to panic about her room. Was the jumpsuit crumpled into the same shape as when I entered? I curse. I need to find sodding Michael and talk to him as soon as I can, whether he’s trying to avoid me or not.

I jog quickly down the stairs, just in time to see the man himself stalking past. He’s surrounded by a group of vampires, most of whom now look familiar. Unlike my fellow recruits, however, they’ve all resisted my efforts to become their friend. I guess it doesn’t matter whether you’re human or vampire, newbies the world over are treated with the same distance and suspicion.

When Michael catches sight of me, his face shutters and he looks away quickly. What in the hell is his problem? I decide I’ve had enough. Vampire propriety be damned; I need to speak to him.

‘My Lord!’ I call.

Several of his hangers-on look in my direction. Bloody Michael Montserrat ignores me and carries on. I persist.

‘Lord Montserrat!’ I pick up speed, landing with a heavy thump at the foot of the staircase and trotting up to the group. When he continues to ignore me, I skirt round them and block his path so he has to stop. I ignore the other vampires’ affronted expressions. ‘Lord Montserrat, it’s imperative that I talk to you.’

A tiny line creases his smooth forehead. ‘Who are you?’ he asks.

‘Bo,’ I say, keeping up the pretence. ‘We met a few days ago. I’m one of the new recruits.’

‘Ah, yes. What can I do for you, Bo?’ His voice is controlled but I sense a lot of deeper emotion – and none of it very positive – rippling under the surface.

‘I wish to make a complaint.’

The vampire directly behind him, an impeccably coiffed woman, steps forward. ‘Then you need to take it up with the programme director. Lord Montserrat doesn’t have time.’

Montserrat lifts his right hand and the woman stills. I try not to gloat. ‘No, it’s fine, Suzanne. I can spare a few minutes.’ Despite his mild expression, a cloud of darkness rolls across his eyes. ‘I will meet you in my office in half an hour,’ he tells me. ‘I trust you can find the way?’

I bob my head and mutter a thank you. Then I think of my grandfather and follow it with a curtsey. Montserrat eyes me as if he’s not sure whether I’m taking the piss or being serious. Before he can call me on it, I move to the side and let him and his entourage pass by.

Forty minutes later, I’m still cooling my heels outside his office. Irritation is gradually developing into full-blown anger. Just as I’m about to go looking for him, he shows up. He’s alone this time but his face remains a mask. I know why I’m annoyed with him, but I have no idea why he’s being so standoffish with me. He opens the door and steps aside to let me go in first. The back of my neck prickles and I wonder if I’m about to feel a knife slamming into my shoulder blades. No attack comes though. I sit down in one of the chairs opposite the large desk and wait for him to settle himself.

‘So what is it, Bo?’

I stare at him disbelievingly. ‘You’re kidding me, right?’

He rewards me with a blank expression. I stand up, kicking away the chair and glare at him, my hands on my hips. ‘What’s the point in going to all the trouble of getting yourself a spy if you’re going to ignore me? I’ve been trying to get your attention for days! You seem to have forgotten that I even exist! I gave up my life for this shit!’ My voice is high pitched and perilously close to a scream. I don’t care.

He leans back and regards me mildly; if I’m a spitting, hissing cat, then he’s an impassive lion idly watching one of his pride go berserk.

‘Have you found anything out?’ he enquires.

I fold my arms. ‘Yes, I bloody well have. Beth has got some strange powder hidden under the jug in her room. It’s obviously contraband and probably a physical version of O’Shea’s stupid spell. You need to get hold of her straightaway and find out exactly what is going on and who she’s answering to.’

He’s annoyingly unfazed by my revelation. ‘Which one’s Beth?’

‘Blonde. High heels.’

‘Ah.’ A quick grin flashes across his face, making me even more irate. ‘We’ll check it out,’ he tells me. ‘You can go now.’

‘I’m not going anywhere. I asked for a phone and internet access days ago. I need to them to continue investigating.’ I hold out my hand as if I’m expecting him to magically drop a mobile into it. I know it’s ridiculous but I’m beyond caring. His apathy is making me so angry I can’t even see straight.

He shrugs. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

‘Why do I get the impression you won’t bother?’ I demand. ‘What exactly is going on here?’

‘You tell me, Bo,’ he says. ‘What is going on?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I trust Arzo implicitly,’ he says. ‘And when he suggested that you would have a better chance of infiltrating whatever group is forming, I agreed because of that trust.’

The knowledge that my recruitment was Arzo’s idea stings but I try not to let it show. ‘So?’

‘Matthew regained consciousness.’

‘He is alive, then?’

Montserrat doesn’t blink. ‘Does that bother you?’

I’m beyond confused. ‘I tried to save his life, remember?’

‘Yes, that was convenient, wasn’t it?’

I don’t like his tone. ‘What exactly are you implying?’

‘Matthew said one word before lapsing back into a coma. Bo.’

‘What was the word?’

‘I just told you.’

‘Eh?’ I rub my forehead and comprehension dawns. ‘Bo. He said Bo?’

Montserrat doesn’t reply.

‘So now you think that it was me who gave him the spell? It was in the blood he drank! It had to be.’

‘There aren’t many people who had access to that blood.’

‘It was left unattended in the recruits’ social room. Anyone could have got to it.’

‘Were you alone in that room at any point?’

I gape at him. I was, of course, but to believe that I had anything to do with it is crazy.

Montserrat continues. ‘O’Shea never saw his attacker. Then you magically showed up right afterwards. You were present at the massacre at Dire Straits and yet you didn’t intervene.’

‘Because Arzo told me not to!’

‘Arzo was half dead. How could he have told you anything?’

‘His eyes…’ my voice falters. This is ridiculous. ‘I saved O’Shea.’

‘You’re barely five foot. How could you save a thirteen-stone daemon?’

I shake my head. ‘You’re nuts. I had a good life. Why would I mess with it?’

‘Bo, even the police think you’re involved. I was blinded by Arzo’s faith in you. I won’t make that mistake again.’

‘Michael, this is all circumstantial…’

His face closes. ‘You will address me as Lord Montserrat. And you’re right. So far this is all circumstantial. But I won’t tolerate anyone threatening my Family. The second I find a shred of evidence,’ he smiles at me grimly, ‘and, believe me, Bo, I will find that evidence, then you will feel the might of Montserrat justice.’

‘Beth…’ I begin.

He silences me with a wave of his hand and picks up the phone on his desk. ‘Ursus, I’ve had a complaint that one of the recruits is hiding some illicit material. Beth, I think her name is.’ He listens for a moment. ‘Yes. Apparently it’s underneath her water jug. Can you check it out for me?’

He hangs up and raises his eyebrows. I sit back down, shoving my hands underneath my legs to avoid curling them into tight fists.

‘I’m not involved in this. I have no motive. You’re jumping to conclusions based on one word from a semi-conscious guy. I was the last person he saw before he tried to hang himself. That’s probably why he said my name.’

Montserrat doesn’t respond. I lapse into silence. Beth’s little white envelope is the best thing I have to prove my innocence right now. I’m going to have Lord bloody Montserrat begging at my feet for forgiveness in about two minutes’ time.

It takes less than that for the telephone to ring. Montserrat answers it. ‘Yes.’ I watch him smugly. He is going to be so damn sorry. ‘I see. You’re sure?’ He listens for another moment then replaces the receiver. ‘There’s nothing there.’

‘What? They didn’t look hard enough then! It’s right underneath the jug. It was there less than an hour ago. Have them look again.’

A muscle throbs in his cheek. ‘You can go now, Bo.’

‘I had nothing to do with this!’

His gaze is implacable. I feel numb, as if I’ve wandered into some bizarre episode of The Twilight Zone. ‘If you’re so sure I’m involved in this, why are you waiting?’ I ask him quietly. ‘Why not execute me and be done with it?’

‘I owe it to Arzo to find the proof first. And losing another recruit at this stage without the evidence of your betrayal will merely unnerve the others.’

‘So what am I supposed to do?’

His eyes are hard. ‘Pray.’

Chapter Twenty: Vodka

I feel empty inside and more alone than ever. I’ve given up everything and now I’m trapped in the Montserrat House with vampire blood running through my veins and not a single friend. Beth could be about to unleash hell upon every single Montserrat vampire any minute now and there’s nothing I can do about it.

To add to my woes, I seem to be suffering from permanent nausea, although whether it’s from my growing bloodlust or despair at my situation, I have no idea. I’m incredulous that Michael Montserrat believes I’m involved. Time is ticking away on the real mastermind’s invisible deadline and he’s wasting his days thinking I’m one of the culprits. Jeez, maybe he even thinks I’m the one who started it all, who wants to create a new Family. Considering how little I want to be part of the bloodguzzler world, how could he entertain such a thought?

The first opportunity I have, I sneak back into Beth’s room. There are no longer any traces of whatever it was she was hiding. My only hope is to find the real traitors but I’m getting no joy from the recruits and now I have nothing substantial on Beth, even though I try to keep her in my sights at all times. Besides, all the Families are involved in this, not just Montserrat, so I can hardly pin things on her and hope for the best. I have to find the root but I have no idea how. Tempting as it is to sneak up on Beth and force her to spill her guts, it doesn’t seem particularly realistic. Torture is hardly my thing. I got lucky before in that O’Shea genuinely wanted to share his problems with me and gave in when I pressed him; somehow I don’t get the same feeling about Beth. Besides, given my current situation, I’d probably have less than five minutes alone with her before Montserrat’s goons descended. I’m certain I’m being watched constantly although I never catch anyone following me.

Ursus continues with his nightly themed PowerPoints. Fortunately, there are some breaks and we have the pleasure of other vampires as trainers. Alongside the best ways to drink blood directly from a human (which has the few of us who still haven’t partaken of O negative squirming in our seats), there’s some basic combat and fitness drilling. I imagine Lord Montserrat’s face on a punch bag. When that stops working, I switch to the blond vampire who so callously killed Charity Weathers, and the dark-haired beast responsible for slaughtering everyone at Dire Straits. Imagining whipping their arses is, however, no substitute for the real thing.

My physical strength and vampiric abilities may be developing, but I’m feeling more and more strung out and less and less in control of my destiny. I don’t like it at all and, by the end of the seventh night, one full week after I officially turned, I’ve just about had enough.

‘Maybe you should drink,’ Nell says. ‘It’ll make you feel better and help you to sleep more.’

‘No.’ Beth’s answer is sharp.

‘It’s not as bad as you think,’ Nell informs us. She’d succumbed the previous evening, ravenously downing three glasses of thick gloopy blood in a row.

‘The longer you avoid drinking,’ Beth says with a nasty look at Nell, ‘the more powerful you’ll eventually become. It’s about time the Montserrat Family had some powerful women to deal with.’

I perk up at her words. This is the kind of thing I’ve been waiting for. I’ll have witnesses this time too.

‘Yup,’ agrees Nicky, stretching out her legs. She’s still not used to being able to move her limbs. ‘They are a bit testosterone heavy.’

‘But some of that testosterone is so tasty,’ Nell interjects with a wink.

I try to steer the conversation back to where I want it. ‘It’s a shame that only the Bancroft Family has a female Head.’

‘Yeah, apparently she’s a bitch, though.’

I sigh inwardly at Nell’s words. You can’t beat women for cattiness against their own sex.

‘Imagine if it was the other way around,’ I say casually. ‘If it was four female Heads and only one man.’

‘There’d be a lot of wine and chocolate,’ grins Nicky.

‘And episodes of Sex and the City.’

‘It’s not fair though, is it?’ I push, looking at Beth as I speak. ‘Out there, the fact that women hold fewer top jobs than men is explained away by them spending nine months out of the workplace pregnant and then staying at home to look after their kids. That’s not the case here.’ We’d already made much of the fact that we no longer had to worry about our periods. I’d wondered, albeit to myself, whether that would be the same if I made it to Sanguine. I wasn’t sure whether it would upset me or please me.

‘Women are weaker than men,’ Nell asserts.

‘Bullshit! No man could walk in these all smegging day long.’ Beth points to the stilettos she continues to wear. I try to chuckle.

‘When my family was attacked,’ Nicky says softly, ‘my mother tried to protect me while my father tried to fight back.’ A dark shadow crosses her face. ‘They broke in at exactly two o’clock in the morning and were there until almost five. I remember because I had a huge red digital clock on my bedside table. They went into my parents’ room and I woke up and heard them so I followed them in. My father fought as hard as he could while my mother threw her body between them and me. That’s the difference between men and women.’

I don’t agree with her but I’m not in a position to say so. The others obviously feel the same and we lapse into an uncomfortable silence while Ria walks in with today’s tray of blood offerings. Nell has been drinking all day and ignores her. Beth, Nicky and I look away.

‘You know what we should do?’ Nell says to no one in particular.

‘What?’

Her eyes gleam with mischief. ‘We should sneak out. Hit the town. Have a little fun.’

Nicky is shocked. ‘Leave the house?’

Nell punches her arm. ‘Live a little! We’ve been toeing the line up till now. We deserve a break.’

I try to assess whether she’s serious or not. I’m surprised by how much I want to agree. Getting out of the stifling atmosphere of the Montserrat house might just be the tonic I need. Besides, by staying here all I’m doing is delaying the inevitable. Whether I’m executed first, or the Families all fall, the results for me personally will probably end up the same. I need to clear my name on the outside as well as here. This might be my chance to do both.

‘We only have training until 2am,’ I point out. ‘Then we’re free.’

‘It’s breaking the rules.’

‘Not the real, serious, “we will execute you” rules.’

Nicky gives Nell a suspicious look. ‘How do you know?’ She doesn’t make explicit reference to Nell’s pre-turning comment about stealing but it hangs unspoken in the background.

‘What were Ursus’s exact words? Do not go out in the sunshine. You must live in the Montserrat House. There’s nothing to say that you must stay here trapped like a prisoner.’

‘I like the idea,’ I say, decisively. It’s about time I took matters into my own hands again. And something to do will take my mind off the gnawing hunger leaching from my stomach into the marrow of my bones. I continue, ‘It’ll be pretty late by the time we can escape but I know just the place. The bouncers don’t ask questions and we’re unlikely to bump into any vampires.’ We may bump into a lawyer of dubious intentions, though.

‘No.’ Beth shakes her head firmly. ‘It’s too dangerous.’

‘How can a few dances and some tequila shots be dangerous? We’re vampires now. It’s not as if we need to be concerned with cirrhosis of the liver.’

‘It’s not drinking tequila that worries me,’ Beth mutters.

She flicks me a worried glance, as if she thinks that I’ll pounce on the nearest human and sink my as-yet non-existent fangs into their carotid artery. Why she has decided to pick on me instead of the younger and frailer Nicky, I have no idea. She should be more worried about me finding the evidence I need to prove her guilt – and my innocence.

‘Don’t come if you don’t want to,’ I tell her airily. I’m fairly confident she’ll join in but for once I don’t care. My gaze falls upon Peter, sitting morosely in the corner. He’s the only other person apart from Nicky, Beth and me who’s not yet partaken of the salty red stuff. Somehow I don’t think it has anything to do with wanting to become a powerful vampire. ‘In fact, safety in numbers. Let’s ask Peter along.’

Nicky’s face twists but Nell grins agreement. ‘Brilliant!’

Less than two hours later, the five of us gather next to Montserrat’s portrait. His dark eyes make me feel guilty so I turn away. Everyone has decided to come – even Nicky; it’s just as well that she’s with us as she appears to be the only one who kept her credit card when the rest of her things were taken. I have no idea where she normally hides it – perhaps under her own water jug – but I’m glad we’ll have money to buy some drinks. There would be nothing more depressing than getting to the nightclub and realising we couldn’t pay our own way.

‘How exactly are we going to get out of here?’ she enquires.

‘Shhh,’ I whisper, tentatively stepping down the path towards the towering perimeter wall.

The night is cloudy, although there’s enough of a wind to reveal the crescent moon from time to time. Its gleam is heartbreakingly tiny. I’m torn between needing more time to do some proper investigating and wishing it was already the full moon so I could make my escape.

We skirt round the edge of some bushes and duck under the low hanging branches of an apple tree. There’s a muttered curse from behind and, when I twist round to see who it is, I spot the lapel of Peter’s jumpsuit caught in one of the twigs. His fingers scrabble at the offending branch but he only succeeds in getting more tangled. A scowling Beth traipses back to help with an exasperated sigh. She just succeeds in freeing him when a large shape flies overhead, cawing loudly and making us all leap in fright.

‘What in hell was that?’

I scan the sky, squinting. ‘A crow, I think.’

‘There’s a sodding reason why it’s called a murder of crows,’ Beth grumbles.

I watch her sullen expression, wondering what’s making her so pissed off. It’s possible she’s annoyed that we’re venturing into the outside world because it implies a lack of control over us on her part. Or is she worried that she’ll slip up and give the game away? I can only hope.

We push forward, eventually reaching the wall. It’s high and made of sturdy red brick. Someone, probably the gardener, clearly pays it almost as much attention as the plants, as it’s moss free and well kept. This is unfortunate; a few crumbling spots would make it easier to find footholds. Beggars can’t be choosers, though.

We edge along until we find a suitable tree to help us gain height. I reach up, pulling myself onto the nearest branch, then shimmy upwards, using the strongest part of the branches where they meet the trunk as safe places to hold my weight. Nell, irritatingly, just scampers up the wall in a flash and sits astride the top, grinning down at us all.

‘You see? You lot should quit with all your posturing and take some blood. You’re going to do it sooner or later. And once you do, climbing up something like this is a piece of cake.’ She flexes her muscles while I mutter under my breath and push myself higher up the tree.

Once I’m as high as I can go, I look over at the wall. It’s still three feet away. I sidestep towards it while the branch creaks menacingly under my weight. I’m not convinced it’ll hold me. Nell casually extends an arm. ‘Just jump, Bo,’ she tells me. ‘I’ll catch you.’

I’m doubtful about this. I know from our training sessions that she’s by far the strongest of us and I like to think that I keep myself in shape but still, it’s a long way down. The others are catching up on me, however, and if I show signs of nervousness then neither Nicky nor Peter will jump. I need to get out of here and it’ll look better for me if I’m not alone when I do it. I couldn’t give a shit about Beth. A tiny part of me hopes that she falls. That’s mean, but I can’t help it.

I edge a little bit closer.

‘Do it,’ Nell urges.

I draw a deep breath, holding the air in my lungs, and then I leap. Initially, everything seems fine and I’m gaining height. It’s barely a fraction of a second, however, before my body starts to fall. Nell’s hand seems too far away and I‘m certain I’m not going to make it. Panic sets in and I shut my eyes tightly, waiting for the inevitable pain. I misjudged Nell’s reach though and, before it’s too late, her cool hand grips my sweaty one and pulls me upwards.

She heaves me up until I’m lying on my stomach, my legs dangling down one side and my arms down the other. I force myself up, twist round to a sitting position and try not to gasp too obviously for air.

Nicky is now in position on the tree’s branch. She looks pale. I bet when she first entered the Montserrat house, she never thought she’d soon be climbing trees. How strange it must be for her to have control over her legs after being in a wheelchair for so long. I shuffle along so that she has enough room and give her an encouraging smile.

‘It’s okay,’ I whisper. ‘Nell’s got vampire strength.’

She shakes her head. ‘I can’t do this.’

‘Of course you can. You’re taller than I am and I did it,’ I urge.

She bites her lip and pushes her hair away from her face. Then she jumps. This time, I watch Nell. She stretches herself out a few inches and grabs hold of Nicky, as if she were merely catching a frisbee. Even the muscles of her forearms don’t appear tense as she yanks up Nicky’s slight frame. Considering Nell has been fully vampired for less than five days, I’m terrified. How much stronger will the other vampires be that I’m up against? If I get caught in a fight with them, I’ve got no chance. Maybe I should just go ahead and drink some damned blood.

I scoot further along the wall with Nicky alongside me. Beth makes the jump irritatingly quickly. She has a lithe athleticism that’s hidden by her façade of bottle-blonde hair and sharp red fingernails. I try not to scowl. Peter also leaps without seeming to worry about it. He seems almost disappointed when he makes it, as if he’d hoped to fall and break his neck.

‘So, clever clogs,’ Beth says, once we’re all safely perched on the wall, ‘how in smeg do we get down?’

She has a point. The Montserrat garden may be full of trees to aid the climbing process but the other side is a gaping chasm leading down to the grey cement of pavement.

Nell pushes herself off, landing squarely on her feet. ‘I’ll catch you.’

I look nervously at Nicky. This time our order is reversed, with Peter going first. He’s the heaviest of all of us, and Nell staggers slightly. There’s no problem though and, one by one, we make the jump down. When my feet are on solid ground, I take a deep breath. I’m strongly tempted to bend down and kiss the pavement in gratitude. I look back at the wall.

‘It’s going to be a lot harder to get back inside than it was to escape,’ Beth says, echoing my thoughts.

‘Let’s worry about that when the time comes,’ I say. I’m not sure I’m coming back. I don’t have any doubts that Montserrat will find me in a heartbeat but hanging around until he decides to execute me isn’t really much of an option.

‘There’s a cab!’ Nicky calls suddenly. She leaps into the road and hails it.

The driver is unenthusiastic about having five passengers but Nell grins at him, displaying her growing fangs, and he hastily changes his mind. It’s so late that the streets are quiet and we make it to the club quickly. Perhaps I can get used to this night-time living after all.

The bouncer at the door is the same one as last time. I have no idea whether he remembers me or not but fortunately he seems more taken by our matching midnight blue jumpsuits and Beth’s killer heels than our faces. We trip inside and, while Peter and I wince automatically at the loud music, the others perk up.

I scan around, hoping that D’Argneau is here. Unfortunately the stools by the bar are empty and he doesn’t strike me as the kind of person who’s down for a boogie on the spangled dance floor. I’m disappointed My main purpose in coming here is to quiz him again; without his presence this is a wasted trip.

Nell, it seems, has an entirely different idea of wasted on her mind. She beckons the bartender, ordering a bottle of vodka and a range of mixers. Ever the one for detail, she even makes sure there’s a bucket of ice. Nicky appears blasé about handing over her credit card to pay for our drinks. I’m not sure I’d allow Nell free reign – not at London prices – but once we’re settled at a table and sipping at our glasses, I start to chill out. No, I shouldn’t rely on alcohol to settle my nerves but damn, this is a drink I’ve been waiting for.

Unsurprisingly, Beth’s lip curls. ‘It’s not the kind of establishment I normally frequent.’

The buzz of alcohol almost makes me throw caution to the wind and tell her exactly what I think, but Nicky interrupts before I do.

‘I think it’s cool. It’s been a long time since I had a girls’ night out.’

Nell’s eyes gleam. ‘This is what being a vampire is really about. Having fun and damning the consequences.’ She takes a long swig of her drink. ‘I wonder if vampires get hangovers.’

Nicky clinks her glass against Nell’s. ‘Only one way to find out.’

‘We’ve only got about two hours until we head back,’ Beth cautions. ‘We can’t risk getting caught when dawn breaks.’

I’m surprised that she sounds so schoolmarmish. ‘I’d never have thought you were a stickler for the rules.’

‘Those rules exist for a reason,’ she snipes back.

‘Yeah? And so are the rules about there being only five Families.’ The words are out of my mouth before I’ve had time to think and they hang there while Beth frowns at me. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was confused.

‘Rules shmules!’ trills Nicky. ‘Let’s dance!’ She pulls Nell up by one arm and a reluctant Beth by the other. Eyeing me with a mischief I’ve not seen in her before, she jerks her head towards the small dance floor. ‘Come on, Bo.’

I glance at Peter. He’s muttering to himself. ‘I’ll stay with the party animal here and keep him company.’

A flash of something I can’t determine crosses Nicky’s face, then she shrugs amiably and guides the other two off, immediately flinging herself into the beat of the song. This is a side of her I’ve not seen before. I guess she didn’t have much opportunity to go out and dance when she was in a wheelchair. Bless her. Nell seems keen to match her energy although Beth, surprisingly, looks awkward. Her expression makes me think that she’d rather have her blood red fingernails pulled out one by one than dance.

The colour of Beth’s nails brings me back to the topic that never seems to be far from my mind. I look at Peter, whose fingers are drumming fretfully on his collarbone.

‘How are you doing with the whole blood avoidance thing?’

‘Huh?’

‘Not drinking. You, Beth, Nicky and I are the only ones who’ve yet to drink blood. The thought makes me feel queasy but I’m finding it harder and harder to not have some.’

‘So why don’t you?’ Peter’s voice is mild and lacking in curiosity but I still feel compelled to answer.

‘I want to be a powerful vampire.’ I force a hollow laugh.

He looks at me over the rim of his glass. ‘Bullshit.’

I’m shocked. ‘Peter, I’ve never heard you swear before.’

‘Well, I’ve never been a vampire before.’ He pours another a shot. ‘I’ve been watching you, Bo. You don’t want to be a vampire. There’s a part of you that’s disgusted by anyone who is.’

‘That’s not true!’ I protest.

‘Yes, it is,’ he replies quietly. ‘You told me your reason for being here. I can’t help thinking it’s bullshit. Are you sure you’re not really here for revenge?’

I am, just not in the way that he thinks. I wonder how to talk myself out of this. He continues before I can think of anything smart to say. ‘It’s a powerful motivator, you know, but it won’t make you feel any better. It’s not a dish best served cold. If you’re planning revenge, you’re better off digging two graves, not one, because it’ll kill you in the end.’

‘I’m not doing this for revenge,’ I tell him, trying to sound sincere. ‘I suppose I don’t really want to be a vampire after all.’ I hope that the half truth is enough to appease him.

He sighs heavily. ‘I feel the same. I can’t help wondering if I’ve made one of the worst mistakes in my life.’ He looks at me frankly. ‘You’re not telling me everything but, for whatever reason, you’re trying to become Sanguine.’

I’m surprised that he’s even heard of the term, let alone linked it to me. He laughs softly at my expression. ‘I did my research before I signed up.’

‘Then you know how hard it is to resist the urge.’

‘I do.’

‘Are you doing the same? Are you trying to become Sanguine?’

He laughs again but there’s a cold, hard edge to it. ‘No. Much as I wish I’d chosen a different path, I’m already damned, Bo. I deserve all this.’

I’m about to ask him what he means when I notice a new customer stroll in. My back stiffens immediately. Lo and behold, it’s Harry D’Argneau.

‘So he’s why we’re really here,’ Peter comments.

I shoot him a look. ‘Peter, I’m sorry…’ Guilt blazes through me. Whatever Peter is going through, it’s obviously hell. If things were different then I’d do whatever I could to draw him out. But I need to talk to D’Argneau and get my pound of flesh. My clock is ticking.

Peter pats my shoulder. ‘It’s okay. I understand.’

I don’t think he really does. ‘Look, I won’t be long. I just need to talk to that guy for five minutes. It’s really important.’

He doesn’t appear hurt and gives me a gentle push. ‘Go on. Do what you have to do.’

‘You’re not even curious, are you?’

All I receive in return is a half-hearted shrug. ‘I’ll be back,’ I promise. ‘This won’t take long.’

I grab an empty glass and fill it with ice and vodka. A peace offering might help my cause. Then I walk up to D’Argneau and tap him on the shoulder. He turns and, as soon as he registers my face, his eyes widen and he steps away. I hold out the drink.

‘Please, Harry.’ I keep my voice soft. I’m pretty sure he’s trying to decide whether to run away or not so I try to appear as small and unthreatening as possible. It must work because his muscles relax and he peers at me. ‘You look different.’

‘I’ve been recruited,’ I tell him.

He freezes. ‘Which Family?’

‘Does it matter?’

He grabs my shoulders and grips them tightly. ‘Which Family?’ he repeats.

My eyes scan his face. ‘Montserrat.’

His shoulders slump.

‘What? What’s the problem?’

He takes the drink and throws it back in one swift gulp. ‘You’re an idiot, Bo Blackman. That’s the problem.’

Chapter Twenty-One: Red Sky in the Morning

D’Argneau guides me to a small table at the back where we’re hidden from view. I’m glad; the last thing I want is bloody Beth interrupting. We’re also further away from the speakers here so there’s less need to bellow into each other’s ear. There’s always the possibility that when you do that you’ll be caught out during the abrupt breaks between songs.

‘Talk to me,’ I tell him, once we’re seated.

He raises his eyebrows. For the first time, I realise that they’re tweezed into perfect arches. ‘You’re the one in the Montserrat heartland, Ms Blackman, you should know. Although if you’ve only just been recruited, isn’t it a little odd that you’re out and about?’

I ignore his question. ‘What do you mean, I should know?’

He draws his hands together thoughtfully under his chin. ‘So they’re keeping their own members in the dark? Interesting.’

‘We’re not treated as full members until the lunar month is complete,’ I say, irked by his implied criticism of Montserrat policy. ‘What exactly are we being kept in the dark about?’

D’Argneau leans back, obviously pleased to be in possession of information which I need. ‘I’ve done a little digging since you contacted me. I don’t appreciate being threatened, even if it’s by short females in handcuffs.’

I bristle but hold my tongue. Right now, I need him much more than he needs me. ‘The Families are being hit and being hit badly,’ he says. ‘Everyone has suffered losses. I’m sure you heard about Tommy Glass.’

I shake my head. I’ve no idea who he’s talking about.

‘Sequestered from the real world,’ he half whispers to himself, as if making a mental note. ‘Tommy Glass is – or rather was – a button-nosed, blond cherub of a toddler who was ripped apart four days ago while playing in his garden. His unfortunate mother was there but she was no match against a triber.’

I feel sick. ‘You mean vampire.’

He nods.

‘A Montserrat vampire?’

D’Argneau nods again. I rub my forehead. A toddler? Damn O’Shea and his stupid spell.

‘As you can imagine,’ he continues, ‘there are many humans who are rather concerned by this turn of events.’

‘No shit,’ I murmur. Whoever is behind all this is clearly stepping up their campaign. Discrediting the Families and turning the humans against them is a smart move; it means the new ‘super Family’ can step in and take over. All they need to do is create a little spin about how they saved Britain from being terrorised by the five Families and no one will question them. Not until it’s too late.

‘The tabloids are all on board, of course, screaming for justice, demanding that human laws be put into force against the Families. I think your Lord Montserrat has done a lot to smooth things over but when you’re faced with photos on the internet of tiny Tommy’s mutilated limbs, and the grieving parents are on television every night… ’ He shrugs. ‘Well, he can’t work miracles.’

I feel a rush of sympathy for Michael. No wonder he thinks I’m involved, he must be desperate to find someone to blame. Then I remember the cold look in his eyes the last time I saw him.

D’Argneau watches me, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. I realise he’s not finished talking.

‘What is it?’ I ask him.

He runs his tongue over his lips. ‘Tommy Glass is public knowledge.’

I wait. He’s like an eager puppy straining at the leash and proud to show off what he knows. ‘What’s not public knowledge is something you may find more interesting.’ His eyes dance. ‘I didn’t mention the last time we met that a Family hired me to go after O’Shea. That same Family is reported to have someone in custody who has information about the perpetrators of the recent attacks.’

I grip the arms of my chair. ‘Who?’

‘I don’t know who they have in custody.’

‘But you obviously know which Family,’ I growl. If it’s Montserrat, I’m going to be seriously pissed off. Like ‘ripping someone’s head from their shoulders’ pissed off.

D’Argneau leans back. ‘Naturally.’

My frustration is building. ‘Who?’ I snap again.

He cocks his head. ‘Tell me, Ms Blackman, what do I gain by passing on this little titbit? I can see what’s in it for you; you seem to be inextricably tied up in all this. But what’s in it for me?’

I’ve had enough of this. ‘You forget I’m a vampire now,’ I snarl.

He lifts up his index finger. ‘Actually, looking at you, I don’t think you are. Not yet. You’re different from before, certainly, but I don’t sense vampire.’ He smiles unpleasantly. ‘You’ve not drunk yet, have you?’

I glare at him malevolently.

‘And,’ he carries on, ‘that means you’re still as weak as a human. Probably weaker.’ He lowers his voice. ‘I’ve heard the cravings are enough to drive you insane.’

‘You don’t know enough about vampires to tell whether I’ve drunk yet or not.’ I’m taking an educated guess here.

‘Show me your fangs then.’

I scowl. The lawyer is more confident now. He grins. ‘As I thought.’

‘Harry. Please. Tell me which Family.’ I abandon my attempts to threaten him.

He throws back his head and laughs. ‘Or what? You’ll screw me outside on the pavement?’

I wince. I knew I was going to regret that little episode.

‘Look,’ he says. ‘You rub my back and I’ll rub yours. Quid pro quo. You’ll simply owe me a favour. It’ll be of my choosing and I’ll call it in when I see fit. I could benefit from a vampire on my side.’

I have a bad taste in my mouth. There’s no telling what he could ask for. Initially I thought that he was a good guy; now I’m not so sure. Of course, Michael Montserrat currently wants my head. And even if he doesn’t take it, whoever wants to supplant all five Families seems likely to achieve their goal. If that happens, it’s unlikely I’ll hang on to my life. If I’m dead, D’Argneau can’t collect. I’m not completely stupid though.

‘You realise I won’t be able to go against the Montserrat Family, no matter what happens? As a full vampire, my loyalty to them will be absolute.’ I neglect to mention the Sanguine part. I think Mr D’Argneau already knows more than is good for him.

‘I understand that,’ he says. ‘And I’ll be kind and include your own blood family in that.’

I think about all the other people he could make me hurt. ‘I won’t physically harm anyone. Not unless there’s a very, very good reason.’

‘Favours come in all shapes and sizes, Ms Blackman. I’m sure I can come up with something that will keep your conscience clear.’

I stare at him. He’s trying to play hardball and there’s a part of me that likes him for it. ‘Fine. Tell me which Family.’

‘Give me your word.’

‘You have it.’

‘Very well.’ He leans forward, picks up his glass and drains it. He swirls the remaining ice cubes. ‘Bancroft.’

‘You’re sure?’ It would make sense if they were involved. Bancroft has the only female Head. She has a good reputation and she’s immune to O’Shea’s spell, regardless of what form it takes. Maybe she’s had enough of playing in a male-dominated world. I can’t help wondering whether Montserrat has thought of this; surely it’s crossed his mind.

‘Thanks.’ I stand up. D’Argneau does the same, as if in some old-fashioned show of gallantry. It seems so unfitting for the occasion that I smile.

‘What’s going on here?’ says Nicky, appearing at my shoulder.

Her presence is so unexpected that I jump. That’s not as bad as D’Argneau, however, who drops his glass onto the floor where it shatters. He lets out a muffled curse and crouches down to pick up the larger shards.

I wink at Nicky. ‘Just getting to know this gentleman a little better,’ I murmur, before I bend down to help D’Argneau.

I’ve barely reached his level when I smell it. I don’t need to see him sucking on his finger to know that he’s cut himself; there’s a cloud of iron-rich air circling round him. A deep animalistic rumble that I’m barely aware of begins in my throat and my eyes fix on the thin trail of blood rolling down his skin. It looks so good. Behind me, half-smothered by the music and the loud drumming of my own heartbeat, I hear Beth snarl. I don’t care. D’Argneau has ceased to be a person; now he’s just food.

He glances up at me, eyes widening as he registers my reaction. Immediately, the scent of his fear mingles with that of his blood. If anything, it makes it more alluring. He’s prey and I am predator.

I leap forward, my mouth wide open like a cavernous killing machine. Nicky’s presence annoys me. I want this flesh all to myself. I knock her out of the way as I fly, landing on D’Argneau’s chest and making him fall backwards with a heavy thump. He tries to push me out of the way but his hands are weak, flailing. I slap them aside and curve my head down. I may not have fangs yet, but I can still taste.

Then something is pulling me off the lawyer’s body. I howl in frustration and kick. Whatever is holding me tightens its grasp. I shove my elbows back and my captor gasps but still doesn’t let go.

‘Get him out of here,’ a voice says.

Beth: the knowledge flickers in the recesses of my brain. I don’t like Beth. I don’t trust Beth. She’s stopping me from getting what I want. I kick back harder.

‘Bo.’ She sounds calm. Bitch. ‘Bo Blackman. Remember who you are and stop this now.’

I snarl. Nell picks up D’Argneau and drags him out of my line of vision. I lunge forward but I can’t break Beth’s hold.

‘Bo,’ she soothes, ‘he’s gone. You need to calm down and relax.’

I twist to my left and then my right. The bartender is staring at me with wide, frightened eyes. I jerk in his direction and he takes an involuntary step backwards. Then I sniff the air. The reek of blood remains but it’s dissipating fast. My heart pounds painfully against my ribcage and I squeeze my eyes shut.

‘He’s gone, Bo,’ Beth repeats, loosening her grip slightly and reaching up to smooth my hair. The part of my consciousness that is really me returns.

‘Sure?’ I croak.

‘Sure.’

I start to tremble. ‘I almost…’

‘Shhh,’ she says. ‘It’s okay.’

Wrenching myself from her hold, I turn to face her. ‘No. Beth, it’s not fucking okay. It’s never going to be okay. I…’ I can’t finish the sentence.

A large figure comes and stands beside us. ‘You need to leave.’ The bouncer’s expression is grim and his arms are folded across his chest. ‘Tribers aren’t welcome.’

Beth grabs my arm. ‘We’re going.’ She searches my face. ‘Are you good?’

I’m still shivery and shaking, but I know what she means. I nod and we walk out of the door. ‘Is he definitely…?’

‘He’s gone.’

Nicky, Nell and Peter are outside, huddled across the street and watching us wide-eyed. We cross over and Peter impulsively draws me into a hug. ‘You didn’t do it, Bo. You didn’t drink,’ he whispers.

But only because of Beth. If it hadn’t been for her, I’d have ripped out Harry D’Argneau’s throat.

I look at the other three. ‘Why was it just me?’ My words are quiet but I can hear the heartfelt plea in them. ‘Why was I the only one who went for him?’

‘As soon as I smelled the blood, I got Peter out,’ Nell tells me. ‘When I came back in for the rest of you, Nicky seemed okay and Beth was wrestling you like it was a prize-winning fight.’

My eyes flick from Beth to Nicky and back again. Beth looks uncomfortable although Nicky seems unconcerned. I’m glad this hasn’t upset her too much. All I can really focus on, however, is that I lost control and they didn’t. My chances of lasting to the end of the month are slipping away in front of my eyes.

‘Dawn’s not far away,’ Nell says, her eyes scanning the lightening sky. ‘We need to get back.’

Peter releases me and we stand on the pavement in an awkward circle. The laughter and joy of the night have completely vanished and it’s all my fault.

***

It takes much longer to find a taxi this time. I’m too numb after my attack on D’Argneau to worry about it but it keeps running through my mind. The scent of his fresh blood had been so overwhelming. The mammoth task of getting to the end of the month seems impossible. I knew it was going to be tough but I didn’t understand it would probably be easier to strike a match on jelly.

Beth takes charge. She ushers us to a main road where we’ll have a better chance of finding transport home. Faint streaks of purple are appearing in the sky and Nicky, in particular, is getting twitchy. I’d like to calm her down but selfishly all I can think about is myself. Everything is such a mess. I briefly consider whether to make a run for it and find shelter away from the Family and everyone else. The flat that Rogu3 found for me will now be out of commission, but as long as I find somewhere out of the sun, I’ll be fine. But there is a part of me that thinks perhaps I’ll be better off letting the dawn do its worst. There seems to be little point in struggling on when my own nature is my enemy.

By the time we flag down a taxi, I’ve been sucked into a vortex of misery. I huddle into a corner of the back seat. Beth is giving me worried glances but I can barely muster up the energy to care. The cab trundles past the grey buildings and the shortening shadows. When we arrive back at the Montserrat headquarters, it’s obvious we won’t have time to sneak back inside before dawn strikes. We’re going to have walk in through the front door and hope no one notices. It’s a stupid plan. I consider pointing this out to the others and then decide I don’t care. Rushing inside to avoid something as simple and beautiful as the sun’s first rays is bad enough.

Nicky pays the driver and we step out. I can already feel my skin starting to burn. Nell, Nicky and Peter sprint to the main door. I stay where I am, on the pavement, sniffing curiously at the slight smell of burnt hair from my bare arms.

Beth grabs me and shakes me. She gets right up into my face. ‘Do you have a bloody death wish?’ she hisses.

I shrug back helplessly. Maybe I do.

She mutters something then pulls me towards the entrance. The others have discovered that it’s locked. Oops.

Nell pushes against the door with her shoulder. ‘Why in the hell is it locked? Vampires are creatures of the night! This door should never be freaking locked.’

It’s locked, I think, to keep us monsters in and the rightfully vengeful humans out. Because one of our so-called Family members slaughtered an innocent two-year-old child. One of our brothers.

Nicky swears loudly. She thumps on the door to get someone’s attention. ‘We’re going to burn out here!’ she yells. Nell joins her, their fists creating a rhythmic drumming on the worn wood.

I turn away and gaze out at the location of the old Tyburn gallows. And I start to giggle. It begins as a hiccup in my guts, and then escapes through my nose and mouth. My shoulders shake as the giggle transforms into a laugh and I clutch my stomach, then sit down cross-legged, facing away from the door towards the trail of crimson red sky above Hyde Park.

‘Red sky at night, shepherd’s delight,’ I half-sing to myself, ‘red sky in morning, shepherd’s warning.’

‘Bo, will you get a fucking grip?’

I laugh harder.

There’s a creaking sound from behind. The thunderous face of Michael Montserrat stares at us from the threshold. I raise my arms and cackle, then turn back to the sky, lifting up my face while my cheeks and forehead prickle, burn and blister.

Arms encircle me from behind and drag me upwards. I protest but they merely tighten their grip. ‘Lemme go,’ I moan. ‘I’m enjoying the sunrise.’

The arms scoop me up. Montserrat is holding me against his chest like a child. ‘You should let me go,’ I tell him matter-of-factly. ‘This way you don’t have to wait for proof to execute me. I’ll just be dead.’

His expression is granite stern. He shifts my helpless weight and then stalks inside.

Chapter Twenty-Two: Truth

The dreams that follow are dark, terrible and steeped in blood. I have brief moments of lucidity, soon destroyed by bouts of dizziness and vomiting. I’m aware of people hovering over me, murmuring. I shut them all out and concentrate on the pain in my stomach and the ever-increasing desire for blood. At one point, someone changes my sheets because they’re soaked in clammy sweat, and I allow myself to be moved to a chair like a doll. When I sleep again, I have disturbing nightmares of the one-eyed doll’s head from Wiltshore Avenue. It talks to me in a little girl’s voice but its words are so awful that I scream in agitation.

I hallucinate. O’Shea’s body, bleeding out in that small grubby room. Me, down on all fours like an animal, lapping greedily at his blood. Then I’m in the office at Dire Straits, and the vampire who murdered Tam isn’t the indistinct form of the dark-haired man. It’s me, sinking my teeth into his neck and ripping out the soft, tasty flesh.

The images flit from one to another, as if I’m being forced to endure a never-ending reel of grotesque film. Someone tries to make me drink some water and I lash out, pushing them away until I’m left alone in the darkness. Arzo speaks to me, then Michael Monserrat. Sometimes Peter is there, sometimes Beth and Nicky.

‘Bo.’ The voice penetrates through my thick, throbbing skull.

‘Bo, I’m sorry. It took longer than I thought.’

Yet another glass is placed at my lips. I moan and shake my head. I already know it’s not blood and it’s blood that I desire above all things. I push it away.

‘Bo. The guard will only be gone for a few moments. You need to drink this now.’

I can’t make sense of the words. The glass tips and my lips are wet. I tentatively taste the liquid and start to choke. It’s poison. Panic writhes through me like a twisting snake. They’re feeding me O’Shea’s spell and there’s nothing I can do about it.

‘Smegging hell, Bo! Stop it and bloody drink!’

Hands tip back my head. I close my mouth firmly to avoid more of the foul-tasting liquid but sharp fingers pinch my nose and I can’t breathe. I try for as long as I can, but eventually I have no choice but to open my mouth and gasp for oxygen. As soon as I do, the liquid is poured in while I gag and splutter.

‘Everything will be fine now,’ the voice says, as the welcoming darkness returns yet again.

***

When I wake up, for a heart-pounding moment I think I’ve gone blind. It takes me a few seconds to realise that my eyes are glued together with such a build-up of gunk that I can’t open them. I fumble with one hand, searching for the jug that’s always on my right and scoop some water into my palm then rub it onto my eyes so I can pry open my eyelashes and finally see again.

I blink several times, clearing my vision. I’m still in my room and in my own bed. My arms and legs are covered in welts and scratches and I trace the marks with the tips of my fingers, wondering where they came from. I feel light-headed, but alive. I’m not sure how long I’ve been out for; it has to be at least a day but my memories are so foggy, I can’t be sure.

There’s a soft knock at the door.

‘Come in,’ I call, except it’s less of a call and more of a croaky whisper. My lips are cracked and sore.

The door opens a few inches and a familiar face peers in.

‘Arzo,’ I smile, then wince at the stabbing pain as my mouth moves into a position it’s clearly not ready for.

He looks white but his relief is palpable. ‘You’re awake.’

I pull my knees up to my chest and give him a small smile. ‘I guess so. What in hell happened to me?’

Arzo wheels himself inside, braking to a stop by the edge of my bed. It’s an oddly uncomfortable situation. The relationship I had with him involved little more than me checking what Tam’s schedule was. Now I’m in my standard issue vampire pyjamas while he gazes at me like a concerned parent.

‘It’s the bloodlust, Bo. It’s what happens.’

I frown. ‘You didn’t tell me it would knock me out and make me hallucinate. It kind of makes investigating anything a bit difficult.’

He shifts in the wheelchair and looks away. ‘We thought you’d have enough time,’ he mumbles. ‘Before this happened. And if you found nothing, well…’ His voice trails off.

‘Jesus, Arzo! That was the big plan? Hope I had enough time to find a traitor that the combined might of the five Families couldn’t uncover before I collapsed into a coma?’

‘It shouldn’t have happened so quickly,’ he protests, half-heartedly.

‘But you were expecting it.’ My voice is flat. No doubt the abrupt appearance of D’Argneau’s blood speeded up the process. Lucky old me.

He nods his head. ‘It always does. It’s why so few ever make it to the final stages of the lunar month. The hallucinations and pain can be … difficult.’ He frowns. ‘Lord Montserrat was about to order your feeding. You were past the point of no return. I don’t understand how you managed to recover.’ He shakes his head. ‘I’ve never seen that before.’

I think I understand how it happened. Or at least who was responsible. What I really don’t know is why. It’s a piece of information I’m going to keep to myself for now.

‘What about the others?’ I ask. ‘Peter, Nicky and Beth?’

He looks surprised. ‘They’re fine. The man – Peter? He’s a bit wan and frail but he’s coping. The girls appear barely bothered.’ His brow crinkles. ‘They said that you got talking to a man who cut himself on some glass but they managed to get out before it affected them. It was fortunate you had someone with you who has already completed turning.’

I keep my lips buttoned. Until I know more about what’s going on, my plan is to make sure my theories stay with me. It’s becoming more and more obvious that I’m just a very small cog in the Montserrat machine. Apparently neither Arzo nor Michael Montserrat cares that much for my well-being. But I’m surprised I was to be given blood to help me survive the transition; surely it would be easier to simply let me slip away? I say as much to Arzo and he looks pained.

‘I had words with Lord Montserrat about that one. He should never have thought that about you. He’s under a lot of pressure, Bo.’

Like he’s the only one. I snort. ‘So that’s it? Now he believes I’m not part of this gigantic conspiracy because you simply told him so?’

He won’t quite meet my eyes. ‘Well, that’s not the only reason.’

‘Go on.’

‘Bancroft has uncovered one of the traitors. They admitted to throwing that woman under the train, as well as attacking the daemon.’

Bancroft again. It’s high time I departed this Montserrat gig and went to find some answers there instead. I just need to work a way to manage it. ‘Blond hair?’ I ask. Arzo nods. ‘What’s going to happen to him?’

‘It’s already happened. He was executed four days ago.’

That doesn’t make sense. How could I only be hearing about it now? Tentacles of dread snake through my veins. ‘Arzo, how long have I been out for?’

‘A little over a week.’

‘A week?’ I shriek. I can’t believe I’ve lost so much time. In some ways it’s a good thing – it means the full moon is closer. But it leaves less time to discover what is really going on.

‘Is that it?’ I ask, desperately. ‘Did Bancroft find out who’s really behind all this? Is it over now?’

Arzo moves himself over to the window and gazes out, avoiding my eyes. ‘No. No. And no.’

‘Nothing?’

‘He was apparently being coerced. He could tell us what he’d done but not who was responsible for the planning.’

‘O’Shea’s spell.’

‘We can only presume so. Bancroft tested him before he died. He was incredibly submissive and open to suggestion.’

‘But also sexually aroused?’

Arzo looks embarrassed but nods.

‘I don’t suppose anyone has thought to speak to O’Shea to see if he can come up with a way to reverse the effects?’

‘It’s too late. Once the spell was transformed into physical form, it was beyond his control.’

I shake my head. What a mess. I swing my legs out of the bed and stand up. My head spins but I’m pretty sure I’ll be okay. I wouldn’t mind several pints of O negative to see me on my way but the bloodlust doesn’t seem much worse than it did before my attack on D’Argneau. Despite Arzo’s gloom, it’s hard for me not to feel optimistic.

‘Bo, what are you doing? You should rest.’

I give him my death-stare. For once it apparently works because he blanches ever so slightly. I smile at his reaction. ‘I’m going to save your sucky Montserrat arses, that’s what.’

***

It takes some time to persuade Arzo to leave but, as soon as he does, I move into high gear and head for the shower, almost colliding on my way out with the guard who is posted outside my room. After he calms down from his sudden-attack stance and carefully looks me over, he nods and leaves. I wonder whether he’s been there to guard me from potential threats from the others, or whether he was my own personal prison guard in case I was a threat to them. Regardless, now that I’m conscious and walking, I must be free.

There’s a layer of grime covering every inch of my skin and, despite a few lingering moments of light-headedness, the pleasure I take in scrubbing it away under the spray of hot of water is almost immeasurable. Once I’m done, and feeling much improved despite having to clamber into another silly jumpsuit, I stride over to the social area in search of Beth.

Almost everyone is there. I spot Peter, hunched in the corner. Arzo wasn’t kidding when he said he was looking frail; I’m amazed he can still sit up. I’d like to check on him but the others spot me and rush over, and I’m inundated with smiles and messages of goodwill. I’m taken aback by the positive feeling about my recovery.

‘So,’ Nicky says, ‘you’ve still not drunk then?’

I shake my head. ‘I don’t know how I managed it,’ I tell her, ‘but I’ve been to hell and come out the other side.’

‘There are only eight days left, you know.’

‘Yup. When are you planning to, you know, drink?’ The word sounds so innocuous yet carries so much meaning.

She smiles weakly. ‘Any day now. I’m feeling worse and worse.’ She looks away. ‘I dropped in on you. You were too far out of it to notice, of course, but there’s no way I’m putting myself through that. You were screaming and…’ Her voice trails off and she shudders.

‘It was pretty nasty,’ I agree. ‘I’m not doing that again.’ When I say the words, I realise that it’s true. I don’t want to be a vampire. Short of finding those responsible for screwing up my life and killing my friends, there’s nothing I want more than to become Sanguine. Deep down, however, I know I can’t go through that pain again. I’m desolate at the thought until I spot Beth hovering in the background. I catch her eye and focus on the matter in hand, looking meaningfully at the door. She nods.

I extricate myself from the others. As soon as I’m in the corridor, I open my mouth to speak but Beth puts her index finger to her lips. She starts to move away. I follow.

We end up in the now-familiar garden although we veer away from the path and towards a small section of shrubbery overlooking a fountain. Her stilettos make small indentations in the grass. I have to admit that I’m impressed she climbed a tree wearing them.

‘The noise from the fountain will help cover us,’ she tells me quietly, ‘but you still need to keep your voice low.’

I raise my eyebrows.

‘Guards,’ she explains. ‘Apparently, Lord Montserrat has the entire place on lockdown after our ill-advised escapade. And you know that vampires have highly attuned hearing.’

I murmur noncommittally. As much as I needed to talk to D’Argneau, I still feel guilty that it was my ‘ill-advised escapade’ and that I was almost responsible for his death. Beth seems to understand and places her hand on my shoulder.

‘How are you?’

‘I’m okay.’ She’s going to continue with the niceties so I press forward. ‘You gave me that drink, right? When I was hallucinating and sick?’

She doesn’t move or say anything but the answering flicker in her eyes confirms it.

‘Let me guess,’ I add drily, ‘it was something that came in a little white envelope which you hid under your water jug.’

‘Until you decided to get nosy. You’ve no idea how difficult it was for me to find another hiding place. You don’t make life easy, Bo.’

‘You could just have told me about it. What is it anyway? Some kind of bloodlust control thing? It’s got to be why I recovered instead of having blood rammed down my throat.’

She shrugs. ‘I’m not sure exactly what goes into it. But yes, it’s meant to control the cravings. It won’t remove them. Although you’re better than you were, you are still on the edge. You need to be careful.’

‘You’ve given it to Peter and Nicky too?’

‘No.’ Beth’s confusion is clear. ‘I have no idea why they’re still doing so well. I’ve been taking it almost since the beginning.’

I absorb this information before asking my next question. I’m pretty sure I know the answer. ‘Why did you give it to me?’

She plucks a leaf off a shrub and starts shredding it. ‘I promised I would do whatever it took to keep you safe and stop you drinking.’

‘Promised who, Beth?’

‘I’m also not supposed to let you know I’m doing it.’

‘I think that cat is out of the bag.’

‘You have to understand that I owe him. A few years ago things were rough. He helped me out. I was on the streets, tangled up with a group of tribers who were definitely on the shadier side of the supernatural.’

I wait for her to go on but she obviously doesn’t want to talk about it. I grit my teeth trying to control my anger. ‘And this is how he’s making you pay him back? By forcing you to become a freaking vampire?’

She looks surprised. ‘Oh, I was already signed up. I want to do this. I specifically want to be part of the Montserrat Family. I did my research and I’d have waited another ten years to apply if that’s what it took. But I promised your grandfather I wouldn’t drink until either you did, or we made it to the end of the month. He gave me the powder to help.’ She gives a short laugh. ‘You’ve no idea how many smegging times I tried to sneak it into your water. Except I never got close enough to manage it without getting caught. There was one occasion when I managed to get into your room and then Nicky came in after me. I think she was looking for you. I came up with the most appalling excuse to explain why I was there.’

I rub my forehead. My bloody meddling grandfather. I should have known; he’d accepted my entry into the Montserrat Family far too easily. And the amount of energy I’d expended thinking that Beth was one of the traitors… I sigh. ‘What a sodding mess.’

Beth gives me a sympathetic glance. ‘He’s only trying to help you.’

‘He could have told me about the powder. He didn’t need to be so underhanded.’

‘He seemed to think you wouldn’t accept his help.’

I think about that. I can be bloody minded at times and, yes, if I can avoid his assistance, I will. But I went to him for help with O’Shea. And when it comes down to the difference between ending up as Sanguine and ending up as a fully blown vampire – hell, I’d crawl on my knees through broken glass to ask for help with that.

‘You’re quite alike, you know,’ she comments.

I snarl quietly. Beth merely grins.

‘Do the vampires know about this powder?’

‘I have no idea.’

I wrinkle my nose. I’d like to think that if Arzo and Michael Montserrat knew about it, they’d have given it to me but I can’t be sure. Either way, it doesn’t change my next move. ‘You can consider yourself absolved of any further obligation,’ I tell her.

‘My agreement is with your grandfather, not you.’

I look at her sternly, underlining the fact that I’m not going to brook any argument on this. ‘You’ve done what you needed to do. Besides, I owe you now because I thought you were one of the Montserrat traitors.’

‘Traitors?’ She looks shocked. Obviously she knew no more about my real motives than I knew about hers.

‘I’ll make sure he knows you’ve fulfilled your oath,’ I promise. ‘You’re free to drink if you really want to.’

‘Thank you.’ Her voice is quiet. She digs into the pocket of her jumpsuit and pulls out the little envelope. ‘You only need a couple of grains every day mixed with water. Mr Blackman – I mean, your grandfather – was very clear about not taking more.’

Considering the side effects of O’Shea’s spell, goodness knows what might happen if you overdose on this stuff. Perhaps ignorance is bliss. I take the envelope then lean over the fountain, trailing my fingers in the water.

‘Actually, Beth, there is one more thing I need you to do.’

‘Name it.’

‘I have to get out of here so I can go where I need to be.’

The expression in her eyes says it all. ‘After last time?’ she shrieks, then claps her hand over her mouth when she realises how loud she’s been.

‘It’ll be okay,’ I reassure her. ‘I won’t be near any human blood.’

‘Why? Where are you planning to go?’

I smile humourlessly. ‘It’s time to pay the Bancroft Family a little visit.’

Chapter Twenty-Three: Spa Treatment

I’m not a complete fool. Even without Beth’s comment about the increased number of guards around the Montserrat complex, I know there is little chance of me sneaking out a second time. No doubt the Montserrat PR machine is still working at full throttle; they’re not about to let any more thirsty new recruits onto the streets again. I imagine heads are still rolling because we managed it once. I suppose I’ll have to seek out Lord Montserrat. I have to admit I’m surprised when he appears suddenly on the path as Beth and I head back inside. His figure is shrouded in shadow, but there’s no mistaking his broad shoulders and aggressive stance.

‘What are you doing?’

I smile disarmingly. ‘Out for a little stroll, my Lord. It’s such a wonderfully balmy evening, don’t you think?’

Beth inhales sharply at my disrespectful tone. I have no idea how Michael Montserrat feels about it, as his face remains hidden by the darkness. Irksome.

‘Beth, if you’d be so kind?’

She walks off so quickly that her stilettos spray up gravel in her wake. I raise my eyebrows. ‘I’m impressed, my Lord. I didn’t think Beth was scared of anyone. Congratulations.’

He takes a step towards me, moving into the moonlight so his dark scowl becomes visible. ‘Tell me exactly what you thought you were doing,’ he growls.

I blink, a picture of innocence. ‘I told you. We came out for a walk.’

His hands ball up into fists although they remain by his sides. I’ve never before seen someone so genuinely intimidating. I’m going to stand my ground though, no matter what.

‘Bo, you know what I’m referring to. Your little jaunt into town. You know, the one where you almost killed someone and destroyed yourself?’

I shrug and inspect my fingernails. ‘Considering the last conversation we had involved you telling me my name was top on the list for execution, I hardly thought you’d care.’

‘I had my reasons for that.’

‘And I had my reasons for going out.’

He takes another step towards me. ‘We have never, ever, had any recruits sneak out in the middle of the goddamn night before.’ He’s not shouting, but he doesn’t need to. His voice is so dangerously quiet it’s making me shiver.

‘What you mean is that you never caught any recruits sneaking out before.’ I’m dancing with death by taunting him but the perverse part of me that’s still glad to alive – and human – can’t help it.

‘You almost killed someone.’

‘Are you pissed off about that or that we pulled the wool over your eyes?’

‘You assured me several times that you didn’t want to be a vampire. How stupid can you be to think that you could go outside and not be tempted?’

‘I had to do something!’ I’m starting to lose my temper. ‘This is my life on the line. You stopped talking to me, like we were bloody schoolgirls having a spat. How else was I supposed to continue investigating? You didn’t tell me anything about Tommy Glass. I was out of the loop on freaking everything! I gave up my life for this, my Lord.’ I enunciate the last two words as clearly as I can. I might understand his position but I also want him to appreciate the disdain I feel for him right now.

‘Do you think this is all about you? There are five Families, Bo. That’s two thousand five hundred lives to consider. Not to mention what will happen to all the humans if we are destroyed. The universe doesn’t revolve around you.’

‘You came to me,’ I remind him. ‘You begged me to help you.’

His dark eyes flash. ‘Only because you had nothing left to lose. You were convenient.’

I feel a tug of something inexplicable as I glare into his eyes. For once I’m glad that I’m not taller because the tie that was created between us because of the way he turned me is affecting my baser instincts. I can smell his deep musky aftershave and my stomach flutters. I glare harder to dampen my traitorous emotions. It doesn’t work. He, however, seems to sense my capitulation because he relaxes slightly.

‘You had bloodfever. You were screaming for hours on end and we were about to force feed you. How did you recover, Bo?’

Because my sneaky grandfather blackmailed someone into giving me a secret powder that helped stop the urges. I can hardly tell him that; I have a feeling he won’t take too kindly to Arbuthnot Blackman knowing how to curtail bloodlust when the Families don’t.

‘Just lucky, I guess,’ I say softly.

He rolls his eyes disbelievingly. ‘Luck appears to be a bankable commodity when you’re around.’

‘If it helps, I don’t feel particularly fortunate right now.’

His fists uncurl and for a brief moment he appears almost vulnerable. ‘I’m sorry.’ He says it quietly.

‘Excuse me?’ My voice is much louder in return. ‘I didn’t quite catch that.’

The vulnerability vanishes. ‘You heard me the first time.’

I stick a finger in my ear and wiggle it around. ‘No, no, I’m not sure I did.’

He sighs. ‘Fine.’ He steps up to my ear and bends his head. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers into it. ‘I should not have jumped to conclusions about you.’

‘I’m sure you can do better than that,’ I murmur.

‘Don’t push your luck.’ It’s a low growl. The fluttering in my stomach intensifies and I finally move away.

‘Okay,’ I shrug, aiming for insouciance. I’ll fake it until it’s true. ‘Tell me what else I’ve missed.’

If he’s surprised by my sudden volte-face, he doesn’t show it. Instead he gets down to business. ‘Arzo told you about the Bancroft vampire.’

I nod.

He pulls out a smartphone and flips through a few screens, then holds it up. I squint. It’s a very bloody looking vampire with short blond hair and fear in his eyes.

‘He doesn’t look too happy,’ I comment. ‘You do realise that if he was given O’Shea’s adapted spell, it might not be his fault?’

‘A traitor is a traitor.’

I shake my head. ‘The world is not black and white, my Lord.’

‘Michael,’ he tells me.

I give him a look. I’m not quite ready to go back there just yet.

‘Do you recognise him?’ he asks.

‘He’s the one from the train station.’

‘That’s what we thought.’ He puts the phone away.

‘You know, it might have been helpful if I could have spoken to him before Bancroft killed him.’

‘It wasn’t my decision to make.’

I eye him. No, it wasn’t but I bet he could have encouraged the Bancroft Head to hold off if he’d really wanted to. ‘Did you talk to him?’

‘It was a Bancroft matter.’

‘So he was only dealt with in-house? Why wouldn’t you or the other Heads question him too? You’re all threatened by what’s going on here.’

He scowls. ‘It’s not the way we do things.’

I let it go for now. ‘Is there anything else I should know?’

‘We can’t find the Dire Straits attacker. No one in the Families can find evidence that anyone else is involved. But twelve more vampires from across all the Families have turned up dead.’

‘And little Tommy Glass,’ I point out.

He runs a hand through his hair. ‘Unfortunately he’s not the only human. He’s just the only one we didn’t manage to get to before the press.’

‘How many others?’ I ask quietly and for a long moment he doesn’t answer. Then he sighs.

‘Too many. Things are falling apart, Bo. I don’t know how long we have left before everything collapses. Someone is behind this but we don’t know who and we don’t know what they’re waiting for.’

I watch him carefully. Fatigue and frustration are etched into his features. I put a hand out as if to pat his shoulder, then think better of it. ‘I wasn’t getting out of here on a jolly. There was a lawyer…’

‘D’Argneau.’ At my look, he explains. ‘We thought it might be worthwhile to know what was so important that you had to venture away from the safety of the Family.’ His jaw tightens. ‘He told me how you met.’

‘Did you find anything else?’ I ask awkwardly. ‘It seemed too strange to be a coincidence that I bumped into him and he turned out to be the one who hired us to investigate O’Shea.’

‘I had people check it out,’ he says distantly. ‘I agree the coincidence part appears unlikely but we could find nothing to suggest otherwise.’

I nibble a fingernail. D’Argneau has served his purpose and I’m desperate to change the subject. ‘I need to speak to the Bancroft Head.’

He jerks in surprise. ‘Tell me what you need to know and I’ll talk to her.’

‘No.’ I’m adamant about this. ‘I need to see her in person and I need to do it alone. If you’re there, she’ll react differently.’

‘Bo,’ he begins.

I reach out again with my hand and place it on his arm. ‘Please, my Lord. Just trust me. I have to talk to her and it’s better if I do it alone.’

‘Absolutely not.’

‘My Lord.’ I try again. ‘Michael. The spell only affects male vampires. It’s better if you stay away.’

His eyes narrow. ‘The rest of us aren’t idiots, Bo. We checked her out. It’s the first thing we did. You can’t pin the blame on her just because she’s not a man. Bancroft doesn’t want to upset the status quo any more than the rest of us.’

No, I think. You just don’t want to believe that Bancroft would do that. Plus, she’s covered her tracks well. After all, I checked her out myself by telephoning that spa. What I didn’t consider at the time is that she very cleverly set herself up with an alibi. Until D’Argneau’s information that she was the one who’d set him onto O’Shea, that is. Add that to the fact that the blond prick who killed Charity Weathers was conveniently executed by her within a few days of his treachery being discovered – and before he could be questioned by anyone else. She was the obvious suspect from the beginning. Maybe that’s why she’s gotten away with it for so long; she was so obvious that it seemed ridiculous that it could be her. She sets up false rumours of a new Family to cover her tracks and, hey presto, everyone’s running around going crazy while she laughs from the sidelines and puts her plans of vampire domination into action. I’m not going to say anything to Montserrat until I have absolute proof but I’m fairly certain I know how to get it. I haven’t spent years being manipulated by my grandfather without learning a thing or two about the process.

‘Well, if you’re so sure it’s not her, then you’ve got nothing to worry about, have you? Let me do this. It’s going to be easier with your permission than without.’

He gives a short laugh, his dimple appearing momentarily. ‘I’m clearly being punished for something I’ve done in a former life.’

I smile sweetly. I know I’ve won.

‘Fine. I’ll set it up,’ he tells me.

‘Thank you. But I need a car to get me there so I can avoid any untoward encounters with bleeding humans or ultraviolet rays along the way. I’ll set up the meeting with her on my own. And some kind of recorder or listening device, if you have one.’

‘She’s a Family Head, Bo. She deserves your respect. As far as she’s concerned you’re nothing more than a human.’

I grin. ‘Hey, as far as I’m concerned I’m nothing more than a human either.’

I skip happily along the corridor, looking for Beth. I feel slightly guilty about receiving more of her help, especially after being convinced she was betraying her new Family. Let’s face it, I treated her no differently to how Lord Montserrat treated me – although I wouldn’t have threatened to execute her, of course. However, I can think of no one who’ll be able to pull off my plan with more aplomb than her. The worst thing is that it’s still only Monday. Ms Bancroft won’t be back sampling the joys of Spa De Loti for another two days. Even more troublesome is that she’ll be there during the day and sunlight is definitely not my friend. Without Montserrat’s help, I’ll never get there.

I’m at the foot of the main staircase when I spot Peter shuffling along. I bounce up to him. ‘Hey,’ I say, slapping him on the back, ‘how’s things?’

He looks at me bleakly. ‘You were half dead this time yesterday, Bo. Why are you so chipper suddenly?’

‘Because I was half dead this time yesterday.’ I beam at him. ‘There’s nothing like almost dying to make you feel good.’ Not to mention solving the greatest vampire murder mystery of this century, I think breezily.

‘Technically, if you’d drunk a bit of blood, you wouldn’t be dead either,’ he points out. ‘Vampires aren’t any more dead than humans.’

I pay him more attention. ‘Then why are you still blood free? It’s a damn long time to hold out.’

‘They’re taking bets on which one of us will last the longest,’ he says glumly.

I frown. ‘Who?’

‘Everyone. They’ve never had four recruits hold out for this length of time.’ His lip curls. ‘My odds are long apparently.’

Frankly, I’m not surprised; he’s starting to look more dead than alive. There’s a faint sheen of sweat on his brow and an odd sour smell coming off his body. My heart goes out to him. ‘You don’t care about being powerful and you don’t want to be Sanguine. Why don’t you drink? You can’t keep putting yourself through this, Peter. Believe me, I know how bad it gets.’ I’d give him some of Beth’s powdered stuff if I thought he’d want it. The trouble is, I’m not sure he knows what he wants.

‘I deserve to suffer.’

My eyes widen in alarm. This kind of self-flagellation is not healthy. ‘Peter, nobody deserves to suffer.’

‘Yeah?’ he scoffs. ‘What about your boss? The one you were in love with? Don’t the vampires who killed him deserve to suffer?’

I’d forgotten all about that little story I’d spun. ‘Er…’

Nicky appears from behind me. ‘Bo! You were in love with your boss and a vampire killed him? No way! That’s so awful.’

For once, I’m irritated by her abrupt appearance as well as the line of questioning. Before D’Argneau’s revelations, I’d have milked this conversation for all it’s worth. After all, it was my plan to gain the others’ confidence and encourage them to tell me if they’d been approached by any vampires looking to organise a mass-scale betrayal. Now I know that Bancroft is behind it all, I’m less interested in possible minions who might emerge from the woodwork. I don’t need the followers when I can nab the leader and achieve my goal.

‘I don’t really want to talk about it.’ I shift uncomfortably.

Peter moves past us. ‘Now you know how I feel,’ he mutters.

I watch him wander off then turn back to Nicky. Not for the first time, I register distaste in her eyes when she looks at him. ‘You don’t like him, do you?’ I say. ‘He’s actually a nice guy if you give him a chance.’

She faces me, her eyes clear and guileless. ‘It’s not his fault,’ she tells me frankly. ‘He just reminds me of … you know.’

I suddenly feel like a shit. ‘The people who attacked your family?’ I ask gently.

She nods, her eyes welling up. I pull her into a hug. ‘I’m so sorry, Nicky. It must be impossibly hard for you.’ I feel her body tremble while she sniffs into my shoulder. ‘Why does Peter remind you of them?’

She sobs harder and clutches at me. I hold her and wait until her racking cries subside. I smooth her hair, telling myself that she doesn’t want my advice or guidance, she just needs a bit of comfort. I hope she gets over her feelings for Peter though, not just for his sake but for hers too. Irrational dislike is never healthy, even if it seems unavoidable.

Eventually she pulls away. ‘Thank you, Bo. You’re so kind and helpful. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

Warmth spreads through me and I feel oddly embarrassed. It’s part of being British, I suppose, this inability to accept a genuine compliment. I smile awkwardly at her. ‘I’m always here, Nicky. You know, if you ever want to talk about it.’

She sniffs tearfully. ‘You’re the best.’ Then, before I can say anything else, she runs up the stairs, quickly disappearing from sight.

***

Two days later, dealing with Nicky’s fragility and Peter’s increasing weakness seem easy in comparison to what Beth and I are about to attempt. It is hard enough staying awake beyond dawn; every time I stifle a yawn, Beth does the same. The rhythmic sounds of fatigue from the pair of us add to the tension in the back of one of Montserrat’s helpfully blacked-out cars.

‘I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,’ she mutters.

I try to keep my tone light. ‘Hey, at least we’re doing this with the full consent of our Lord and Master this time.’

‘Are you going to tell me what’s really going on?’

‘It wouldn’t be fair. First of all, it’s meant to be confidential information and, second, I don’t want to worry you.’

‘You realise that there is nothing more worrying than the phrase “I don’t want to worry you”, right?’

‘“I think you should sit down”?’ I suggest.

‘Okay, yeah, that’s never good to hear.’

‘“This isn’t going to hurt much”?’

‘Fine.’

‘“Our nuclear facility has run for a full seven days without an accident”?’

‘Bo?’

‘Yes?’

‘Shut the smeg up.’

I grin. ‘Chill out. All you need to do is keep them busy so I can get to Bancroft.’

Beth glances out of the heavily tinted window. ‘Assuming we can actually get from here to there first.’

‘It’s just a bit of sunshine. And it’s less than five metres to the door from here anyway.’ I’m not sure whether I’m attempting to reassure her or myself. Thanks to my fabulously unnatural healing powers, the blisters I incurred in my mad suicide attempt to see the sun rise have already healed. I can still remember what it felt like – and smelled like – to frazzle in the sun’s rays, though. And that was at dawn. Now we’re barely an hour past midday and there’s not a single cloud in the sky. ‘Being a vampire isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,’ I comment sardonically.

‘It’s only for a couple of years. Then we build up immunity to the ultraviolet light.’

‘You could have completed the process, you know. I wouldn’t have minded if you’d drunk.’

Beth shakes her head. ‘Nah. This’ll go easier if I’m still clean. By this evening, however…’

I smile at her, even though it doesn’t quite reach my eyes. Despite my earlier misgivings about Beth, the thought of this bright, resourceful woman becoming a full vampire seems tragic. I can’t help feeling that she’s throwing away her future. Fortunately, if Beth knows what I’m thinking, she doesn’t comment and we are distracted by a cough from the driver in front.

‘Lord Montserrat told me to inform you that you may still change your mind,’ he says. He’s not referring to fully fledged vampirism, unfortunately.

I look at Beth. ‘Last one out is a deep-fried semi-human.’

She winks at me and pulls up the protective hood until her face is covered. It’s made of some kind of odd reflective material. Apparently, it’s the perfect material to be wearing should one ever find oneself in the midst of a nuclear attack. I don’t feel any better knowing that the sun now has the same effect on me that a thermo-nuclear device would have.

I do the same, then kick open the car door and rush out while Beth follows at my heels. The heat is searing and, even though I’m covered from head to toe, it feels as if every layer of skin is being scorched from my body like a marshmallow in a campfire. Then we’re inside and moving away from the large glass windows – more out of instinct than because of any residual rays that might be seeping through.

I yank down the hood and paste on a wide smile for the receptionist. She is staring at us with the sort of horror that she usually reserves for people who’ve left the house before blow-drying their hair. I’m glad that I’m with Beth and her bouffant hairdo.

Beth saunters forward. ‘Angelique! Darling, how are you?’ She reaches across the desk for a double air kiss.

Angelique, recovering her professionalism, purrs, ‘It’s so wonderful to see you again!’ She’s never seen Beth in her life before, of course.

‘Well, darling, you can see the trauma.’ Beth flips out a hand in my direction and I manage to look suitably contrite. ‘I mean, those curls! So last season. We simply must do something about them immediately.’

The receptionist looks me over, nodding. ‘Yes, indeed. Do you have an appointment?’

‘Angelique, this is an emergency! There’s no time for appointments. We must see a specialist right away.’

If I’d not been standing there, I’d have believed Beth was far too melodramatic to suit our purpose but it’s clear from Angelique’s expression that she agrees this is an ER situation. She frowns. ‘I can fit you in tomorrow. Around 10am?’

‘No,’ Beth replies firmly. ‘That will be far too late. Can’t you do a little shifting here and there and work your magic so we can see someone now?’

Angelique shakes her head. ‘We have a special client. She’s booked out the entire facility.’

‘Where is this client?’ Beth asks, sounding surprised.

‘In the massage treatment room. She…’

?Well, then! We won’t go anywhere near there. I absolutely promise.’

‘I’m sorry. This client is rather particular. We can’t afford to…’

‘Angelique. You know me. I would never upset the rhythm of your wonderful spa. We will stay far away from your client.’

‘I don’t think….’

‘Angelique.’ Beth leans towards her. I think some of the unawakened vampirism in her blood must be working its magic because the receptionist pulls away and there’s a flicker of fear in her heavily mascaraed eyes.

She yields. ‘You must understand I can’t be responsible for what happens if the other client sees you.’ What she really means is that she won’t be responsible if Bancroft drains the pair of us of our blood for daring to venture close to her.

Beth tosses her head. ‘Darling, that’s absolutely understood. We’ll just head straight on up. The hair specialist, what’s his name again?’

‘Lars.’

‘Of course, Lars. I can never remember those foreign-sounding names. Well, we’ll stay with Lars. No one will even know we’re here.’ She waves her fingers in the air. ‘Toodle-do!’

And with that, we move quickly to the lift and get in before Angelique changes her mind. ‘Nicely done,’ I say, when the lift doors close.

Beth shrugs. ‘All in a day’s work. Besides, that was the easy part. Lady Bancroft is hardly going to be here unaccompanied. She could have a dozen guards with her.’

Actually, I’m betting on the reverse. It would be a show of weakness for one of the Family Heads to travel with a vast entourage. I’m banking on the fact that she’ll be virtually alone. I hope.

The lift doors open and we step out. ‘You’ll need to keep this Lars occupied,’ I tell Beth. ‘Just in case Angelique gets curious.’

‘No problem. But Bo?’

‘Mmm?’ I say, glancing down the corridor and inhaling the heady scent of lemongrass and jasmine.

‘You need to be smegging careful. It’s not just your life that’s on the line if you mess up whatever it is you’re about to do.’

‘You can play innocent. Say that I placed you under a compulsion spell or something.’

‘I’m not talking about the vampires. If you get killed doing this, your grandfather will have my head.’

I want to protest but I have to acknowledge the truth of her words: revenge is his strong suit. For this reason, I’ve already penned him a letter and given it to Montserrat to send if my little foray into the heart of the Bancroft action doesn’t work out.

I squeeze Beth’s arm, then set off to the right. I need to be bloody smart about this. Guards or no guards, Lady Bancroft isn’t the head of one the five Families because of her charm.

I duck my head to avoid the CCTV camera at the end of the corridor and creep on until I hear the murmur of voices from behind one of the doors. I listen for a moment, but I can’t make out the words. It’s of little consequence. I don’t need to know what they’re saying about exfoliation, I just need to get past them without being seen. I take a few steps backwards and quietly open the door to the adjoining room. Peering cautiously inside, I make sure it’s empty before I sneak in and shut the door behind me. I prop a chair underneath the handle to keep it closed. It won’t hold a vampire back for more than a few seconds but it’ll probably be good enough to prevent any of the spa staff from entering.

I search the room. I’d hoped for a connecting door but that would be far too bloody easy. However, examining the layout of this room will probably help me enter the one next door. Companies like this tend to follow the same floor plan and I’m fairly certain that all the rooms are the same size. That means Bancroft’s spa room will probably be the same as this one.

There are several shelves with artfully arranged, scented candles next to wooden bowls filled with fresh jasmine petals. For no apparent reason, each bowl includes a perfectly aligned set of chopsticks as if, at any minute, patrons can wander along and partake of the flowers as a pre-therapy snack. A massage table sits to one side, covered by fluffy towels; on the other, there’s a bath that looks big enough to swim in. I whistle softly and pad through an archway to another section of the room. A large plastic coffin-like structure sits in the centre. I glance at it warily. This must be the sensory deprivation tank. It looks more like a bizarre torture chamber.

I try to work out how to open it. After a few moments I find the mechanism and, when I lift the lid, it’s heavier than I expected. I frown at the silky looking water inside. There are tiny lights embedded around the inner edge of the tank, together with what appears to be a speaker. That’s good. If Bancroft enjoys listening to music while lying in the dark, I’ll have a better chance of sneaking in. I imagine where her head will be when she’s inside. There’s no sign of a pillow so it’s difficult to judge which end to aim for. I’ll just have to take my chances.

Once I’m satisfied with my inspection, I walk to the window. Heavy curtains tied back with fake rustic ropes frame the glass. I finger the material thoughtfully. No doubt they’ll be closed to create a sense of privacy in Bancroft’s room. I turn my attention to the window. Unfortunately for me, it’s been designed with health and safety in mind and it opens out only a scant five inches. I may be small but I have no chance of squeezing myself through that gap.

I need to get into the room next door without being detected. There is obviously at least one spa staff member inside – which means at least one human. Even with my daily dose of the bloodlust dampening powder, attacking them and inadvertently drawing blood will lead to my undoing. Besides which, I’m sure there will be a minimum of one Bancroft Family companion. I’m still a weak recruit; I’ve got no hope against a genuine vampire. I press my palms against my temples and try to think. My musings are interrupted by a dull thud from outside.

I freeze. My heart beat ratchets up a notch and I strain to hear more but the walls are well insulated. I tiptoe carefully towards the door, grabbing one of the candles as I go. It’s encased in a tubular glass container so I scoop out the candle then press the container against the wood, with my ear at the other end. There are two voices although I only understand a few words, which seem to be something to do with the effect of natural papaya enzymes. I relax, realising they must be spa staff. With any luck, they’ve just left Bancroft alone in her plastic tub.

I take the glass away from the door and notice the peephole set into the middle of it. I curse myself for not noticing it before. It’s a nice touch for a private spa that wants to reassure its guests – and particularly helpful for me. I rise back on tiptoe to peer out and confirm that the two people outside are human. Both of them are wearing white coats as if to suggest that they are serious medical practitioners. They wander off.

I sink back down and lean against the door. Perhaps this won’t be so difficult to manage after all. I return the glass to the shelf and lift up one of the chopsticks. Despite its decorative purpose, it feels sturdy. It won’t serve as a stake to slam through Bancroft’s black heart but nevertheless it might do some effective damage.

I have only one shot at this and if there’s more than one other Bancroft Family vampire in the room, my goose is well and truly cooked. But I feel a surge of confidence. I can do this. The adrenaline coursing through my veins will provide me with the momentum I need. I straighten my shoulders. I can do this, I tell myself again.

I open the door and poke out my head. The corridor is empty. The CCTV camera at the far end is blinking in my direction so I pull down some hair to cover my face and step out. My stomach churns, more as a result of excitement than nerves. It’s been a damn long month in the life of Bo Blackman and it’s finally about to end.

I look through the peephole in Bancroft’s door. There’s a gleam of light but I can’t make out much else. I lean forward to listen but it all seems quiet, so I take a deep breath and knock twice. Then I wait, gripping the chopstick until my knuckles whiten.

It feels like an eternity – although it’s probably less than ten seconds – before a shadow crosses in front of the peephole. I draw back my fist and slam the narrow point of the chopstick through it, shattering the glass and ramming it into something soft on the other side. As soon as I feel it connect, I kick open the door, knocking down the vampire inside. He’s clutching at his face, scrabbling at the chopstick protruding from his red, bulging eyeball and screaming like a pig at a slaughterhouse. No one is leaping to his aid but, from deeper inside the room, I can hear the plastic lid of the tank being pushed up. I waste no time in pushing the massage table against the door as a temporary barricade and jumping over one-eyed Jack to get to Bancroft before she gets to me. Her lightning vampire speed serves her well, though; by the time I leap through the arch she’s already standing there, dripping wet and with a mask of fury etched on her face.

Chapter Twenty-four: Nancy Drew

I feint right, then leap backwards and yank the chopstick out of the bodyguard’s eye. It makes a soft sucking sound that turns my stomach. I don’t have time to do anything other than wave it threateningly in Lady Bancroft’s direction before she lunges at me and slams my body against the wall.

‘Your little spell won’t work on me,’ she hisses.

I blink. Spell? She registers my confusion and her eyes narrow. ‘Who are you?’

Her hand grips my throat so tightly that I can’t breathe, let alone speak. Perhaps this wasn’t the most well-thought-out plan after all. She releases her hold slightly and repeats, ‘Who are you?’

‘Bo,’ I manage to croak. ‘Bo Blackman.’

Surprised, she takes her hand away and frowns. ‘The Montserrat recruit? You’re the traitor after all?’

This isn’t going as I expected. ‘No. You’re the traitor. I can’t be the traitor, I’m only a recruit.’

The bodyguard moans and, without missing a beat, she glides over, bends down and snaps his neck, pulling his head away from his body at the same time to ensure there’ll be no return for this particular triber. I stare, open-mouthed.

Lady Bancroft shrugs. ‘If he’s not much use as a bodyguard, he’s not much use as anything.’

I’m horrified by her casual violence until I remember that I’m the one who rammed a chopstick into his bloody eye. I twist so that I’m facing away from his corpse.

‘Now,’ she continues, ‘tell me why you think I’m the traitor and why, as a recruit, you can’t be.’

‘Er…’ Her clear green eyes fix me with such vivid intensity that I find it hard to concentrate.

She flicks back her sopping wet hair. ‘Sorry. Force of habit.’ Then, as if a switch has been turned, her gaze softens and something inside me relaxes.

‘You mean you were…’

‘Controlling you?’ she asks impatiently. ‘Yes. Now answer my questions.’

I’m stunned by the power she can yield and more than a little terrified. I’m also starting to appreciate that I’ve made a terrible mistake. Not in coming here to confront her – although clearly that was an error when I don’t have anything beyond a fragile eating utensil with which to subdue her – but because it’s obvious she’s not behind the plot to destroy the Families.

‘Speak, girl!’ she snaps.

Her imperious tone snaps me out of my daze. ‘We’re not in the nineteenth century. I’m not some bloody scullery maid you can order around.’

Lady Bancroft’s lips twitch. ‘Montserrat was right. You do have some fire about you.’ I scowl. ‘I suppose you imagined you could attack me and win.’

‘I didn’t need to beat you. I just needed you to confirm that you were the traitor.’

‘How would that help if I tore your head off before you could pass the information to someone else?’ Her tone is mild but the threat is still there. Especially with the fallen body of her bodyguard lying just a few feet away.

I look at her steadily. She cocks her head then smiles. Her hand swipes at me in one flashing movement, ripping my jumpsuit and revealing the tiny microphone and wire underneath. Her body stills when she sees it.

‘So,’ she hisses in a dangerous undertone, ‘Montserrat thinks I’m the one.’

I find my voice. ‘Actually no, he doesn’t. This is broadcasting somewhere else.’ In fact just down the hall to Beth: the transmitter is too weak to signal anywhere further. That’s another reason why Beth had to come with me. She couldn’t listen in but everything is being sent to a miniature black box recorder hidden in her clothes. In the event of my death or dismemberment, all she has to do is take it back to Montserrat who’ll de-encrypt it to discover the truth.

‘All very well,’ she says with a sniff, ‘but it suggests a rather careless disregard for your own well-being.’

‘Whoever’s behind this has already destroyed my life. Finding them and putting them down is my raison d’être.’

She laughs, a high musical sound. ‘Really?’

I’m offended. ‘Really.’

‘We have our own investigators, you know. We did look into you.’ She taps the corner of her mouth thoughtfully. ‘Let me think, what was it? The bottom rung of a two-bit private detective firm? A one-bedroomed flat in a seedier part of London? A few friends, no love life, no family?’

‘I’ve got family,’ I tell her stiffly.

‘Your mother is on the other side of the world and relations with your grandfather are stilted.’

‘Perhaps my definition of a good life and yours are different.’

She laughs again. ‘I doubt that. Besides, you have five hundred members of a brand new Family. Why would you want to throw all that away?’

‘I don’t want to be a damned vampire,’ I say through gritted teeth.

She’s surprised. ‘Why ever not?’

‘I have no desire to be beholden to blood or to live an unnaturally long life. Human suits me just fine.’

Her hand shoots out again, grabbing my throat. She pushes me into the air while my legs kick involuntarily and my fingers scrabble at her hand.

‘Can a human do this?’ she enquires.

My eyes bulge and she sighs and lets me go. I fall into a puddle at her feet.

‘Humans can’t be hit by a stupid daemon-created passivity spell,’ I croak.

She bends down. ‘No, but you know they’ll be destroyed by its results in the end.’

I stand up unsteadily. ‘So why is someone doing it?’

She shrugs. ‘Power.’

I think back to my earliest musings about O’Shea’s spell. Tam always believed in sex and money as motives, but the allure of power is equally strong. I acknowledge her words with a nod. ‘Why not you?’ My voice is soft and non-threatening.

‘You mean, why am I not initiating this Family takeover? Why am I not the traitor? Because, darling, I’ve got it good. I might be a woman in a man’s world but I know how to play those boys.’

I find it hard to think of Michael Montserrat as a boy, but wisely I stay mute.

‘At least you have one thing correct,’ she says. ‘Whoever is behind all this has to be a woman.’

‘Because the spell only affects males?’

‘Indeed. There would be far too much danger of leakage or contamination for it to be wielded by a man. Although the silly girl who is pulling the strings has no idea that you don’t need magic to make men dance to your tune.’

Something about her tone makes me shiver. ‘One of the witnesses said it was a woman.’

‘Charity Weathers.’

I nod then glance at her, askance. ‘You said you thought a recruit could be the perpetrator.’

‘No. What I asked is why you think a recruit can’t be.’

‘It doesn’t make sense. A recruit or a human wouldn’t have access to the Families to involve so many vampires in the first place. As far as I understand, this has been going on for a couple of months.’

‘The first death was February 15th.’

‘Well then,’ I say. ‘It couldn’t be a recruit. It has to be a Family member.’

She’s amused. ‘We don’t live cloistered away like monks and nuns. Plenty of vampires have regular access to humans. Anyone could have given them the solidified spell.’

‘You expect me to believe that a bunch of vampires, who’ve lived longer than anyone else, are stupid enough to fall for a trap and take a dodgy spell from a dodgy human?’

‘Humans are craftier than you give them credit for,’ she snorts.

‘Are vampires stupider than you give them credit for?’

‘There’s a vast difference between stupidity and naivety.’ She sighs. ‘Perhaps that’s been our downfall. We’ve been lulled into a false sense of security after decades of peace and power.’

I watch her carefully. I can’t sense any dissembling. She might be right. I may have spent weeks making silly assumptions – but I still can’t understand why a human would want to take down the five Families in order to set up a new Family in their place. It would disrupt years of the delicate power balance. Look at what happened in France during the Revolution when there was only one Family around. No one would want to see a return to those times, and humans and vampires co-exist quite happily these days. There’s no need to change that. If you want to become a vampire, then just apply.

‘What about disgruntled applicants who’ve not been recruited?’ I ask suddenly.

Lady Bancroft looks at me like I’m a particularly disgusting form of fungus. ’We’ve done that. We investigated them all.’

‘But…’

‘Look, Montserrat might admire you but if you think you’ve got all the answers and that we’ve not already exhausted these possibilities, then you’re even more stupid than I realised.’

I bristle. ‘Hey, I’ve made some mistakes…’

‘Some? You’ve wasted time and energy coming after me. This spell has the potential to destroy us all and we have no idea when or where it’s going to happen. Meanwhile, you’ve been running around like Nancy Drew, uncovering nothing of note.’

‘Nancy Drew is a good detective,’ I mumble, although I’m gallingly aware that she’s right. Since I entered the Montserrat Family, I’ve achieved a big fat zero. Nul points to Bo Blackman. Between wasting my time over Beth as a potential minion and Bancroft as the potential evil lady, I’ve discovered squat. There are only five more days until the end of the lunar month when I’ll either become Sanguine or be a bloodguzzler. Unless I – or someone with more wits – find out who wants to make a new super Family, my days are numbered. Not to mention everyone else’s.

The lack of sympathy on Lady Bancroft’s face isn’t helping. ‘Why did you kill the blond vampire?’

‘Who?’

‘The one who killed Charity Weathers. It wasn’t his fault.’

She nudges her dead bodyguard with her toe. ‘It wasn’t his fault you barged in here and disturbed me. I don’t see you crying over his corpse.’

I stay on topic. ‘You didn’t let anyone else speak to him.’

‘He had nothing to say. He’d been stripped of who he was and become a suggestible, pliable moron.’

‘He couldn’t tell you where he got the spell from?’

‘He had no idea. Even as a vampire he dabbled in drugs. We assume his heroin was switched for the spell.’

I try to imagine what a Class A drug does to a vampire and fail. Then I remember the syringe I found back at the house on Wiltshore Avenue. I should have followed that up earlier. Charity had clearly been involved in drugs too to force her involvement. If Tam had been around to offer some guidance, I would probably have done more to follow that particular line of enquiry. Instead all I’ve done is let his memory down. My shoulders sink in defeat.

‘Dire Straits,’ I say.

‘Indeed,’ agrees Lady Bancroft.

‘No, Dire Straits. My firm. Why did you hire D’Argneau to look for O’Shea? You’ve got your own investigators. You don’t need a bunch of humans. You hired D’Argneau who hired us.’

‘The lawyer? We tried our own methods and failed. He came highly recommended.’

‘By whom?’

‘Lots of people. What does it matter? We inadvertently discovered the daemon was the spell’s originator thanks to a Valentine’s Day card he sent to one of our first victims. He’d written it in code but a child could have cracked it.’ She sniffs. ‘So we went after him with D’Argneau’s help to serve a summons for something else to cover our tracks.’

I pinch the bridge of my nose. I wonder if their sudden action to find O’Shea precipitated his attempted murder – and my framing for it.

‘You need to leave now,’ Lady Bancroft says without further preamble. She walks back to the sensory tank.

‘You’re going back in?’

‘Why wouldn’t I? If our world is going to end any day now, then I want to enjoy myself before it does.’

I struggle to see how shutting yourself into a tiny space equals enjoyment.

‘Look,’ she says more kindly, ‘you’ve bitten off more than you can chew. Montserrat placed too much faith in you and it wasn’t fair. You’re too inexperienced and too damn human. It’s not your fault. If we manage to get past this, come and see me when you’ve finished turning. You might be Montserrat now but I can always use a plucky vampire whose heart is in the right place.’ Her condescension, even if it is well meant, is overpowering.

‘I’m not going to be a vampire,’ I snap. ‘I only have five more days then I’ll be Sanguine.’

She laughs, lifts up the roof of the tank and climbs back in. ‘Sure.’

I throw her a dirty look but she’s already disappeared from view. I run my hands through my hair. She’s right. I arrogantly assumed that I’d be able to solve what the might of the five Families couldn’t. Super Bo to the rescue! To quote D’Argneau, I’m an idiot.

***

I find Beth in a room at the other end of the corridor. Her fingers are splayed while a youngish looking man – Lars, I imagine – delicately re-paints them pillar-box red. The pair of them are watching a computer screen and giggling. I feel slightly miffed that she’s having such a good time while I’ve been facing the dragon, until I spot the tension in her neck and the relief in her eyes when she sees me.

‘Bo! Is everything okay?’

‘Fine,’ I mutter. ‘Can we go now?’

‘Absolutely not!’ interrupts Lars, looking alarmed. ‘Your nails haven’t dried. Besides, I’ve not shown you the video of the vampires fighting.’

Beth looks apologetic. I’m keen to get out of here before the bodyguard’s body is discovered and all hell breaks loose, but I sit down stiffly by her side.

‘Don’t you have that quick drying stuff?’ I ask.

Lars sniffs dismissively and turns back to Beth. He taps something into the computer and a video comes on. ‘Here,’ he says. ‘This is some dude from Gully getting it on with another from Stuart. You can tell which Families they’re from because of the colours they’re wearing,’ he adds helpfully.

‘Thanks,’ Beth murmurs. Clearly, Lars has not cottoned onto her recruit status yet.

I turn to the screen and watch what appears to be CCTV footage from some dive of a nightclub. A tall vampire bumps into another one, inadvertently spilling his drink. It takes less than three seconds before they descend into a spectacular fang-flashing, artery-spilling brawl.

‘The day after this, the Gully and Stuart heads met in broad daylight. In Hyde Park! They must have taken it seriously because they frown at each other and have all these bodyguards surrounding them.’ Lars leans in and whispers confidentially, ‘But, they met in public so everyone would understand that they weren’t allowing their Family members to go around and kill each other.’

He taps the keyboard again, while I shift in my chair. ‘We need to go, Beth.’

She nods and rises. ‘I’m sorry, Lars. We have another, um, appointment to keep.’

He looks disappointed. ‘You can see them drinking blood! At least it looks like blood. There’s a waiter bringing more over to them. The dude with the camera gets in his way and then they almost fight as well.’

‘Bye Lars,’ I say firmly, turning to the door.

‘Another time,’ Beth chirps out, far more enthusiastically.

I’ve just put one foot outside into the corridor when I hear a tinny voice shouting from the computer. I freeze then, ever so slowly, turn back. I know that voice.

‘Lars, can you just rewind that for a moment?’

‘I thought you had to go,’ he says sullenly.

I shove him out of the way and start the video again. He mutters something but I ignore him and focus on the screen. Sure enough, Lord Gully and Lord Stuart are seated at a linen-covered table in the midst of a clearing. They are some distance away but it’s still possible to make out the red liquid in their glasses. I swallow hard and focus on the tuxedoed man carrying the tray. His back is turned to the camera. Then the cameraman helpfully moves forward into the waiter’s path. They almost collide and, for a moment, all I can see is the black material of the tuxedo jacket as the camera gets caught up in it. Finally it points in the waiter’s face while he snarls obscenities. I reach forward and pause the video, then stare, sickened.

‘What is it, Bo?’

‘I was going to watch this video weeks ago,’ I murmur absently. ‘Except I got distracted.’

‘I don’t understand.’ Beth touches my sleeve, but I don’t respond. I’m too focused on the face filling the computer screen.

‘I know him.’

‘The waiter?’

I nod. I want to punch and kick and scream. Because the waiter glaring out at us with twisted malevolence isn’t a waiter at all. It’s Boris.

Chapter Twenty-five: Playing Possum

I rail against myself throughout the journey back to the Montserrat headquarters. Beth is increasingly alarmed, but I can’t reassure her. I’m simply too pissed off.

As soon as we cross the threshold of the mansion, I spot Montserrat in the foyer. He’s standing smack bang in the centre, arms folded, his expression brooding and tense. When he sees me, he relaxes slightly and moves forward with swift grace. I meet him halfway and look up at his chiselled face. Before he can open his mouth, I demand access to a phone.

A muscle throbs in his cheek. ‘Why, Bo?’

‘I need to speak to Arzo.’

‘Can’t you at least tell me what happened with Bancroft first?’

‘Nothing worth mentioning,’ I mutter. Bancroft was a waste of time. The trip to the spa wasn’t. Now I know who I really need to speak to.

‘Bo, you are under my jurisdiction yet you insist on keeping me in the dark. Perhaps you’re confused as to how the chain of vampire command works.’

I force myself to take a deep, calming breath. ‘I’ve screwed up a lot since arriving here. I’m not about to make any more assumptions until I can confirm something with Arzo. Then I’ll speak to you.’

His dark eyes rove over my face. For a moment I think he’s going to refuse and I’ll have to run back into the terrifying, sunlit street to find myself a sodding phone box – if any exist in this part of the world – but he jerks his head and leads me in the direction of his office. Even though I’m in a hurry to talk to Arzo and I move as quickly as I can, I find it hard to keep up with his long-legged stride.

‘I’m glad you’re okay,’ he says conversationally.

‘Mmm.’

‘We have an unspoken rule in the Families that no one is allowed to touch each other’s Family members without gaining permission first. But Lady Bancroft can be,’ he pauses, ‘volatile.’

I wonder what he’d think if he knew she thought she had him and all the other Family heads wrapped around her little finger.

‘As you can see,’ I say, ‘I’m fine.’

‘And as I said, I’m glad.’

‘However,’ I continue, ‘didn’t you tell me that she’d think of me as little more than a human? If I’m still a recruit and haven’t drunk blood yet, does that make me a Montserrat Family member?’

He smiles. ‘A distant cousin, perhaps. I made it clear to her that you weren’t to be harmed.’

My eyes narrow. ‘She knew I was coming?’

‘No. We had already spoken of you, though.’

I glare at him suspiciously. I’d surmised as much from Lady Bancroft but that doesn’t mean I’m happy about it. He gives me a grin which I don’t bother returning.

Once we reach his office, he follows me in and closes the door. He points towards his desk where a shiny, old-fashioned, phone sits.

‘Don’t you have a mobile?’

‘I prefer this.’

I look at him. ‘Just how old are you?’

His eyes dance. ‘It’s rude to ask the age of your elders, Bo.’

I grunt. ‘Are you going to leave?’

‘It’s my office.’ He sits down in a leather-backed chair and leans back, propping up his feet on top of the desk.

I roll my eyes at him then pick up the phone. ‘Do you have his number?’

He reels it off from memory. My surprise must have shown on my face, because he comments, ‘I can chew gum and walk at the same time too.’

‘Whatever.’ I dial the number and wait.

Arzo answers almost immediately. ‘My Lord.’ Caller display, I figure.

‘Er, no. It’s Bo.’

‘Bo! Are you alright? What happened with Lady Bancroft?’

‘Not much. There’s a hell of a lot of people suddenly concerned with my welfare though.’ Montserrat grins at this but doesn’t speak.

‘Arzo, who knew about my assignment at Wiltshore Avenue?’

‘Myself and Tam. Why?’

‘Anyone else?’

He doesn’t hesitate. ‘No. We kept who was responsible for which assignment quiet, Bo. Loose lips sink ships. Besides, it caused less rivalry between you lot that way.’

‘Tansy didn’t know?’

‘No.’

‘What about Boris?’

‘How would he have known?’ He sounds baffled.

A wrench hammers into my heart. ‘When I was in the ceiling, right before you were attacked, Boris came in to see Tam. He told him I was wanted for questioning because of what happened at Wiltshore Avenue. Some contact of his had been in touch. Or perhaps it was the police scanners he’d been listening to.’ I’m irked that I can’t remember this salient detail.

‘Right. Boris spent a lot of time listening to the radio call-outs and cultivating police snitches.’ He sniffs disdainfully. ‘They rarely came up with the goods though.’

‘Arzo, he knew the assignment was to do with a daemon. He said as much to Tam. Then he left, Tam called you in and the vampire attacked.’

I can feel Montserrat’s eyes on me but I stare down at the desk. Arzo sucks in a breath. ‘He couldn’t have known. The only people who know O’Shea is a daemon were you, Tam and myself. Even the police wouldn’t have worked it out that quickly. They’d have had to send his blood to their labs first.’

‘The police would have known if whoever tipped them off told them.’ My voice is quiet while I wait for Arzo to connect the dots.

‘Boris wouldn’t have known unless the tip-off told him too.’

‘Or he was the tip-off.’

Arzo is silent.

‘Tam called you in to the office because Boris couldn’t have known that detail about O’Shea and me unless he was involved in some way that he shouldn’t have been.’

I picture Arzo nodding to himself and stroking his chin. ‘He was a canny man, our boss. He knew something was wrong.’

I close my eyes for a moment. I’d taken that overheard conversation as proof that Tam was involved in my set-up. It was actually the opposite. There’s a loud noise from the other end of the line. ‘I’m going to kill that bastard myself.’

I take a deep breath; it’s about to get worse. I tell him about the YouTube video. Arzo is confused. ‘I don’t get it.’

‘As a waiter, he’d be in a perfect position to drop a little something into their glasses.’

‘But Gully and Stuart are fine. Some of their lower-level vampires have been involved, of course, but not the Heads.’

‘He must be biding his time. Waiting for something. He’s not the one in charge, Arzo. We know that’s a woman. But he’s got himself into a position where he can do what he needs to when he needs to. A trusted Family servant.’

Montserrat has pulled his feet off the desk and is no longer leaning back. His whole body is tense. He takes the phone from me. ‘I need a photo of this Boris now. We need to circulate it to all the Families, especially Gully and Stuart.’

I look at him. ‘You can’t kill him, Michael. We need him alive.’

He nods sharply. Arzo says something else then hangs up. I look at Montserrat with anguished eyes.

‘It’s Boris. It’s all Boris. He’s the reason I was framed for O’Shea. He’s the one who sent that crazy vampire after everyone at Dire Straits too. I can’t believe I didn’t think about him conveniently leaving before that vampire showed up. Or that I didn’t talk to Arzo about what he’d said to Tam.’ Tears spring unbidden. I’ve wasted all this time running round in circles chasing my tail when the answer was right in front of me all along.

‘He’s not the person in charge of all this, Bo,’ Montserrat says quietly. ‘Even if you’d worked out earlier that he was involved, it might not have changed anything.’

I look at him angrily. ‘Stop trying to make me feel better! If only I’d…’

He holds my hands and forces me to be still. ‘Bo. Every single one of the five Families, who are more powerful and far-reaching than you could ever imagine, have been trying to find out who is responsible for this. This isn’t about you. It’s about all of us.’

A single tear escapes and tracks a slow path down my cheek. Montserrat brushes it away with his thumb while I grit my teeth and nod. ‘We need to find him and we need to find him now.’

He gives a small smile. ‘We will, Bo. So help me God, we will.’

He bends down and kisses me chastely on the lips. I’m so surprised that I don’t have time to react. Then he picks up the phone and galvanises the entire Montserrat Family into achieving one goal – finding Boris.

***

It takes less than sixty minutes for teams from each of the Families to break into Boris’s apartment and ransack the place. It’s obvious that he’s long gone. Apparently the food in the fridge, what little of it there is, is mouldy and rotten and it was difficult to open the door because of the pile of junk mail, bills and letters behind it. But there’s no clue as to where Boris has run to.

Although he’s not seen hide nor hair of the burly prick for almost a fortnight, Lord Gully confirms that Boris has worked for them on and off for the past two years. All of us are horrified at that. This operation has been planned for a very long time; no wonder we’re constantly on the back foot and always playing catch up.

Montserrat gives me detailed files with photos taken from every angle of Boris’s flat, as well as photocopies of everything they could scan. The results are chilling. There are notes on every one of the Families, including lists speculating which Family will be the most likely to start early recruitment. It brings me back to Lady Bancroft’s words that a recruit or a human could be behind everything that’s happened. The thought that one of my fellow wannabe bloodguzzlers could be the perpetrator makes my stomach churn. And that’s nothing compared to the file on me. Boris knows everything: details about my grandfather and my parents; my vulnerabilities, including my apparent naivety; he even questions how I managed to rescue O’Shea when I lack the, in his words, ‘gut instinct to sense when there’s trouble’. I search desperately for a clue that might lead us to him or his mistress. Other than a constant tone of enmity and bitterness in everything he’s written, there’s nothing I can use. The Families’ own investigators have come to the same conclusion. After the rush of adrenaline caused by having a suspect who might know something worthwhile, the soul-sucking desperation at our inability to locate him casts a pall over everyone.

***

Thirty-six hours later, there’s still no sign of him. Whatever the vampire equivalent of an all-points bulletin is, it’s certainly in force. But Boris has gone to ground and the frustration of being unable to find him is overwhelming. I hold Beth’s hand while she finally – sadly – drinks three pints of gloopy blood and makes the eventual slide into full-blown vampirism. I try to look engaged during various training sessions with Ursus, Ria and a whole host of others, before giving up and going back to re-read the files on Boris for the umpteenth time. I pace up and down the corridors of the Montserrat mansion on more occasions than I care to mention.

Even with the mysterious powder which is keeping the worst of my bloodlust at bay, I feel the desperate cravings. With only two days to go until the end of the lunar month and the full moon, I’m sure I can make it. It’s not easy, though. One moment I break into cold sweats, then hot flushes the next. More alarmingly, my hands have developed an almost permanent tremor which makes holding anything, even a glass of water, incredibly difficult. I’ve not slept for what seems like weeks. I have no idea whether that’s down to guilt for not identifying Boris’s role sooner, or whether it’s a result of the cravings. Either way, I’m getting weaker by the day.

I’ve been to see Michael several times, both to check on the progress of the hunt for Boris and to plead with him to let me go outside to join it. He appears sympathetic but remains adamant that I need to be kept inside for my own good. One look at my shaking hands is enough to remind me of that. It occurs to me that by joining the ranks of the Montserrat Family I’ve become much more emasculated than I ever was under my grandfather’s thumb or working for Tam.

The lack of progress becomes more terrifying when I go to visit Matt. After almost two weeks of slipping in and out of consciousness, he finally seems to be recovering. Recovering from his hanging, though not from the twisted version of O’Shea’s spell. When I see him, he’s sitting on an infirmary bed flicking through what appears to be a children’s book.

‘Hey, Matt,’ I say softly.

He looks up and gives me a huge grin. ‘Bo! It’s so good to see you!’

I’m taken aback by his genuine happiness. ‘You look … pleased,’ I tell him cautiously.

‘Lord Montserrat told me I should be less grumpy.’ His grin stretches wider. ‘So now I’m not grumpy at all.’

‘What else did he tell you?’

Matt shrugs. ‘Not much. He wanted to know why I’d said your name when I woke up.’ His grin turns beatific. ‘You were singing the Bee Gees and I wanted to hear more. I wanted you to come and sing more.’

I have an appalling singing voice. Sympathy for the large, muscled ex-soldier builds inside me. ‘Matt?’

‘Yes?’

‘If I asked you to do twenty push-ups right now, what would you do?’

It is a rhetorical question but Matt doesn’t treat it that way. He springs off the bed and drops to the floor to start pumping out push-ups. He’s reached three before, horrified, I stop him.

‘I can keep going, Bo. I’ll do as many as you want.’

Sickened, I turn away. The tentacles of the passivity spell have wormed their way into his psyche. As much as I disliked him before, my pity for his condition now is overwhelming. He’s acting like a brain-damaged child. I wonder if he’ll ever recover.

Montserrat is kind when I bump into him a few minutes later as I high tail it away from Matt’s room and back to my own quarters. It seems he’s been looking for me, because he’s not in the habit of wandering the recruits’ corridors. It is hard to ignore the zing I feel in my heart at that thought. I immediately put it down to the annoying side effects from having been turned by him personally and move quickly towards him to express my anxiety at Matt’s condition. Unfortunately I’m hit by a sudden wave of dizziness that makes me stagger and fall. He reaches out with lightning-fast reflexes, catching me before I hit the ground, then pulls me to his chest. The top of my head barely reaches his chin.

‘Are you alright?’

I step back out of his embrace. He offers no resistance. ‘I’m fine.’ I’m embarrassed to appear so weak.

He stares down at me with a mixture of empathy and frustration, then opens his mouth to say something. Abruptly he closes it again, leaving me wondering. ‘Good.’ Without saying any more, he turns and leaves.

I remain where I am, gazing after him, thoroughly confused. He obviously wanted something and thought better of it. The frustrating thing is that I have no idea what he was after.

I find myself wandering through the crooked paths of the Montserrat garden a couple of hours later. I’m looking up at the pregnant moon, as if I can will it to reach full status, when I’m interrupted by Ursus and Ria. I wait for them to come close then paste on a smile.

‘The professor and the PA,’ I say, in an attempt to be charming.

Ursus’s expression doesn’t flicker although Ria raises a single eyebrow. ‘The recruit with a well of hidden secrets.’

‘Well, they wouldn’t be secrets if they weren’t hidden,’ I murmur. She doesn’t look impressed.

‘We want to know what’s going on,’ Ursus says, ignoring the byplay between Ria and me.

I shrug. ‘Ask Lord Montserrat.’

‘He’s been closeted in a meeting all day with the other Heads. This is our Family. You’re not even a proper vampire and yet you have access to information that we need to keep our Family safe.’ Ursus takes a threatening step towards me. ‘You’re going to tell us what you know.’

‘And if I don’t?’ I inquire mildly.

A twisted snarl crosses Ria’s face. I can empathise with them. Despite their relatively youthful exteriors, they’ve probably been trusted members of the Montserrat inner circle for decades. Now vampires are going missing from all the Families, and they’re being kept out of the loop. But doubtful as it seems, there is still the danger that one or both of them is involved in the treachery. It’s certainly not my place to tell them what’s going on. But it must be frustrating for them to see me, a complete nonentity, with their Lord’s ear. I’d like to tell them it’s simply my bad luck that has put me in this position but by the look on their faces, I don’t think they’ll accept that.

‘You’re going to begin by telling us how you escaped the bloodlust.’

I was wondering when that little matter would come up again. I’m surprised more hasn’t been made of it before now. ‘You’re the experts,’ I say. ‘I was pretty much out of it. I don’t know what happened.’

‘Nobody’s ever come out of the bloodlust. In fact, within hours of it starting, we normally give the sufferers blood to bring them out. Lord Montserrat wouldn’t let us give you any.’ Ursus’s eyes are hard. ‘Why?’

I feel a rush of warmth towards Michael at that little titbit. He must have known it would be almost impossible for me to survive the cravings once I fell unconscious. And yet he hung on, avoiding forcing me to drink blood because he knew I didn’t want to become a real vampire.

‘Not just that,’ Ria adds, ‘but there’s not been an intake since the eighteenth century where there were still three recruits who’d not drunk less than forty-eight hours before the full moon.’

‘Nicky and Peter are nothing to do with me,’ I say, although I ponder her words carefully. It is strange that they remain in the odd twilight world of half human and half vampire. I’ve got my magic powder to help me: what do they have?

‘We’ve been through your stuff. Are you Christian? Is that it?’

I frown. They’ve nosed through my belongings? ‘What do you mean, you’ve been through my stuff?’

‘You don’t think we just throw away the things you enter with, do you?’ Ursus leans forward until I can feel his hot breath on my face. ‘Why do you have a crucifix?’

Oh. I suddenly remember that I scooped up Peter’s after he left it behind during that first meeting with the Family. ‘It’s not mine,’ I tell them.

‘You’re just keeping it for a friend?’ Ria is sarcastic.

‘Actually, yes. And what in the hell are you doing going through my things?’

‘You’re one of us now. What’s yours is ours.’

‘Somehow I don’t think that works in reverse,’ I mutter.

‘Where’s the daemon?’

I honestly have no idea. I’ve not seen or heard anything of O’Shea since my recruitment. He’s probably still holed up in Michael’s palatial penthouse.

‘Who’s this Boris fellow?’

Ursus grabs my arm. ‘Has he been killing our friends?’

I pull back. Enough is enough. ‘You’re asking a hundred questions that I can’t answer. Like I said, if you want to know what’s going on, ask Lord Montserrat.’

‘We’re asking you.’

Something in Ria’s eyes snaps. I recognise her loss of control just in time and flip right to avoid her attack. ‘We’re Family members now,’ I say, keeping out of her reach. ‘Are you supposed to attack your sister?’

‘You’re no sister of mine. You’ve not drunk yet, remember? That makes you fair game.’

Fear runs down my spine. Ria’s words may be melodramatic but I can sense the anger in them. And people – or vampires – who are hurt and angry don’t think straight. And I’m no match physically for them .

Realising that I’m not going to be able to talk my way out, I opt for flight. Both Ursus and Ria can outrun me, but they won’t dare make a move in the presence of others. I need to get back inside to the relative safety of the mansion where other people might be wandering the corridors. I open my mouth as if to speak, then bolt, scarpering past them towards the door. Instead of a direct line, I zigzag in order to throw them off.

It takes less than a couple of heartbeats for the pair to react. I don’t turn round but I hear Ria’s hiss of frustration. I run as fast as my legs will carry me but with all the symptoms of the bloodlust coursing through my body, I don’t make it very far before one of them grabs hold of my jumpsuit collar and yanks me backwards. I know instinctively that neither of them genuinely want to hurt me. Indeed, if they were thinking more rationally they wouldn’t be trying this on in the first place. Out of options, I let my body go limp. If defensive thanatosis – playing possum – works in the animal world, I’m going to make it work for me too. I roll my eyes into the back of my head and slow down my breathing. Then I hope for the best.

To begin with, I don’t think it works. With my vision obscured, one of them – I can’t tell which – body-slams me. It takes every ounce of self-control not to cry out at the pain. I just about manage it, hopeful that they might leave me alone, when I hear a grunt of dissatisfaction.

‘She’s out cold,’ Ursus says, in a deep and unhappy rumble. ‘This was a stupid idea. He’ll be pissed off if he realises we confronted her.’

‘He shouldn’t have compromised himself by sleeping with a fucking recruit.’

I have to concentrate to keep my body still at those words. They must think I’m winning myself favours by sleeping my way to the top. I should be flattered, I suppose, that both Ria and Ursus believe my feminine wiles are so alluring. Instead I’m rather annoyed that they think the only way I can be in Lord Montserrat’s confidence is by shagging him.

‘What should we do with her?’

‘Leave her. She’ll wake up sooner or later. With any luck, she won’t go blabbing about this.’ I hear some of the tension leave Ria’s voice and relief trickles through me.

‘That’s not going to happen. This was a stupid idea, Ria.’

‘What choice did we have?’

I feel their frustration. I’m certainly not going to snitch on them. Quite frankly, I think the entire Montserrat Family has bigger problems than dealing with a few irate bloodguzzlers who are trying to take matters into their own hands.

They give up and leave, their feet crunching away on the gravelled path. I stay where I am for several long moments, counting slowly to two hundred in my head. Then I sit up carefully, trying to look as if I’ve just come round in case they are watching from a distance. It’s not hard. If I felt shaky before my encounter with them, I’m now like an alcoholic before her first drink of the day. Even my legs are trembling.

It takes me some time to stagger to my feet. I hit my head pretty hard when I went down and cut it on something. When I put my hand up, it comes away wet and bloody. I sniff curiously. Apparently my own blood does nothing for me. Just in case, however, I wipe the blood off on my thighs rather than licking it off. I can’t be too careful. With a sigh, I limp slowly back inside.

I’m almost back at the staircase when I spot the familiar shape of Peter coming towards me. He’s shuffling along, bouncing off the walls as if drunk. I give a humourless smirk. We must look like a right pair.

‘Hey Pete,’ I call out.

He barely registers it. Painfully, I drag myself over to him and peer up into his face. ‘Hey, Pete,’ I say again.

He jerks his head, his eyes focusing on me as if he’s surprised to find me standing there. ‘Oh, it’s you.’

‘There’s no need to be so effusive,’ I comment with a half grin.

He looks puzzled. This is not the same man who I sat beside three weeks ago; physically, he’s a pale shadow of himself. He’s really starting to worry me. ‘You don’t look good,’ I tell him.

He chokes out a laugh. ‘Neither do you.’

He probably has a point. Right now, I’m finding it difficult to stand up straight. I pull my shoulders back in an attempt to look more alive. Peter doesn’t even try.

‘There are only two days to go,’ I say softly. ‘You can change your mind about all this. It’s not too late.’

He reaches up to his neck, as if searching for something that isn’t there. His hand drops down to his side when he doesn’t find it. ‘You’re holding out for some thunderclap that will happen when you make it to the end of the month and you’re still human. That’s because you’ve got reason to care. You want to live.’

I wonder how someone in Peter’s mental state managed to get onto the final list of recruits. It’d be easy to put down his current state of mind to the bloodlust but he wasn’t much happier when I first met him. He must have some mad skills that the Montserrat Family is after.

‘Why are you here? You’re obviously not after longevity. You said you deserved to suffer and you’re definitely doing that, but…’

He turns away. ‘I’ve already made it clear I don’t want to talk about it.’

I curse myself for prying. I’m trying to make him feel better, not alienate him. Really, I should know better by now.

‘I have to go,’ he says, shuffling off.

I watch him go, wishing there was something I could do to help him. My thoughts are foggy and it’s hard to grasp anything clearly but, eventually, I realise what his hand was unconsciously seeking around his neck. The same thing that Ria and Ursus mistakenly thought was mine: his crucifix. He abandoned it when he entered the Montserrat mansion. Perhaps by returning it to him, I can make him feel a bit more connected to reality. Until now I’d forgotten all about it; I suppose I have Ria and Ursus’s attack to thank for reminding me. Even if Peter doesn’t want it back, tracking it down will give me something to focus on. Not blood. Not crazy-ass vampires. Not Boris and his very personal betrayal. Just a little golden cross. I nod decisively and head back down the corridor to find where our belongings are being kept.

Chapter Twenty Six: The Clock Face

I’ve been cooped up in the Montserrat mansion for long enough to know where our belongings definitely are not. I’ve respected the caveat about not entering any doors with ribbons tied around them but I’m pretty sure I know what most of them contain. From what I’ve seen of the comings and goings, the higher levels are bedrooms and dormitories, with a few social areas. Not many of the Montserrat vampires stay here, but I guess it helps to have spare accommodation should it be required for those unhappy souls like Ria and Ursus who are expected to stick around to advance the recruits. The middle floors include various laboratories and offices, while the main meeting areas and Michael’s office are on the ground floor. It makes sense that the storage areas will either be very high up in the loft space, or very low down in the basement. The thought of climbing several sets of stairs on my shaky legs puts the fear of God into me, so I search for steps leading downwards instead.

Using my scant knowledge of old buildings, I figure that any staircase leading to a dim basement area would have originally been used by servants. That means it is probably in the kitchen area towards the back of house. Thankfully, that’s not far away so I lurch over with little difficulty. Matters deteriorate when I enter the large kitchen, however. Vampires eat solid food from time to time, but it’s more out of pleasure in the taste and habit rather than physical necessity. As a result, the kitchen is neat, tidy and very empty. I open and close at least half a dozen cupboards and doors before I find one that leads to a set of spiral steps.

I peer down into the gloom. There must be a light switch somewhere but I can’t see it. I sigh and brace my arms against the walls then slowly feel my way downwards. At one point, my foot slips and I almost crash down. Fortunately, I manage to right myself by grabbing the banister and clinging on for dear life. Once I regain my equilibrium, I continue with my descent. If this turns out to be a waste of time, I’m going to be very pissed off.

When my tentative edging forward tells me that there are no more steps, I loosen my grip on the banister and fumble around the walls. I find a light switch fairly quickly, managing to illuminate the room in weak electric light from an old fluorescent strip. As well as the light, however, it also immediately starts a low and continuous buzz, as if I’ve managed to get an annoying flying insect stuck in my ear. At least it seems that I’ve found the right place. There are rows and rows of neatly stacked shelves containing boxes labelled with names.

I walk down one aisle, expecting to find everything in alphabetical order. It doesn’t take long to realise that’s not the case. Judging by the boxes in the first aisle – worn, faded and very dusty – each shelf is organised by the date of recruitment. I must be wandering amongst those belonging to the oldest vampires. I keep a curious eye out for Michael Montserrat’s box. It’s not that I particularly want to snoop through his things but after his evasion about his real age, I’m interested in finding it out. Feeling even slight traces of lust for someone who by rights should be little more than dust in a box buried six feet under doesn’t sit well with me. My attempt is half-hearted, however. I don’t have the energy to scour the whole place so, when I don’t see his name immediately, I shuffle back to find the more recent additions.

The basement area is quite large and it takes me a while to find the row containing my group’s boxes. I trail my fingers along the edge of the shelves, brushing them against the different names. Nell Mickleson. Matthew Baldwick. Peter Allen. Nicola Temerlaine. Finally, I reach my own name and stand for a moment, staring at the pitiful container of my human life. I remind myself that I’ll be Sanguine – and more human than vampire – in a couple of days, then pull off the lid.

My clothes have been laundered and neatly folded. I glance down at my regulation jumpsuit then back at my trusty leather jacket. It takes me half a second to decide to pull it out and shrug it on. The familiar touch of it against my body, along with the unmistakeable smell, instantly makes me feel better. I’m not leaving this inside any damn cardboard box. If Beth can get away with her stilettos, then I can wear my own sodding jacket.

I dig inside the pocket, hoping that Ria and Ursus put Peter’s little cross back in the same place where they found it. The last thing I want is to confront them to find out what they’ve done with it. As soon as my fingers connect with the chain, I exhale in relief.

I pull it out and hold it up to the flickering, buzzing light. It’s a fragile thing. I hope that it helps Peter and provides some kind of physical sustenance for him. I drop the cross carefully back into my pocket and turn round to leave. As I do, I catch the faintest edge of familiar scent. I sniff more deeply then swallow hard while my stomach flips. The sweet, fragrant smell of rosewater may be weak but it’s definitely there. And I could swear it’s the same smell that I identified back in the Wiltshore Avenue house.

I shuffle to my left, bending down and inhaling deeply. I’m barely more than a foot along when it’s no longer detectable so I move back to my right, past my own box and beyond. By the time I reach Matt’s section, it’s starting to disappear again. I stay completely still and swivel my eyes back to the left. Matthew. Peter. Nicky. Me. I look at Peter’s box, then Nicky’s box. In Beth’s words, smegging hell.

My gut tightens and I hear the rush of blood in my ears. I unfreeze my muscles and carefully removing the lid of Peter’s box. I duck down and smell. There’s aftershave and male musk clinging to the clothes and the other belongings inside but there’s nothing to suggest roses.

I return the lid to its original position and move to Nicky’s box. I take a deep breath and flip it open. Immediately the strong smell assails my nostrils and I pull back, clasping my hand over my mouth and staring in horror. I know I’ve made a lot of wrong assumptions since I arrived in the Montserrat fold. And it’s only a smell. I’m sure lots of people use rosewater as a scent. Am I leaping to more ridiculous conclusions? My mind whirls through what I know of her. She was in a wheelchair as a result of a brutal attack that killed her parents. She’s young and seemingly fragile. She doesn’t appear to be the kind of person who would fit the profile of a genocidal maniac. And yet … I think about the way she reacted around Peter. She explained her distaste of him by claiming he reminded her of someone who attacked her. Maybe it’s simpler than that: maybe she doesn’t like him because he’s male and not under the effects of a passivity spell. She appears to have been unaffected by bloodlust too. I can’t see how she’d be linked to someone like Boris though. Regardless, I need to talk to her and I need to talk her now.

I’d like to be able to say that I immediately spring into action. Unfortunately, it’s more of a slow walk. I don’t bother turning off the basement light. Yes, I’m aware it’s not good for the environment but the potential to fall flat on my face if I climb back up in pitch darkness is too great. I heave myself upwards, eventually making it back into the silent kitchen. I force my trembling limbs to keep moving. With any luck, I’ll find Nicky in one of the ground-floor meeting rooms so I won’t need to clamber up any more stairs.

Unfortunately Lady Luck remains elusive. Nicky’s not there. When I peer into one room, I catch sight of Ria whose eyes narrow in my direction. I can’t worry about her right now; Nicky is my priority. Slowly, painfully, I make it to the main staircase just in time to see Beth tripping down.

‘Hey! How’re things?’ Considering she has now turned into a full vampire by drinking blood, she has a remarkably healthy demeanour. I can’t help feeling irritated, even though I’m relieved to bump into her.

‘I need to find Nicky.’

Beth looks at me seriously. ‘Is this something to do with all this traitor business?’

‘Please, Beth. I don’t have much energy and it’s imperative that I speak to her now. Could you find her for me? Quickly?’

‘These shoes aren’t really designed for rushing around in,’ she comments, although she gives me a reassuring grin and heads back upstairs.

I sit on the bottom stair and rest my head against the banister. I can’t shake the dizziness. I must have dozed off because, within what feels like the blink of an eye, Beth is back by my side. ‘I can’t find her.’

I pull myself together, trying to ignore a trickle of alarm. ‘Her room?’

‘It’s empty. She’s not in the social area or the bathroom. No one has seen her for a couple of hours.’

‘She’s got to be somewhere.’

Beth shrugs. ‘I have no idea where.’

I try to think. ‘How about the garden?’

‘It’s pretty much the only place left.’

I straighten up. I waver slightly and Beth grabs my arm, alarmed. ‘You stay here,’ she says. ‘I’ll check outside.’

‘I’ll come with you.’

‘Bo, you can barely smegging walk.’

‘I said,’ I repeat through gritted teeth, ‘I will come with you.’

Beth chews her lip. ‘Fine.’ She hooks her arm through mine. ‘Just don’t collapse on me, alright?’

I force a smile. ‘Alright.’

It’s already close to midnight and, after my encounter with Ursus and Ria, there’s now a sinister edge to the garden that I’d not felt before. At least with Beth by my side, that pair will think twice before confronting me. The air feels heavy and oppressive, as if a storm is brewing. The clear skies are now obscured with cloud. Even the bright moon is barely visible.

Beth opens her mouth to call out for Nicky but I hush her. ‘Just in case,’ I mutter.

She raises her eyebrows as if to ask in case of what but, probably aware that I won’t give her a satisfactory answer, helps me onto the grass next to the path instead.

‘Gravel can be noisy.’

I smile, pleased she’s taking me seriously. We make our way around the entire area. It appears that the garden is empty.

‘She’s not here,’ Beth comments.

I shake my head. Something’s not right. ‘Let’s go round one more time.’

We start again. The trees and bushes cast lengthy shadows and there’s the occasional skitter from an urban-dwelling animal. Everything else seems quiet. I pause when we reach the section of the garden where we clawed our way through to make our escape to the nightclub. ‘Are those guards still around?’

‘Of course. I don’t think Lord Montserrat has recovered from our little trip beyond the walls.’

I frown. If there are guards on duty to prevent recruits from misbehaving, then why wouldn’t they have intervened when Ria and Ursus attacked me? None of us were quiet and vampires are supposed to have exceptional hearing: they couldn’t have missed that altercation. Beth’s eyes reflect my thoughts: if there are guards posted in the garden then where in the hell are they?

I tug Beth over to the gap in the bushes leading to the spot where, days earlier, we climbed the tree to escape. It’s more difficult getting through the bushy flora this time around. She hisses from behind me, ‘You better not be thinking about getting over that wall again.’

That’s the last thing I’m thinking about when I look up at the familiar tree. Beth moves up beside me and draws in a swift breath when she sees what I’m looking at. ‘Smeg.’

There are two of them. Their faces, despite the bulging pallor of death, are recognisable: they are presumably the poor guards who were on duty. No wonder they didn’t intervene when Ria and Ursus attacked me. Their bodies are slumped against the tree trunk, each one with frozen fingers clutched around a stake. Except the stakes they are holding have been violently thrust into the other’s body, not their own.

Beth recoils. ‘It’s as if they simultaneously murdered each other,’ she whispers. ‘It doesn’t make any sense.’

I stare at them. It does make sense if you’re so passive that you’ll take any suggestion given to you. I crouch down and examine them carefully. Their bodies are cold and stiff; they’ve clearly already been here for a couple of hours.

‘How does someone break into the Montserrat stronghold and kill two vampires without anyone noticing?’ Beth breathes.

‘Because she wasn’t breaking in,’ I tell her. ‘She was breaking out.’

***

The discovery of the corpses has given me an adrenaline boost. I drag my body back out of the undergrowth and break into a run back to the mansion. Beth stays with me, even though I’m aware she could far outstrip my efforts.

Inside, I head straight for the meeting room. Ria’s still there and I stride up to her. ‘Where’s Lord Montserrat?’ I yell.

She snarls, ‘What’s it to you, recruit?’

Others begin to rise, alarmed at our aggression. I ignore them and lean towards her. ‘Where. The. Fuck. Is. He?’

Before Ria can say anything, Beth interjects. ‘There are two dead vampires in the garden.’

The mood in the room changes abruptly. I keep my gaze fixed on Ria. ‘You need to tell me where he is. You said he was meeting the other Family Heads.’

Her face is pale and she nods. ‘You don’t think…’

‘I do think. Unless someone has seen Nicky in the past few hours, then I goddamn well do think.’

I’m met with astonishment.

‘The crippled recruit?’

‘She’s not in a wheelchair any more,’ I say grimly. The time for obfuscation is over. Lord Montserrat can be pissed off with me later. ‘Besides, when you have a spell that makes the users impotent in every sense of the word, as well as open to any suggestion, then who needs to worry about physical strength?’

‘A spell?’

‘The daemon.’ Ursus comes up quietly. ‘That’s what all this is about.’

I meet his gaze. Recognition of what happened in the garden passes between us, along with a silent agreement to put it behind us. ‘Yes. Females aren’t affected but, as far as I can tell, the effects are irreversible on male vampires.’

‘Matt.’ Beth’s voice is soft.

‘I think that Nicky is behind it. And I also think that she’s gone to wherever the Heads are to make sure they take it and do whatever she wants.’

Ria is sickened. ‘Because we will do whatever the Heads want.’

‘Indeed.’ I turn to Ursus. ‘You said they’re all closeted together. We need to get there now and warn them. Can you call?’

He shakes his head. ‘It’s a closed session. No phones or computers allowed.’

I avoid rolling my eyes. They really should know better. What if there was some kind of emergency? Like, say, a crazed girl on her way to subjugate them to her every whim? ‘Then you need to call all the other Families. Every female vampire within a fifty-mile radius needs to get to where they are. We have to stop her.’

‘Lady Bancroft is there. She won’t be affected by it. Does that mean that she…?’

‘I’m pretty sure she’s not involved.’ I have no idea how Nicky is planning to bring her down though. ‘Where are they, Ursus?’

‘Big Ben.’

I blink, not quite sure I heard him properly. ‘Uh?’

‘It’s a large tower with a clock at the top,’ Beth says, regaining some of her composure. Her sarcasm alleviates the tension a little.

‘Funny.’ I take a moment to look round. ‘We need to prevent Nicky from getting anywhere near them.’

‘You can’t just send girls.’

I understand Ursus’s annoyance at being sidelined but it doesn’t mean I have to agree with him. ‘It’s too dangerous otherwise. If she gets to you, she can turn you against us.’ I give him a brief flicker of my death stare, just enough to prove that I’m serious. ‘Irreversible,’ I remind him.

A muscle throbs in his cheek and his big shoulders bunch in anger but I know he’ll stay away.

‘You need to remain here and hold the fort. If things don’t work out, then batten down the hatches and don’t let anyone in. No matter who they are.’

He nods. ‘Can you drive a motorbike?’

I’m reminded briefly of Zupper and I smile. It’s enough for Ursus because he throws me a set of keys. ‘It’s parked out front.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Look after my pride and joy,’ he growls. I know he doesn’t just mean his bike.

Thirty seconds later, the room is empty.

As soon as I step back into the cool night air, I spot Ursus’s bike. I whistle in admiration. It’s a lean, gleaming beast and obviously his prized possession. There’s no sign of a helmet and I don’t waste time looking for one. Instead I straddle the seat and turn the key, revving the engine. Behind me, Ria, Beth, Nell and the other female vampires in the Montserrat mansion are running out to a motley selection of other vehicles. I don’t give them a backward glance, I’m already whizzing down the street.

Wind whips past me as I careen round the first corner. The bike builds up speed and the dark buildings and closed shop fronts become a blur. I turn right sharply and into a tight alleyway. I narrowly avoid hitting a fox nosing at a trio of overflowing garbage bins as I skid back out on to the street ahead. Tower Bridge isn’t far away.

I’m tempted to take the most direct route but I know it’s also the one most likely to be monitored by the police. I can’t afford to have them slow me down or turn on their sirens to chase me and alert Nicky – and whoever else is with her. I skid right again to avoid some of the bigger streets but maintain my speed for as long as possible. I ignore the traffic lights blinking red, forcing myself to forget how similar their colour is to arterial blood, then squeeze out just a little more horsepower from the bike. Less than three minutes later, the Houses of Parliament are in view while Big Ben towers ominously above them. I realise I have no freaking idea how to get inside.

I park as close as I dare then clamber off the bike and run towards the building, keeping low. Every so often the shapes in front of me start swimming as I lose my vision then, abruptly, the dizziness clears when I shake my head. I’m so focused on finding a way in that I miss an uneven paving slab. My foot catches the edge of it and I’m sent flying onto the hard cold pavement. It’s just as well, however, because when I look up from my prone position, a broad-shouldered man comes into sight. That’s when I know for sure that this time I’ve not made a mistake. Boris, it appears, is on bodyguard duty. Ten yards behind him, Nicky’s slender shape is also visible.

I close my eyes for a second. As relieved as I am to finally identify the traitor, there’s still part of me that can’t believe it’s innocent little Nicky. I count my blessings that they’ve waited until now; this might have been over and done with already. But when Big Ben chimes to signal two o’clock in the morning, I understand why. Nicky’s not in this for sex or money. It’s not even about power, although that might be a welcome bonus. No, her motives are much more pure. What Nicky is after is revenge. She told me the attack on her parents that also forced her into a wheelchair had started at two in the morning, although she’d never said who the attackers were. She must think that vampires were responsible; it’s the only thing that makes sense.

The pair of them disappear through the gate. They must have disarmed the security system. Ideally, I’d wait for the others to arrive; I’m on my last legs and I need a bit of vampire girl-power beside me. But I’m too worried that I only have a short time to get inside before the alarms are re-set. The element of surprise is going to be more useful than anything else and, while setting off the security system would alert the Heads, it would also alert Nicky and Boris. They’ve been planning this for a long time and I’m sure they’ll have back-up. Just about the only thing they won’t have factored in is me.

I pick myself up from the ground, run across the street and clamber over the gate after them. My heart is thudding and my lungs feel tight. Tam’s face flashes in front of my eyes and I grit my teeth. I need to keep it together; if nothing else, I owe his memory that.

I jog along a cobbled path, with the high walls of Portcullis House looming over me. This time I take care to watch my step; it’s imperative that I stay quiet and undetected. But I need to be fast and catch Nicky before she gets to the Family Heads. Up ahead I hear a door bang and I realise they have already entered Elizabeth Tower – the real name for Big Ben. With the path ahead clear, I can afford to speed up.

When I reach the door, I freeze and listen. Everything seems still and quiet so, moving carefully, I turn the knob and go in after them. The base of the tower is both smaller and more modern than I expected. The walls are smooth beige and there are a few olde-worlde benches around the edges. I head for the stairs.

I move up one step at a time. Although the situation reminds me hauntingly of attempting to sneak up on O’Shea at Wiltshore Avenue, at least these stairs are made of sterner stuff and won’t creak and give me away. I can move quickly. I have to catch up with Nicky and Boris now; I can’t risk them unleashing O’Shea’s spell.

My increased speed is why I round the next bend without paying enough attention. I barely reach the top step when a fist connects sharply with the side of my head. I go flying, fortunately into the room rather than back down the stairs but, nevertheless, I’m a flailing mass of limbs when the kick comes. I curl into a foetal position to protect myself from the next one. When it doesn’t come and the pain starts to subside, I open my eyes. Boris is standing above me with a twisted smirk on his face. I look for an exit but he’s blocking the staircase. There’s a tiny window behind me but, even if it were big enough to leap through, a heavy rusting metal object sits in front, effectively blocking it.

My stomach sinks. Still, I aim for light-heartedness. ‘Hey, buddy. What gives?’

He laughs sharply. ‘Oh, so now you’re playing nice?’

I clamber to my feet, trying not to hug my aching belly too obviously. I clearly don’t do a very good job, because glee crosses his face.

‘Beautiful, inept Bo,’ he says. ‘Do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve caused me?’

‘You mean because I didn’t allow myself to be framed for O’Shea’s murder?’

He licks his lips; it’s not a pleasant sight. ‘Indeed. Things would have gone so much smoother if you’d let yourself be banged up. I was doing you a favour, you know.’

‘Because if I was in prison I’d have avoided the massacre at Dire Straits.’ I say it flatly, but really I want his confirmation that he was responsible. Besides which, I know now that it was sheer luck that I was assigned to O’Shea.

‘We were trying to wipe out any connection to the daemon.’ Boris shrugs. ‘It didn’t work out so well.’

I snarl, ‘It didn’t work out too damn well for Tam and everyone else either.’

‘The best laid plans of mice and men gang aft agly.’

‘I never took you for a literary man.’

‘I was forced to do some reading at school.’

‘Imagine that,’ I murmur. I gaze at him speculatively. It takes every ounce of self-control not to spit in his face. ‘Why, Boris? Why have you done all this? Is it the spell? Does Nicky have you under her thumb?’

‘I don’t need a spell to be loyal to someone who’s going to rid the world of vampires.’ He says the last word with such venom, that I start to get an inkling of his real motives.

‘You don’t like them?’

‘Goddamn freaks and criminals. Fucking tribers think they own the place. They’ve got every human kowtowing to them. They don’t belong here.’

‘So why are you trying to create more? Nicky’s becoming a vampire.’

‘Nicola is doing what’s necessary to beat them at their own game. Anyway, she’s not going to be a vampire. By the end of tomorrow night, she’ll be Sanguine. Not vampire. Sanguine is when…’

‘I know what it means to be sodding Sanguine. How has she avoided the cravings?’

‘How have you?’ he retorts.

I stare at him. Eventually he grins. ‘I suppose we all have a few tricks up our sleeves.’

I guess they have some of my grandfather’s magic powder or something like it. If I get out of this I’ll have to tell Montserrat about it. It’s clearly more widely available than I’d assumed. And I don’t share Boris’s confidence that Nicky wants to be Sanguine. I reckon the thought of supplanting the five Families with her own Family is too tempting.

Boris bares his teeth. ‘Well, time is ticking away and I don’t want to miss the fireworks upstairs. I can’t wait to see those jumped-up bloodguzzlers crawling on their hands and knees and doing our bidding.’

‘It won’t be your bidding,’ I point out. ‘It’ll be Nicky’s.’

He opens his mouth to speak but is prevented by the sudden high-pitched peal of an alarm, signalling the others’ arrival. Without missing a beat, I reach behind into the window alcove and grasp the chunk of metal that sits there. It’s heavier than I expected but I manage to lift it and fling it at Boris. I aim for his head but either it’s too heavy or I’m too weak and it ends up landing against his shins. The element of surprise helps me, though, as he screams and falls backwards, hitting his head on the floor. I grab his hair, pulling up his head then slamming it back down. His body jerks and stills: he’s out cold. I scoop up the card which has fallen from the alcove and read: ‘Original Bell Hammer’.

‘Well, I might be weaker than a kitten,’ I tell his inert form, ‘but it looks like I still beat you hammer and tongs.’

I waste no more time. The others will soon be here to take care of Boris. The alarm will no doubt have spurred Nicky into action, however. I need to get to her. I make for the steps. The spurt of adrenaline that allowed me to dispatch Boris is dissipating fast and the pain in my stomach is returning. I have to cling to the banister to heave myself upwards. I’m terrified that my legs will give way at any moment.

On the next level there’s nothing more than the elaborate clock mechanism that keeps Big Ben working. It’s huge and intricate – but it’s not what I’m looking for. I lurch past it and up the next set of stairs. This time I have to keep pausing to catch my breath and stop myself toppling over. The steps seem endless. I have no idea what I’ll see when I finally come across Nicky and the Family Heads. I can only hope she’s not yet had the chance to unleash that fucking spell and turn them into mindless robots. Blood is pounding in my ears and my senses are dimming. That’s why I don’t hear the voices until I’m almost upon them.

‘You know I could have brought a whole host of bloodguzzling followers to help me.’

I close my eyes for half a second as I register Nicky’s familiar voice.

‘So why didn’t you?’ Dulcet tones encase the steel of Lady Bancroft’s response.

‘Because I don’t need them to destroy you.’

‘I’m female. Your mumbo-jumbo won’t work on me any more than it’ll affect you.’

‘Just like your mind mumbo-jumbo won’t work on me,’ Nicky snarls.

I yank out every last molecule of energy I have inside me. Pure rage is driving me now. With one final spurt, I run up the remaining steps and round the corner. Lady Bancroft and Nicky stand in front of the giant illuminated face of Big Ben. I glance around desperately for signs of the other Family Heads but I can’t see them anywhere.

Nicky turns in my direction and Lady Bancroft takes advantage of her distraction to leap forward and grab her. Her face is a vicious frozen mask of anger. I lunge forward to join her.

‘Bo,’ Nicky croaks, from underneath Bancroft’s tightening fingers. Then she smirks with a confidence that freezes my bones. From nowhere she pulls out a sharply honed stake. Before I can react, she twists away from me and slams it into Lady Bancroft’s heart.

The vampire doesn’t have time to make a noise. Her eyes widen for a split second then she crumples to the ground. As I watch, her skin turns grey then black as her body decomposes with sickening speed. Nicky steps away and dusts off her palms.

‘That was even easier than I thought,’ she comments. Without warning, she snaps forward and grabs my throat. Her face swims up against mine and she strokes my cheek with one finger. ‘So gullible, Bo. So keen to believe that a little girl like me wouldn’t be the one you were looking for.’

I choke and writhe.

‘Oh, yes,’ she laughs. ‘I knew exactly who you were and what you were after. I’ve been one step ahead of you the entire time. You thought I was weak because I was a cripple. All I had to do to get your trust was to simper and giggle. It never occurred to you that I’m the one who’s going to save us from the vampires, did it?’

I watch her, aghast. She’s right. I forgot everything I’ve ever been taught and judged her on her appearance. But the clues were there, if I’d thought to look for them.

Nicky’s laugh is a harsh, grating sound, far removed from her usual giggle. ‘I wouldn’t feel too bad about it. You’re hardly the only one I fooled. Even before I became a recruit, getting close to vampires was ridiculously easy. They took one look at my wheelchair and dismissed me. Well, I showed them!’ She laughs again.

My chest feels tight and it’s getting harder to breathe. Nicky’s fingers are claws around my throat. She brings her face up close to mine.

‘Even though you weren’t smart enough to work out the truth,’ she says, ‘you still managed to get in my way. If you’d not rescued that daemon, all this would have been so much easier. No one would have realised I was turning the Family members into mindless drones until it was too late.’

‘Why?’ I gasp.

‘Why did I do it, you mean? Because they ruined my life. They put me in a wheelchair and messed with my mind, just like she tried to.’ Nicky kicks Bancroft’s desiccated remains. ‘They thought they could make me believe I was the one responsible for all that.’

I try to speak again but nothing comes out other than a choking sound. Nicky loosens her grip enough to give me enough air to speak. ‘You killed your parents?’

She kicks me, hard. ‘You’re not listening. They killed my parents. The vampires. They destroyed my life. They made me think I’d gone mad and done it myself, but I found out the truth and now I’m going to destroy them. They’re bloodguzzling bastards who think they should control the world and take whatever they want, whenever they want it. Well, they can’t fool me any longer. I’ve been planning this for fucking years.’

‘Vampires wouldn’t have attacked your family and killed them, Nicky.’

‘You wanna bet? There’s a lot more to getting recruited to the Families than you realise. Just a couple of weeks ago they killed a toddler. A sweet two-year-old boy.’

I cough weakly, struggling to breathe. ‘Because you made them!’

‘Innocents suffer in every war. Deaths like his were necessary to wake everyone up to what the vampires really are. Besides, they made me believe I was responsible for slaughtering my own parents. I won’t be made a fool of, Bo. I’m going to take my revenge and no one is going to get in my way. I’m smarter than the whole lot of you. I’ll make my own Family and together we’ll help people. We won’t fuck with them, like the Five Families do. You may not live to see it but I’m going to make the world a better place.’ Her face contorts. ‘For once, however, I find myself on the back foot. Where are the others?’

I have no idea what she means. She shakes me and my body spasms in pain. ‘Gully. Stuart. Medici. Montserrat. Where the fuck are they?’

‘Here.’

There are four figures crowding into the space. I recognise them all but it’s the glittering rage visible on Montserrat’s face that makes me weak with relief. He’s alright.

‘You knew I was coming,’ she snarls.

He nods. ‘We did. We didn’t know it was you but we knew the traitor would come.’ His eyes flick to me then back again to Nicky. ‘Let her go.’

She reaches into her pocket. I know she’s about to pull out whatever physical form of O’Shea’s spell she’s created and I moan in warning. I struggle against the vice-like grip of her hand.

‘It wasn’t us who hurt your family,’ Montserrat says quietly.

‘I was there,’ she snarls.

‘You were a little girl. Your memory is twisted and you remember things that didn’t happen. You did it. You killed them. We took you in to help you, Nicky. You need help. You don’t want to do this.’

She laughs again. It’s a cold hard sound.

‘Kill her.’ It’s Medici. His eyes, a light almost transparent aquamarine colour, are emotionless.

I move my left hand into my pocket, finding the little canister of pepper spray. It’s useless against vampires but it’ll work against Nicky.

Her hand feints forward and Medici flinches. Nicky giggles. ‘You can try. But as soon as you do, I’ll unleash my little wonder drug and before you can so much as say fuck, you’ll be mine to do with as I please. You fucked with my life, now I’m going to fuck with yours.’

‘Let Bo go, Nicky, then we can talk.’

‘But I don’t want to talk, Lord Montserrat. I want to destroy you.’

Without warning she lets me go, one hand curving out towards the group of Family Heads and the other pulling out a gleaming blade which flashes in my direction. I have no more time. I pull out the pepper spray and hold it up, pressing down on the nozzle at the same time as I feel the steel sink into my flesh. Both Nicky and I scream. I’m dimly aware of figures leaping forward and someone grabbing me again, although this time it’s with gentle hands rather than a force wanting to kill. I push outwards, trying to stop Nicky getting what she wants and throwing the spell in the Heads’ direction. Instead my hand meets air and I’m sinking. Blackness forms around the edges of my vision, and the light of the clock face disappears into a tiny pinprick. Then there’s nothing.

Epilogue

‘So you’re Sanguine then?’ The voice above me is familiar but I can’t quite place it. ‘You know it’s quite a feat. There are only three Sanguines in the world.’

Someone murmurs a reply. I struggle to open my eyes. When I do, I see Peter and Nell. They grin at me then abruptly disappear through the open door. A minute later, Montserrat appears. For once he’s dressed casually, in a tight black v-necked t-shirt. The edges of his winged tattoo are just visible from beneath his sleeves.

‘You’re awake.’ He looks worried, although I can’t think why. He places a cool hand on my forehead and brushes away a few errant curls. ‘You almost didn’t make it.’

‘What happened?’ I croak.

‘Your timely intervention with that spray gave us enough leeway to get her.’

‘Is she…?’

‘Dead?’ he shakes his head. ‘Actually, no. She’s being held at one of our facilities. She’s a troubled young woman.’

I almost laugh. ‘Troubled’ doesn’t even begin to cover it. ‘She wanted revenge.’

Montserrat nods. ‘When she was ten years old, she killed her parents and then tried to kill herself by leaping out of a window. She convinced herself that vampires were to blame. She created an entire set of false memories to fuel her vendetta. It was easier for her to find someone else to blame rather than to remember the truth.’

‘The recruitment process is supposed to be stringent.’ I want to yell, but I don’t have the energy to manage more than a whisper.

‘We knew what she’d done. She was a child when it happened, Bo, a screwed-up kid who suffered years of abuse at her father’s hands while her mother stood idly by. Something in her simply snapped. Under those circumstances, can you really say it was her fault?’

I stare at him mutely, thinking about the real effects of O’Shea’s spell. It would offer a way to ensure you were never a victim again.

He continues. ‘After the attack, she spent ten years in a mental institution before she was released. She fooled everyone into thinking she was alright.’

‘You recruited a murderer.’

‘We’re vampires, Bo. We already walk on the dark side. We recruited her to help her.’

‘You’re not supposed to be evil.’

‘We’re not. We offer respite to many who end up on the wrong path. We give them a way out. Your friend Beth was a prostitute who had a sideline as a gang member and who was definitely living on borrowed time. Nell was a thief. We’ve got drug addicts and murderers. Not everyone is a criminal but for those who are, we provide an alternative. We help those whose lives are on a trajectory to hell. It’s what we were trying to do for Nicky but we didn’t realise the extent of her false beliefs about that night.’

He gazes at me for a moment, as if willing me to understand. I think about the other recruits in my group – the ex-politician with the shady past, Peter’s mysterious comments about deserving to suffer, Ria and Ursus’s violent attack, my grandfather’s admonition that I couldn’t trust the vampires … it had been staring me in the face in the entire time. Is every single vampire someone who should be behind bars instead of roaming around freely?

‘Arzo’s not a criminal,’ I say weakly.

‘Not everyone is. Not everyone’s darkness involves breaking the law.’

Arzo’s only fault had been falling in love with the wrong person. I wonder what Michael’s darkness involves. I am finding it hard to get my head around it all. The fact that vampires are above human law now feels like an affront to humanity. I admit that the shroud of secrecy around the vampires’ recruitment policies is starting to make a lot more sense. By taking in criminals, they keep the rest of the world safe. But they give those criminals unlimited power when they reap the benefits from drinking blood. They should be punished, not rewarded.

Michael seems to know what I’m thinking. ‘It’s amazing what a little structure and loyalty can do, Bo. Our Families keep everyone in check. Think of us as a military boarding school but more permanent. We keep everyone’s darker natures at bay because of what they become when they drink. But after they turn, they also toe the line and make amends for their previous lives. We see to it that they do. If there’s the slightest hint of criminal activity, they’re executed. Quite frankly, until Nicky we’ve never had a problem. And why would we suspect her above anyone else? Your friend Peter is another one, you know. Many people find that they can achieve redemption through joining us.’

My mouth twists. ‘Drinking blood absolves you of your sins? It seems to me it just creates more.’

‘The humans who offer themselves to us do so freely,’ he says, gently chiding me.

I scowl. ‘So you say. Forget the humans. Your vampires should be in jail.’

‘What’s the purpose of prison? Is it to rehabilitate or to punish? We make people on the fringes of society into useful contributors to the world.’

‘Nicky was not a useful contributor to anything.’

His expression shutters. ‘With her we made an error.’

‘You bet you fucking did.’

I realise that Montserrat felt the same way about Nicky that I did. Pity for her situation moved him to help her by allowing her recruitment, in the same way that pity for her led me into believing she was an innocent. She pulled the wool over all our eyes. But it doesn’t change the fact that Tam and Charity and everyone else would still be alive if it wasn’t for the way the Families do things.

I struggle into a sitting position. I feel a bit sore but otherwise alright. It’s a miracle considering how it felt when Nicky plunged that cold steel into me.

I think about the fact that Montserrat didn’t show up at Big Ben until it was almost over. ‘Lady Bancroft. Is she dead?’

His muscles tense and he jerks out a nod. ‘She knew the risks.’

‘It was a trap. You knew that if you told everyone you were going to meet, you’d lure the perpetrator to you.’

‘It was too good an opportunity to miss. We had it all planned. Until you showed up.’

‘You didn’t damn well tell me your plan, did you? If you had, I’d have left you to it.’

A ghost of a smile races across his lips. ‘No, you wouldn’t. I’ve got to know you quite well over the last weeks. You’d never let the action slip by.’

‘You could have told me,’ I say stubbornly.

He sighs and pushes back his hair. ‘I was going to. I was even going to invite you to wait with Bancroft.’ He throws me a remorseful glance. ‘We thought that with her ability to control others with her mind, the traitors wouldn’t have a chance. But Nicky’s mind was already so warped that anything Lady Bancroft tried couldn’t work. Maybe if you’d been there things would have been different, but you were too weak, Bo. You could barely stand up.’

‘I could stand up well enough to climb to the freaking top of Big Ben.’

‘And apparently knock someone out along the way.’

I’d forgotten about Boris. ‘Is he…?’

‘The police have him. He should be grateful. Medici would have quite happily tortured him for the rest of his natural life.’

I mull over all that has happened. Lack of communication was my downfall, not just with the final showdown with Nicky but all along the way. I think about the laptop I was given. I had the information about Nicky at my fingertips but I dismissed her out of hand because she was a recruit like me. Lady Bancroft knew instantly that the mastermind could be a recruit but I didn’t talk to her until it was too late. I can blame Michael Montserrat all I want but I’ve made a shitload of mistakes too. There were so many points when communicating more clearly and with more honesty would have made life easier. I resolve never to let that happen again.

My stomach grumbles and I realise I’m absolutely starving. I need to get something to eat. ‘What day is it?’

‘Monday.’

My heart sings. ‘It’s over. And the lunar month is over.’

Montserrat looks away. Doubt trickles through me. ‘What?’ I reach out and grip his broad forearm. ‘What is it?’

‘Your injuries were very severe, Bo.’

‘But I’m fine,’ I tell him. ‘I feel fine.’

He turns his gaze back on me. There’s some unfathomable emotion in his dark eyes. I shake my head. ‘No.’

‘Bo, there wasn’t a choice. You either took strength from human blood or you died.’

‘No, no, no, no, no, no.’

‘Bo,’ he begins.

‘I heard someone say I was Sanguine!’ I burst out. ‘Two minutes ago! Right after I woke up!’

Montserrat stands up and begins to pace. ‘If there had been another way, I’d have done anything I could.’

‘I heard…’

‘Peter,’ he says. ‘Peter Allen is Sanguine. I don’t think his heart was ever in vampirism, despite the relief it would have offered him.’

My mouth is dry. I try to speak but the words won’t come out. He’s got to be lying. This is some kind of sick vampire joke. Montserrat sighs and hands me a small mirror. I swallow and stare down. The truth stares me in the face. Inside both my pupils there’s the telltale red dot.

‘It’s not so bad, you know. You might grow to like it.’

I bring the mirror closer to my face. I’m a fucking vampire. Not only that but I’m a fucking vampire surrounded by criminals. All I feel is despair.

Montserrat clears his throat and hands me a glass. I take it morosely. It’s filled with blood and my stomach grumbles again as I swirl the viscous red liquid. I can feel tears springing to my eyes. I squeeze them shut, lift the glass to my lips and drink.

New Order, the next thrilling installment in the Bo Blackan series is available to buy here.  Don’t forget you can also make sure you never miss out on details of all new releases, competitions and offers by signing up for Helen’s newsletter at http://helenharper.co.uk

About the author

After teaching English literature in the UK, Japan and Malaysia, Helen Harper left behind the world of education following the worldwide success of her Blood Destiny series of books. She is a professional member of the Alliance of Independent Authors and writes full time although she still fits in creative writing workshops with schools along with volunteering to teach reading to a group of young Myanmar refugees. That’s not to mention the procession of stray cats which seem to find their way to her door!

Helen has always been a book lover, devouring science fiction and fantasy tales when she was a child growing up in Scotland.

Helen currently lives in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia with far too many cats – not to mention the dragons, fairies, demons, wizards and vampires that seem to keep appearing from nowhere.

Other titles by Helen Harper

The Bo Blackman series

New Order

High Stakes

Red Angel

Vigilante Vampire COMING NOVEMBER 2015

Bo Blackman Box Set (Books 1 – 3)

The Blood Destiny series

Bloodfire

Bloodmagic

Bloodrage

Blood Politics

Bloodlust

Blood Destiny Box Set (The complete series: Books 1 – 5)

Also

-          Corrigan Fire

-          Corrigan Magic

-          Corrigan Rage

-          Corrigan Politics COMING OCTOBER 2015

The Dreamweaver series

Night Shade

Night Terrors

The Olympiana series

Eros

Lyre

Dog with a Bone

Hailey Edwards

Black Dog, Book 1

Half-bloods with Thierry’s skill set are given two options. They can join the conclave’s marshal program, or they can pack their bags. Turn down the job offer, and you’ve just shredded your residency pass for the mortal realm and booked yourself a one-way ticket to Faerie.

Texas is the only home Thierry has ever known, and she’s not going anywhere. Even if it means following in her notorious father’s footsteps as a peacekeeper. But pinning on the badge opens her eyes to the fact sometimes fae need protection too, and that sometimes humans are the real monsters.

Chapter One

Burnt ozone tingled in my nose. I inhaled deeply, but all I scented was the coming storm. Thunder boomed overhead, rumbling through the ground under my feet. I was still hunched behind a twisted metal sculpture of a giant rooster when the first lukewarm raindrops splattered on my cheeks.

Movement on my right slammed the brakes on my heart. I squinted where I thought I glimpsed a pale blur, but the sun was too far gone and the scrapyard too dark for me to tell what it had been.

My left palm tingled with suppressed energy. My kind of magic wasn’t allowed at the marshal academy.

I had to go. Every second I stood here exposed on three sides was an opportunity to get caught. I filled my lungs until they burned then exhaled slowly, hoping for a clue. Nothing.

It’s now or never.

Shoving off the rooster’s metallic wing, I ran as fast as I could toward the tower at the center of the rusting maze. Even this far away I spotted the white flag plastered against its pole. If I could just reach it, all this ended. Done. Over. If I had that flag, I could go home. If I got there first.

That was a whole lot of ifs.

“Cadet Thackeray,” a low voice rumbled.

My pulse leapt. New plan. Forget the tower. If Shaw had my taste in his mouth, he would not let me reach it. I needed a new hiding spot now before he got close enough to use his lure on me. Once I drew in the hot scent of his skin, it was over. I was lost. His heat would snare me, and I would be his.

As if I wasn’t already.

After darting past a promising heap, I hesitated until spotting a pair of large red ears sticking up from behind the twisted carcass of what once was a desk. Mai. Best friends shared a lot of things, but their hiding place during final exam was not one of them. I left the small fox to her den and kept running.

Sliding around the corner, I left the small-parts section of the yard and headed toward the stacks of crushed vehicles and rusted-out skeletons of construction equipment. I always avoided this section and the prickly sensation it inspired on my nape. Granted, the odds of the stacks falling and crushing me to a half-blooded fae pulp were pretty slim, but I didn’t want to be the exception that proved the rule.

Mud splashed up my legs and soaked my sneakers. I paused to scent the wind, gulping a lungful of patchouli-and-bergamot-flavored air. My skin sizzled and my head whirled as I fought the urge to follow that hot fragrance to the even hotter man producing it. Bastard. He wasn’t playing fair. Incubus lures were too damn tasty, and I was already nursing one hell of a sweet tooth where my instructor was concerned.

With a frustrated growl, I wound through the automotive graveyard until I stumbled past a truck with its cab mostly intact. I crawled over an engine block to reach the door handle and gave it a tug. Water lubricated its rusty hinges, and it swung open with a soft whine. I crawled inside and sank onto the floorboard.

Five minutes to catch my breath. Then I would make a break for it. The tower wasn’t that far. I wasn’t the only prey trapped in this corrugated maze, nor was I the easiest mark out there.

I relaxed into the darkness while mentally pinpointing my location and my best exit strategy.

Scratching noises perked my ears. I tensed, ready to bolt, but heard only rain pelting the roof.

Praying I hadn’t plopped down into a mouse nest, I held still and turned my thoughts back to the quickest way to reach the tower. It was tall, built like a tree stand. Climbing it would be a piece of—

I heard it again. Claws raked over metal. Louder this time.

Lightning struck as I peered through the driver’s side window, outlining a pale, masculine shape. Cruel nails, bone white and razor sharp, traced a rivulet of water down the glass. The handle clicked. I kicked out and jammed my heel down on the stubby door lock. Through the pane, Shaw glowered.

I felt pretty smug until he speared his fingers into the seams and tore the door from its frame.

“You should have run,” he said, fingers circling my ankle and jerking me toward him.

I kicked at his fist and yanked on my leg, but he was too strong. He dragged me forward until he could reach my shirt. Gripping my collar, he pulled me upright, off the floorboard and against his chest. He trailed his nose from the shell of my ear down my throat where my neck met my shoulder.

“I did run.” I gasped as his scent enveloped me. “You’re faster than you look.”

Coarse laughter vibrated through his chest into mine. “I can be, when I see something I want.”

My smartass reply stuttered and died on my tongue.

“Speechless,” he mused, drawing back to peer into my face with eyes gone ravenous.

Tearing my gaze from his, I stared past his broad shoulders at my endgame, at the soaked flag wringing itself on the pole as winds from the summer storm buffeted the tower and ripped at its hem.

I let him think he had won, let him hold me against him until I was free of the truck and could see a clear path for my feet. While hunger turned his eyes opaque, I admit it, I played the damsel card.

Once the toes of my shoes hit dirt, Shaw sank his nails into my hips while searching me for the white handkerchief shoved deep into the rear pocket of my jeans. Once he removed it, I was “dead”. Game over. Exam failed. I shot him a regretful look then slammed the heel of my palm into his nose.

Cartilage crunched and blood streamed down his chin. Shock widened his eyes. He groped at his face on reflex, releasing his hold on me. His nails sliced furrows into his cheeks. While he was stunned, I whirled out of his reach and ran for it. I cleared three yards before his enraged roar made me jump.

“Thierry.” His voice boomed.

I wish I had said something clever, but I’m pretty sure I squeaked like a mouse with a cat hot on her tail. Incubi as a race were passionate, hotheaded. Shaw as a man was competitive, driven. Talk about your explosive combinations. Attributes that made him a great instructor also made him an apex predator.

And I was feeling hunted.

It was a new experience for me, and I didn’t like it much.

Ignoring the snarling on my heels, I pushed until my thighs screamed and my legs were rubber. I ran until the tower was in sight, and I caught a second wind. The growling behind me increased, and so did my speed. Bursting into an open area, I hesitated at the sight of my classmates huddled together.

A slender woman of Japanese descent stood nude under an umbrella covered in plump cardinals. I guess Shaw had found the fox shifter after all. Damn it. Now she would be stuck retaking the exam. The only thing more competitive than a pissy incubus was a kitsune whose 4.0 GPA had just plummeted.

“Move your scrawny ass,” Mai screamed at me. “You’re the last woman standing.”

Our classmates picked up her cries and began cheering for me. I appreciated the support, but the clapping and whistling made it impossible to hear Shaw’s approach. Looking wasn’t an option. I had to watch my footing or risk tripping. He was downwind, so I couldn’t scent him. I was running blind.

Panting through the last dozen yards, I hit the corroded ladder beneath the tower and hauled my body up toward the hatch in the center. My foot slipped off a rung and hit something. I glanced down to find Shaw squinting up at me through one eye. His other was shut tight under a muddy boot print.

Crap. I climbed faster, hands slipping on the wet metal. At the top, I groped for a latch but found nothing. I wedged my shoulder against the side opposite the hinges, took another peek at a slavering Shaw, then rammed the hatch until the lock buckled and the narrow door burst open. I swung inside, bouncing the wood off Shaw’s face as he tried to join me. I winced in sympathy. It was a pretty face.

Wood splintered and metal groaned as Shaw ripped the door from its hinges and hurled it away. There were four open slots about two feet high and six feet wide on each side of the tower. The pole was mounted in the center of the roof, so that’s where I headed. I slid through one gap, careful of my footing on the slippery tin. Grasping the pole with one hand, I used it to haul myself up the tower’s side.

“Not so fast.” Shaw wrapped his palm around my ankle.

“Knock it off,” I snarled. “You’re going to make me fall.”

His other hand clutched my upper thigh. “I’ll catch you.”

“My hero,” I grated between clenched teeth.

I tried kicking where his face should be, but he wrestled with my foot until he popped off my shoe. I wriggled until the second shoe joined the first. His fingers dug into the denim of my soaked jeans. My fingers tightened on the slick pole. Using his grip to balance me on the lip of the open window, I flung out my other arm, locking both hands around the pole and hoisting myself higher.

Shaw’s hands crept up to my hips, smoothing over my ass in his search for the pocket where my flag was kept. Two inches lower and he would win. I hated losing, so I brought my knee up hard under his jaw and braced that heel in the window, kicking up and launching myself onto the roof.

While Shaw cursed at me and threatened to bend me over his knee—kinky—I found my footing. Standing tall and proud, I snatched the limp flag from its hooks with a whoop. Glancing down at the cheering cadets, I spotted Mai’s mile-wide smile and swung my soggy prize over my head with glee.

In hindsight, the victory dance was overkill. One minute I was shaking what my momma gave me. The next I was crashing through the thin roof and toppling over the jagged edge. Shaw tried to catch me. The ground managed the job for him.

Some hero he turned out to be.

Chapter Two

Awareness seeped in and brought its friends Pain and Agony for a visit. I woke with a groan and a burst of sympathy for piñatas everywhere. My eyelids were sticky, my lashes clumped. I succeeded in opening one eye. Mostly. Vision kicked in a second later, or maybe my brain was the slow starter.

I swallowed to wet my throat. “Am I dead?”

Metal scraped over the floor, and the face of an angel floated into soft focus in the vicinity of my feet. His bronzed skin popped against the pallor of the thin bed sheet covering my toes when he gave them a squeeze. Mahogany curls twisted into knots on his head. The roguish glint to his copper eyes was absent. His lush mouth sagged at the corners, his bottom lip chewed ragged by his white teeth.

“No,” Shaw drawled from his chair at the foot of my bed, “but not for lack of trying.”

I grinned though it hurt. Shaw was a looker even incubused-out. When he was playing human? Rawr.

His thumbs slid past the balls of my feet, massaging my arches until a moan eased past my lips.

Shaw tensed at the sound, his hands falling away. The metal legs of his chair scraped again.

Familiar distance spread between us. I closed my eyes so I didn’t have to see it. “Where am I?”

“You’re in the medical ward,” he answered tightly, “on conclave grounds.”

I figured I either had to be there or the fae clinic on Myer Lane. Human hospitals were a no-no. Fae were in the closet, and the fastest way to fling open the doors would be to watch one regenerate in a public hospital.

“Here.” Shaw cleared his throat. “I almost forgot.”

My eyes popped open and zeroed in on the small box in his hands. He must have fished it out of the ever-ready messenger bag of tricks he kept slung across his shoulder at all times.

He leaned over the bedrail so I didn’t have to stretch. The wrapping paper I shredded into confetti on my lap, but his clumsy bow I twisted into a ring for my finger. After cursing my way through multiple layers of tape, I opened the box with a gasp.

My gaze swung up to meet his. “Shaw.”

His cheeks went ruddy, and he rolled his shoulder, which was his answer to most every situation. I traced the tiny enamel seal inset into a black leather wallet. Southwestern Conclave Marshal. “You didn’t have to do this.” The room went fuzzy at the edges while I blinked back a rush of giddy tears.

He dropped back into his chair. “Look inside.”

I flipped it open and sucked in a sharp breath that fizzled into chuckles. Pinned in the center was a plastic sheriff’s badge that looked like it had gone missing from a kid’s cowboy-themed birthday party.

“Huh.” I tapped the center. “They sure don’t make these like they used to.”

“It’s a placeholder,” he said solemnly, “to tide you over until graduation. The magistrates are out of town and can’t officiate for two weeks.”

The full meaning of the gift bypassed the drugs and slammed into me. “I passed?”

His lips quirked at the corners.

I tossed the gift box at his head. “Is that a yes?”

He set his hand back on my toes. “Yes, that’s a yes.”

“Yes.” My arm shot up, fist pump thwarted when I tangled my IV line in the strands of a balloon arrangement I hadn’t noticed. I swatted at their goofy latex grins until Shaw took pity and wrangled them for me.

He passed me a small white card. “They’re from Mable.”

I fingered the rectangle of paper, chuckling when I recognized her looping scrawl. “You lack the sense God gave chickens,” I read aloud. “Even they have the sense to know they can’t fly. See you soon. Love, Mable.”

I passed it back to him, and he leaned the card against the weighted base of the arrangement.

“If it makes you feel any better—” he retreated to his chair, “—Mable whacked me with that hot-pink monstrosity of hers for orchestrating your near-death event. I heard and saw actual tweeting birds.”

I winced. Mable’s purse was the neon-pink love child of shag carpeting and a carry-on suitcase as near as I could tell. I leaned back to inspect the bandage on my forearm. “So…what’s the damage?”

He ticked off my injuries on his fingertips. “Shattered hip, broken ankles, snapped—”

“Okay, okay, you can stop.” I dragged a hand down my face. “Maybe I don’t want to know.”

“Dr. Row said you’ll be tender for a few days,” he continued, “but all the bones have mended.”

All mended? All that damage healed? I faked like his response hadn’t stunned me. My powers had manifested at puberty. I hit the big one-eight last week. Cuts and bruises, yeah, they vanished in minutes, but broken bones?

Picking at the front of my gown, I kept my voice level. “How long have I been here?”

He checked his watch. “Thirty-six hours, give or take.”

When he poured me a glass of water over chipped ice and passed it up to me, I figured my voice sounded rougher than I meant it to. I was grateful for the prop to keep my hands occupied. “Thanks.”

The doorknob to my room rattled. Two loud knocks followed.

Shaw cracked a smile. “Someone must have locked the door.”

“If you wanted to be alone with me,” I teased, “all you had to do was ask.”

His grin slipped, his bright eyes eclipsed by the white void of his hunger.

I swallowed hard, suddenly nervous about the locked-door situation. “I didn’t mean to…”

He pushed to his feet and started pacing the length of the room. “Do you feel up to visitors?”

“I—I guess.” I set the water aside and pushed up higher on the bed. “Where are you going?”

Regret thickened his voice. “Out.”

Out, the place he went to feed.

Out, the destination always the farthest he could get from me.

Chapter Three

The sound of raised voices brought my head up and reminded me Shaw had asked if I felt up to having company. I wasn’t sure I did, now, but he admitted my visitors before leaving.

A short woman swept into the room looking every bit like Mrs. Claus’s twin sister gone country. The tips of her magenta cowgirl boots peeked out from under a flowing bohemian skirt made from patchwork bandanas in shades from white to blush to holy Moses pass me some sunglasses. A dainty pink bee pendant provided the accent for her white blouse, last year’s birthday gift from yours truly.

Mable was a bean-tighe, a gentle spirit bound to a building for the duration of its existence. Her home was the marshal’s office. She was also the receptionist there, and the pusher of my papers, which is how we met.

“Oh, Thierry.” She dabbed at her eyes with a coordinating hankie. “What have you done now?”

I held up the gift from Shaw. “I made conclave marshal.”

“For real?” a familiar voice squealed from the hall.

Mai burst into the room and planted herself at the foot of my bed. Her chestnut hair was pulled into a stringy ponytail, and her academy issued T-shirt was drenched in sweat. She leaned over, swiped the cup of water Shaw had poured me and downed the contents before she noticed me staring at her.

She rattled the ice chips together. “Were you not done with this?”

“I don’t know what that man was thinking.” Mable came to the bed and poured me a fresh drink in a clean cup before pressing it into my hand. “I’m just amazed that no one else was seriously injured.”

“The class voted. The conditions were our choice.” I took a sip. “It’s not Shaw’s fault.”

Mable’s eyes narrowed.

“It’s not Mr. Shaw’s fault,” I corrected.

Mai’s snickering earned her a kick in the hip. Ow. They weren’t kidding about my ankles.

“You could be a vampire and him a stake through your heart, and you would still defend him.”

I rolled my eyes at Mai. “Someone has read one too many vampire romance novels.”

“I’ll forgive that remark this once.” She curled her lip. “You do have a head injury after all.”

“I do?” I reached up to touch my scalp. “You know what, I don’t need the details.”

Mable pulled the chair Shaw had occupied to my bedside and sat. “Where is Shaw by the way?”

“He stepped out.” I hadn’t realized I was still clutching the wallet until something snapped. One of the points from the sheriff badge fell onto my sheet. “I don’t expect him back anytime soon.”

The topic of Shaw was dropped so hard it made a sound. There was a definite ringing in my ears.

Mable cleared her throat. “Have you spoken to your mother?”

“She doesn’t know I got hurt.” I exhaled. “Now that it’s over, I don’t know if I should tell her.”

“Surely her number is in your file…” Her voice trailed into silence.

I picked at the broken plastic triangle. “I had her contact information removed.”

“Thierry.” Mable made it sound like I had drowned a bagful of kittens. “She’s your mother.”

“Tee doesn’t want her mom to worry.” Mai stuck up for me. “You know how her mom gets.”

I flinched when Mable didn’t disagree.

My mom loved me. I never doubted that for a minute. But when her baby girl’s thirteenth birthday party morphed into a teenage horror show, it broke some fundamental thing neither of us knew how to fix. So we faked it, pretended I hadn’t killed five of my best friends with a touch of my left hand the night my fae magic kindled, acted like she hadn’t given up her home, her job, her life to move us from Galveston, Texas to a speck of a town named Wink so the conclave could protect me.

Her fling with my father, Macsen Sullivan, the Black Dog of the Faerie High Court, had left her saddled with a daughter whose gifts terrified her. It wasn’t like she could turn to Mac for help, either. He ditched his human lover the instant a second blue line formed on her pregnancy test. At least Mac scrawled the conclave’s phone number on an envelope on his way out the door. Nice foresight there, Dad.

Next time, use a condom.

“Here.” Mable hefted her bag onto her lap and tugged a package wrapped in festive pink paper from its depths. “This is for you.”

Bracing for a pinksplosion, I gingerly unwrapped a white gift box. So far, so good. “Wow.” I lifted a brown leather messenger bag from its tissue paper bed and traced the delicate swoops and swirls stamped into the flap. “It’s beautiful.”

She shook a finger at me. “A marshal must be prepared for any situation.”

Lifting the bag to my nose, I inhaled the fresh leather scent.

Mable delved into her purse again and presented me with an envelope. “This is also for you.” She took my gift and hooked it on the bathroom doorknob.

“What is it?” The conclave seal was printed on the front. So was my name. Very official-like.

“Open it.” Mai grabbed for it.

I stopped her with a palm to her forehead. “Get back.”

“Girls,” Mable sighed.

“She started it,” we said together.

Smothering a grin, Mable folded her arms. “Open the letter.”

I tore into it, read it once, read it twice and then my jaw dropped. “You’re kidding me.”

Tiny bubbles of excitement fizzled in my chest until I couldn’t breathe.

Mai snatched the paper, leaving me holding the torn corners mashed between my fingertips.

“Marshal Thackeray is to report to Marshal Shaw at the Southwestern Conclave Main Office on Monday at eight a.m. to start on-the-job training.” Mai hummed the opening bars of “Don’t Stand So Close to Me” by The Police. “That’s hot. Six weeks just you, him and a set of restraining Words…”

Heat licked up my neck to sizzle in my cheeks. “This is serious, Mai.”

The magistrates would tear a strip off my hide if I got kinky with the spelled Words we used for restraining suspects. Most fae had iron allergies, but their metal sensitivities ran the gamut. Better to detain them with magic now than risk a lawsuit later.

“This is your career,” Mable agreed. “I respect Shaw as a marshal. I respect him as an instructor, and I believe his years of experience in the field can help you to become the marshal you want to be. But there are reasons why you two are paired so often…” she hesitated, “…despite concerns about the appropriateness of your relationship raised last year, and you should keep those reasons in mind.”

Reasons like he was the only marshal in the state of Texas resistant to my brand of magic, which volunteered him for all things Thierry. There had been talk of bringing in a transfer to alleviate some of the concerns over how much time we spent together, but the whispers never amounted to anything.

I’m sure the shortage of willing victims had nothing to do with it.

My father was the Black Dog, a death omen, like me, and like me he was bound into service to both the Seelie and Unseelie houses. Macsen was a devoted servant of Faerie, a true neutral who bowed to neither house and granted neither the light nor the dark fae exception. He was a renowned hunter who never lost his quarry, an executioner whose mercy could not be bought, begged or borrowed.

His were big shoes to fill. If he had bothered to stick around, I might have tried them on for size.

“I’m not going to mess this up. I can’t.” Conclave auspices were conditional, after all. They may have solved my legal problems with mortal authorities, but they expected a return on their investment.

I told myself becoming a marshal was my idea, my dream. Most days I even believed it.

“This job means everything to Tee,” Mai said. “She won’t mess it up, even for a hot piece of—”

“Mai,” Mable snapped.

Mai dissolved into chuckles, flopping backward across the foot of the bed and crushing my toes.

Yowch.

Mable fanned her face as she stood. “On that note, I believe I will leave you girls to it.” Heaving her purse onto her shoulder, she dropped a kiss onto the crown of my head. “See you Monday, dear.”

Mai wiggled her fingers but didn’t sit up again. Sensing her preoccupation, I waited until Mable left then settled against my pillows and waited for her to speak. When she didn’t, I nudged her thigh.

“I’m not cut out for this.” She twisted onto her side to face me. “Marshaling is hardcore.”

Unsure where this conversation was headed, I shrugged. “I guess.”

“Eight cadets were trapped in a scrapyard—can you say tetanus?—with a hulked-out incubus on a white handkerchief killing spree.” She widened her chocolate eyes. “Only one made it out alive.”

I snorted. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Says the girl with the badge on her lap,” Mai quipped.

“Yes, five year olds everywhere envy me.” I flung the broken corner at her. “What will you do if you drop out?”

“Hayashis and the conclave go way back.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’ll think of something.”

A cold knot congealed in my gut. No more academy meant no more roomie. Mai would have to clear out of our quarters, maybe before I was released. “Does this mean you’re moving back home?”

“Are you crazy?” She shoved upright. “I’ve tasted freedom, and it is sweet. Home is out.”

I pushed higher on the bed. “So what are you going to do?”

She leaned forward. “It’s what we’re going to do.”

“Okay.” I drew out the word. “What are we going to do?”

“Get an apartment.” She got on her knees and danced until she dragged the cover down my legs. “We’re eighteen. You’ve got your first job, and I’ve got...parents willing to spot me the rent money.”

“I—” I blinked. “An apartment?”

She stopped her one-woman wave long enough to cast me a serious look. “I know you don’t like to talk about it, but you and your mom are in a better place now than you have been since we met.”

She was right. Mom was downright chipper when I called now that I was out from under her roof.

“Absence, heart, fonder,” I said.

“Exactly,” she agreed. “So let’s do this.” She stuck out her hand. “Roomies?”

Feeling lighter than I had in years, I shook on it. “Roomies.”

Chapter Four

Shaw wasn’t home anymore. Flames roared over my head, filling my nose with the scent of burnt hair as I crawled on my hands and knees toward him. His shirt hung in singed tatters from one shoulder. He squatted behind an antique chaise lounge with soot tracks blackening the gray upholstery. Blisters covered his neck and torso. Color leached from his skin and hair, his eyes. As I watched, his nails lengthened, sharpened. Hunger stared at me through his whited-out eyes and wet his lips.

Chills swept up my spine while sweat dripped from my hairline into my eyes.

So far my first day of OJT was a hot mess, literally.

While debating whether the danger was greater in staying put or in crawling forward, a blast of heat forced me to roll out of my hiding spot into his. I landed on my stomach, face level with his ass.

It wasn’t the worst view I’d had all day.

“What the hell is that?” I yelled, shoving my messenger bag behind my back. This sure wasn’t the docile pygmy ouroboros on our paperwork.

Ouroboros were basically self-devouring snakes. Completely harmless even when riled because they were too busy digesting their tails to bother with biting their handlers. This call, my first official one, should have been easy. Bag and tag the little guy then cart him back to the office for processing.

On paper, this wasn’t an instance of a fae behaving badly. This was a fae recovery mission. We assumed a human collector had snatched the pygmy, which happens, but that theory had just gone up in smoke. Again, literally.

“I can’t get a good look at it,” he rumbled.

I patted my head to check for hot spots. “Can you drain it?”

His glare made me flinch.

“Sorry I asked.”

Incubi fed on energy. Sex might be their preferred method of feeding, but they could sustain themselves in other ways. The problem being most alternative methods were lethal to mortal prey.

Not that I could judge. I had my own hungers to battle.

I knew for a fact Shaw could feed by absorbing energy through touch, but he had compared the experience to sipping through one of those tiny coffee straws. To quench his thirst, he required a more direct conduit.

In a manner of speaking, I had just asked Shaw to—at best—stick his straw into the bottle of an unidentified fae. At worst I had suggested he boink a flamethrower who might flambé his manly bits.

“Stay down.” He pressed his palm to my nape, nails digging into my spine. “I’m going in.”

“Wait. I’ll go—” I sat up as he leapt the chaise and vanished into the wall of smoke, “—with you.”

Thirty seconds passed to the rapid tapping of my toes. I was chewing the inside of my cheek like bubblegum when a bestial roar shook the floor straight up to the rafters. Ceiling beams collapsed into the center of what had been a rancher’s home office. At least it had been until whatever was in there hocking up fireballs had turned this end of the house into its lair and the cattle ranch into an all-it-could-eat brisket buffet.

“Shaw,” I screamed at the top of my lungs. Between the roaring and the fire, I was almost deaf.

Clenching my left fist, I contained the tingles spreading across my palm, lighting up the runes covering my hand.

This wasn’t the academy, this was real life, and this creature had crossed a line.

There were no restrictions placed on magic used in self-defense while in the field.

I smiled.

It was time to earn that badge.

After shoving to my feet, I leapt the smoking chaise and burst through the black cloud making it hard to breathe. I landed in a crouch and opened my senses. My nose might as well have been stuffed with tissue. My eyes watered nonstop. Hissing and spitting made me spin around, but it was just the fire.

I crept forward until my toes hit debris with some give to it. I stepped wide to cross it, but once I had my weight balanced on the other side, a hand grasped my ankle. Startled, I slid and fell on my ass. I reached down and braced myself to stand. My hand brushed over a scrap of fabric. I walked my fingers higher, touched the corner of a metal star then yanked them back, swearing a blue streak.

The cushion from my fall was Shaw. It was his hand clutching my ankle. I bent lower to see if I had a better shot at visibility beneath the smoke. No dice. I resisted the urge to check him for injuries in case my examination hurt him worse. He brought my hand to his lips, which were moving, but the words were lost to the crackle and snap of our surroundings. I had fisted his shirt and was heaving him toward the front door when I was knocked sideways, and my head bounced off a shattered china cabinet’s edge.

Freaking monkeys. That hurt. Two head injuries inside of a week. That couldn’t be good for me.

Fur brushed past my shoulder. What the hell? I cracked the back of my skull against the cabinet again when a tawny muzzle appeared at the end of my nose. The lips pulled back, exposing sharp teeth and a sandpaper tongue panting from the heat of the building. Charred fur clumped around a leonine face. One of its eyes was an oozing welt. The other it had trained on me while drawing in a series of rapid breaths. Wait. It wasn’t panting. Holy crap. It was—

I dove aside as it spewed flame where I had been standing.

“A chimera,” I yelped. “I’m supposed to extinguish a flipping chimera? Alone? Shaw?”

No help from that quarter. Shaw and his bag of tricks were down for the count. Shoving off the busted frame behind me, I steadied myself while glass sliced into the meat of my palm. Wincing at the sharp bite of pain, I hissed as pulses of magic knit my skin back together.

Peridot light knifed through the hazy air. The chimera narrowed its eye on me, curled its lip and then charged with a bone-rattling roar. I braced myself, shouted a prayer and raised my left hand.

The magic gathered in my palm exploded with the creature on contact. The pulse of energy slammed me backward, locked its teeth into my prey and brought it toppling down on top of me in a twitching heap. I should have stopped. I could have left it alive, but I was hurt. Shaw was…I didn’t know…and I was pissed off too.

I fed my runes more and more power, until magic seeped under the chimera’s skin and lit it from the inside. I could have stopped then, but I didn’t. Jagged bolts of pain shot through me, cramping my lungs and twisting my gut. I was dying. No. I was experiencing its death. Agony zinged through my limbs, but I clung to the chimera, pumping every ounce of juice I had into its muscular body.

While it twitched and jerked, I rolled it off me and crawled to my knees, then onto my feet.

Worse sensations spread over my face and neck, like sunburnt skin cracking. Tears poured down my face, but I couldn’t let go now. I had gone too far. My magic sniffed out the chimera’s essence. It found the sweetest spot, the still-beating heart. It ripped into that succulent energy, and it feasted.

I was licking my lips when the fur gripped in my fist sloughed off the body and fell to the floor. I was left holding the lush pelt of a lion with a goat’s hind legs and a snake’s head for a tail that withered to a paper-thin husk as I watched. I looked down at my hand in shock. That had never happened before.

A broad palm wrapped around my upper arm, and I almost jumped out of my skin.

Shaw’s eyes shot wide when he recognized the pelt in my hand and the meaty corpse at my feet for what they were. He recovered in the next second and jerked me—and the pelt—through the flaming debris into the yard.

After scanning me from head to toe, he grabbed my shoulders and shook. “What the hell?”

“I don’t know.” My injuries from last week began screaming at me. “It just happened.”

“You skinned him. How did you—?” He seemed to realize he was hurting me and exhaled. “Did you feed?”

Shame tightened my gut. I had to find somewhere else to look.

“That’s a yes.” He pinched my chin between his thumb and finger and swung my face toward him. “Don’t hide this from me.”

“I’m not hiding.” I stared at a particularly deep crease in his forehead. “I’m just—”

“Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

His tone snapped my gaze to his. Shaw’s eyes were warm now, copper. All traces of the incubus had been erased, and he looked…almost human.

“I did what you taught me. I fed. I did like we practiced. I reached inside him and I…” my voice trembled, “…don’t know. I didn’t stop. I was angry. I was hurt and you…” I bit my lip. “I thought…”

He crushed me against his chest. “Don’t do that thing where your eyes leak, okay?”

My damp laughter was muffled against his shirt.

“We’ll figure this out.” His lips moved against my cheek. “You handled yourself in there.”

“I was terrified,” I admitted, forcing myself out the comfort of his arms.

He cracked a smile that split his lip. “That just means you’re smart.”

I studied the smoldering heap behind him. “Is it always going to be like this?”

“Nah.” Shaw glanced over his shoulder. “We won’t always get the good calls.”

Chapter Five

After a brief visit to the medical ward, where Dr. Row’s glare flayed what untouched skin I had left, I had another three hours’ worth of paperwork standing between me and the cold shower waiting back at my now-empty dorm room.

Paperwork. Hours of it. Sixteen weeks of marshal academy and no one mentioned this?

Clean, tired and lightly coated with balm for my healing blisters, I flopped back on my bed.

My eyes closed, and my day got just a smidge better.

“Thierry,” a muffled voice called through the door.

I shot upright so fast I toppled over the twin bed’s edge.

“Shaw?”

A pause. “Were you expecting someone else?”

“Not hardly,” I groused. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

My ankles twinged when I put my weight on them. My hip wasn’t thrilled with me either. After I flung open the door, Shaw’s eyes glinted with mischief. Inwardly cringing, I pasted on a tight grin.

“I respect your love of the classics,” he said, brushing past me to enter the room.

Crossing my arms over the vintage Pooh Bear face covering my chest, I glared. “So.”

One of his eyebrows lifted. “You’re not going to ask me to sit?”

The one chair in the room was buried under a mountain of clean laundry that had spilled onto it from my desk.

I gestured toward his options. “Which bed, Mr. Incubus, would you prefer?”

His mouth opened, but he snapped it shut and kept his smartass response to himself.

“I brought you something.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out an envelope.

Frowning, I crossed to him and accepted the letter. “Have I been reassigned?”

He tapped it. “Open it.”

“I know you know what it is.” I tore the flap. “Why not answer a simple question for once?”

“A little thing called anticipation,” he answered.

I looked inside. Blue paper peeked up at me with numbers almost like a... “Is this a real check?”

His second eyebrow joined the first. “As opposed to a fake one?”

“This is for twenty-five hundred dollars.” The room started spinning, so I sat down fast. “Is this a workman’s comp thing?” I double- and triple-checked the front. Yes, that really was my name on it.

He chuckled and dropped onto Mai’s old bed. “It’s your first bonus.”

“The ouroboros didn’t carry a bounty.” I knew. I had checked.

“No, but the chimera did.” He dragged a hand over his mouth. “We aren’t sure what the connection between them was. Two rare fae breeds don’t just materialize on a cattle ranch near Odessa, Texas.”

Not without leaving a string of crispy corpses in their wake. “What about the owners?”

“The rancher and his wife—Jake and Bethany Richardson—are both fully human.”

Curious at his tone, I tilted my head. “You spoke to them?”

Conclave badges were enchanted. Human or fae, people saw what they expected to see. It was a harmless bit of glamour on our part, something to help us interact with humans without involving the human authorities. Most folks saw marshals as local cops, some figured them for FBI or even MIB.

Until fae came out to humanity on a global scale, marshals had to do the best they could to cover up the supernatural messes fae justice sometimes left behind.

“The man cried when I broke the news his prize Hereford was barbeque.” Shaw scrubbed a hand down his face. “His wife, though. She’s one of those polished types. Commutes from her high-class digs in Dallas to visit her husband every second weekend and on major holidays. If you ask me, the missus didn’t seem that shocked to come home and find her house toastier than a s’more. In fact, after being informed that they both had to stay local, she was more upset at the prospect of spending the night in a hotel with her husband than over the loss of their home.”

Interesting. “Are we talking socialite or career woman?”

“She’s an interior designer.”

“An interior— Wait. How do you know all this?” My breath caught. “Are we investigating?”

His eyes twinkled. “Got the case files in my truck.”

Like a struck match, my imagination ignited. My fingers itched to thumb through those papers. I forced the tight lump down my throat. Rookies drew low-priority cases during OJT. That meant most training officers coasted for about six weeks while their temporary partners learned the ropes. Heck, after completing OJT, most marshals remained in the special operations division by choice, acting as glorified bounty hunters for the bonuses alone. That’s what Shaw had done, that’s what I wanted too.

Inspectors were stretched thin and shared across all divisions. They tended to burn out faster and either quit or drift back to spec ops.

Taking on this case, in that role, stamped a gold star on my resume.

“Do you need a moment?” His lips spread in a grin.

I shook my head, thoughts whirling. “Is the missus initiated?”

The number of initiated humans kept climbing every year as fae interbred with humans, but they were generally a tight-lipped community, given the fae they knew were their loved ones. In cases where blood wasn’t a good enough reason to protect fae secrets, a visit from a friendly, neighborhood marshal generally was.

“As far as we can tell,” he said, “she has no fae relatives or reason to know of our existence.”

“Can we access her client list?” I worried my lip. “Find out if any of her clients are initiated?”

He gave me a thoughtful look. “What are you thinking?”

“That it’s a tough economy. You’ve got to have serious connections with deep pockets to keep a business like hers in the black. Her husband’s might have proven too shallow. It took a lot of cash to float a ranch that size too.” I mulled over the remains of the fire. “Any evidence on site is toast.”

Shaw made a sound that was neither agreement nor disagreement. I had missed something.

Rare fae. Humans. Greed. “At what temperature does iron melt?”

The tiny crinkles at the edges of his eyes told me he was pleased with the direction of my thoughts.

“Twenty-seven thousand and fifty degrees Fahrenheit,” he answered without hesitation. “Before you ask, the average house fire burns between nine hundred and eleven thousand degrees Fahrenheit. Even if you factor in the chimera’s breath that started it, it still won’t reach smelting temperatures.”

That was good news. “Were any cowbells found inside the house?”

“None in the reports I’ve seen.” When I deflated, he added, “They’re still sifting through ash. If any were recovered, it’s possible they haven’t been recorded yet.” He paused. “I hate stating the obvious, but it’s a working ranch. Cowbells can be explained away ten different ways from Sunday.”

“That doesn’t mean they aren’t belling,” I argued. “They just haven’t been caught.”

The term belling originated from the practice of hanging cowbells on leather collars around the creatures’ necks. Most fae suffered iron allergies, and most vintage cowbells were iron cast. Prolonged contact with the bell poisoned the fae. Bury a corpse intact and the iron, over a period of years, dissolved the flesh and bones, leaving no evidence of a crime.

Why bells? Early poachers chose an item that naturally went missing from farmers’ livestock and whose absence raised no one’s suspicions. Shocker, poachers were all-around thieves. They even pilfered their poaching supplies. If a farmer got pissed about it, then local boys would be found with stolen bells in their possession. The incident would be excused as a prank, the boys punished and the poachers given time to relocate their operation.

Through the years, later generations of poaching sickos kept the grisly tradition alive.

He held my gaze and waited. “I’m not disagreeing with you.”

Poaching rare animals from the fae realm was a capital offense. If you stole a treasure from Faerie, you paid for it with your life. No givebacks, no exceptions.

I chewed on my thumbnail. “What about the husband?”

“Lives on the ranch, handles the day-to-day operations.” Shaw’s lips pursed as he dredged through his memory. “Likes four-wheeling and hunting, as most good ol’ Southern boys do. He spent a small fortune on a storm shelter installation a few years back. After watching a grown man cry over a cow named Richardson’s Buck Ton Son of a Gun, I’m wondering if he didn’t build it big enough to accommodate his cattle too.”

“Stranger things have happened.” People could get downright weird about their animals. “Maybe we should forget the ranch and focus elsewhere.”

“By elsewhere,” Shaw said, “I assume you mean Dallas.”

I gave a slow nod. “The bigger the city, the dirtier its underbelly.”

He scratched his cheek. “I haven’t handled one of these cases in a while.”

Thanks to his stint as an instructor for yours truly. “If you’re not up to it…”

“We’ll leave tomorrow afternoon.” His eyes glinted. “I’ll book the hotel.”

“Separate rooms,” I blurted.

“I was thinking separate beds.”

I mentally stumbled. “I snore.”

“I know.” His gaze swept over me. “We’ve slept together before.”

Chimera-grade heat blasted into my cheeks. “There were nine other people there.”

His shoulder lifted. “Their tents weren’t next to mine.”

“You were the one who assigned lots,” I spluttered. Granted, there had been conclave-sanctioned restrictions on how far apart we got due to the nature of my talent and concerns for my fellow cadets’ safety, but still.

His features settled into an innocent expression. “I thought a rogue bear broke camp perimeter.”

I returned the favor. “Do you often run out of tents naked to confront danger?”

He didn’t blink. “Commando is more comfortable for me.”

“What about the rest of us? Nine other people saw your twig and berries.”

He shifted closer to the edge of the bed. “Twig?”

I struggled to keep my face neutral. “As in small stick?”

He huffed. “This is an inappropriate conversation to be having with—”

“I’m not a minor or a child or whatever other diminutive noun you were about to spew.”

“I was going to say my partner.”

“Oh.”

“I should let you get some rest.” He stood with a frown. “I didn’t ask. How are you feeling?”

“The energy from the chimera patched me up pretty well. I’ve got no complaints. You?”

His gaze drifted to the floor. “Same here.”

That explained a few things. Between the surprise of finding him on my doorstep and the shock of what he brought with him, I hadn’t absorbed the fact that he was mostly healed. A fair amount of light bruising remained, but the dark smudges would fade after he caught an hour or two of good sleep.

I saluted him with the envelope still held tight in my grip. “Thanks for bringing me the check.”

“No problem.” He lifted his hand, gaze pinned to the wall behind my head. “Night.”

“Night.”

He opened the door, hesitating on the threshold. “What you asked earlier.”

We had covered so much ground, he could have meant anything. “Yeah?”

“My answer is whichever one you’re in.” He slammed his palm into the casing then left.

I sat there, mind whirling. What had I asked? What had I said? What did he mean? Spearing my fingers through my hair, I tugged on the roots. As tired as I was, my brain was soup. I couldn’t think without it leaking out my ears.

I gave up and stomped to the bathroom, snatching my cell off the counter. I punched redial.

“Tee?” Mai sounded panicked. “You didn’t fall in the shower, did you?”

“Yes, Mai. I also showered with my phone in hand, just in case.”

“That’s not funny, Little Miss Head Injury.”

“I’m sorry.” I ground my palm into my eye. “I’m just tired and grumpy.”

“Is that why you called? Should I sing you a lullaby or read to you from Wiki?”

“Um, no. Thanks, but no thanks.” I wandered back to bed and lifted the check. “You know how I said it would take some time for me to save up my half of the deposit on an apartment and the utilities?”

“Yes, and I totally understand. No pressure. I can deal with moving home as long as I know it’s temporary.” She paused. “That’s not why you’re calling, is it? This is temporary, right? Thierry?”

“I got paid my first bonus today.”

“Wow. On your first day?” She exhaled on a whistle. “Go you.”

“It’s for twenty-five hundred dollars.”

“Damn.”

“Do you still have that list of apartments for lease on the fae side of town?”

“Yeah, they’re in my purse.”

“Good. I’ll pick you up at eight. We’ll take some tours and maybe sign some papers, okay?”

Her earsplitting squeal made me flinch.

“I’m hanging up now,” I yelled into the receiver.

She was still going strong when I hit the end button.

Crawling into the empty bed in my lonely room, I set the alarm and flipped off the lights.

Once my aching head hit the pillow, I remembered.

“…which bed do you prefer?”

“…whichever you’re in.”

Chapter Six

With the Dallas trip looming, I got a pass on clocking in at the office in favor of packing. Since I lived in jeans, sneakers and the faded T-shirts of boyfriends past, that took me all of twenty minutes.

Besides the bonuses for high-risk captures, my favorite job perk had to be the casual dress code.

After inhaling a raisin bagel, I dialed up a fae taxi service to drive me to the fae section of town. I was still picking at the blister bubbles on the heels of my favorite sneakers when the cabbie slammed on his brakes.

“This it?” His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. His were yellow, his pupils elliptical.

Hey, I’m not saying the guy was a feline, but those eyes and that tone coaxed a growl out of me.

“Down, girl.” He flashed a mouthful of needlelike teeth.

Yep. Definitely a cat.

My gaze slid over the familiar McMansion the Hayashi family called home. “This is me.”

“You sure you’re not lost?” he pressed.

Ready for some fresh air, I gripped the door handle. “I’m good, but thanks.”

“I’m only checking ’cause you smell familiar, and I don’t want no trouble.” He drummed stubby fingers on the steering wheel. “If you light this place up, I don’t want no trail leading nobody back to me.”

“Light it up?” My palms went damp. “Who do I remind you of?”

“Macsen Sullivan.” He twisted to face me. “The spitting image. You related or something?”

“Or something.” I resisted the urge to flash my palm and ask how it compared to the original.

Two types of fae knew my father, those he worked with and those he brought down.

I learned early not to ask questions about Mac. No one, not even my mother, answered them.

The cabbie’s eyes cut left, and a purr rumbled in his chest. “Foxy lady. She a friend of yours?”

Through the glass I spotted Mai jogging down the drive to meet me. She wrestled two squirming kits in her arms, red furballs whose playful nips made her wince. I noticed the cat still staring. “Roll that sandpaper tongue back into your mouth.” I tossed a few bills into the front seat then stepped out.

He lowered the nearest window, whistled at Mai, then peeled out before I became a stereotype—I was not going to chase after that car to give him a piece of my mind.

Mai ignored the kit gnawing on her hair. “Did you forget to tip him or what?”

“Cat,” I said by way of explanation. “Who are those little cuties?”

“Margo and Fargo.” She rolled her eyes. “They’re my newest niece and nephew.”

“Twins?”

She snorted. “Does a fox have a tail?” The friskier of the two kits clamped onto her earlobe. Mai yelped, gripped its scruff and tugged, then held it at arm’s length. “We don’t draw blood on family.”

“Are you babysitting?” I pulled out my phone. “Is this a bad time? I can call for a pick-up. I’m sure Kitty McLitterbox would love to come back for me.”

“If you leave me,” she snarled, “I will hunt you down, chop you up and feed you to Grandmother’s koi.”

I believed her. “Are all kitsunes this violent, or are you the exception?”

She glanced toward the house. “You’ve met my mother and grandmother.”

“Good point.”

She hooked a thumb over her shoulder. “Do you want to come in?”

I waved her on. “I’ll wait here.” The better not to become fish kibble for her grandmother’s scaly BFFs.

Mai huffed bangs out of her eyes but swallowed her lecture on how I needed to be socialized.

Once she turned her back, I indulged in a balance exercise and walked the curb. A misstep—stupid ankle—sent me stumbling into the grass. It was softer than the curb, so I sat and let my eyes go out of focus. The houses began fading, the road crumbled. The scent of fresh-cut grass in the air turned to dust in my lungs. As I sifted through the complex layers of glamour hiding this part of town from human eyes, the tidy subdivision faded from sight into a long dirt road going nowhere.

A door slammed shut behind me, snapping me from my thoughts.

“I assume we’re taking my car,” Mai called.

I blinked free of the camouflage, and the outlines of houses rushed back into clear focus. “Against my better judgment.”

“Good. No offense.” She pushed a button on her key fob, and the garage door opened. “But your mom’s car is on its last leg—wheel? She should put it out of its misery. It would be a mercy killing, seriously.”

“It’s not that bad.” Mom’s sedan was older than I was, but it had lasted this long. Parts of it anyway.

With a shake of her head, Mai slid behind the wheel of her celery-green coupe, a graduation gift of the nonreturnable kind, stomped on the gas and spun wide, almost sideswiping me in the process.

My knees were still knocking from my near-death experience when she lowered a window.

Patting the tiny bucket seat beside her, she called, “Hop in.”

I opened the door, folded myself inside and grasped the seat belt. Groping under my hip, I finally located the receptacle and rung the slot. She spun out before I took my right foot off the ground.

“Sorry,” she chimed. “You said we’re in a hurry, right?”

I nodded, compressing my lips while fighting to keep down my breakfast.

“Does it strike you as odd that two days into your OJT, Shaw found a way to whisk you away to a fancy-schmancy hotel for a night?” she mused. “In Dallas? Far away from prying conclave eyes?”

The next turn had me swallowing hard. “It was my idea,” I muttered from between tight lips.

She cut her eyes my way, which did terrible things to my blood pressure. “Nice.”

“Nothing is going to happen.”

She clicked her tongue. “Not with that attitude.”

“He’s my partner.”

She waved one of her hands. “Before that he was a friend and then he was your instructor.”

Wrong. Shaw had never been my friend. He had been the super-hot guy the conclave called in to chaperone the field trips I went on with other fae children when Mom flaked on me at the last minute.

“I don’t get the resistance,” she grumbled. “You’re a Class R fae—a freaking Rarity, babe. That means you can have any guy you want, and the conclave can’t say boo about it. Under the Bylaws of Earthen Cohabitation, any rare fae born on Earth is granted unrestricted access to the mate or—” she wiggled her eyebrows, “—mates of their choice. If you want Shaw, you can have him. No red tape.”

“The last thing I need is to be that girl.” I huffed. “Entitlement looks good on exactly no one.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Her eyes took on a dreamy quality. “But don’t you wonder what it would be like?”

Every time I look at him. “This trip is for work.”

“Playing is more fun,” she chirped in a singsong voice.

“So says the fox.” I snorted. “Speaking of work, have you decided on your next move?”

“I’m glad you asked.” She sat up straighter. “I’ve spent so much time talking you off ledges that the perfect job just popped into my mind.” She patted the accelerator. “I’m going to be a counselor.”

How to respond to the announcement my screwed-up childhood inspired my best friend’s calling? “Wow.”

“Fae youth are struggling more now than ever to adapt to the duality of their existence.”

I did a double take. “Someone spent quality time with Google last night.”

“You laugh, but this is serious. On one hand, we tell children to embrace their fae heritage. On the other, we teach them to be secretive and mistrustful. Some fae are so deep in the closet their kids don’t know they are fae.” She cast me a sharp look. “I don’t have to tell you how dangerous that is.”

“This new career path sounds great,” I groused, “but could we make this not about me?”

“If it makes you feel any better, as a conclave employee, all our future conversations will be considered privileged information.” Mai slid her eyes off the road long enough to wink at me. “So if you want to have a chat about what happens between you and Shaw tonight, it will go no further than my nonexistent office.”

I rolled my eyes.

“I didn’t notice before.” Her brow puckered. “You look different. Is saying you look radiant too cliché?”

Pretending interest in the view, I shifted so I could rest my elbow on the door. “I fed yesterday.”

Mai took one hand off the wheel, which almost gave me a coronary, and put it on my thigh. She didn’t speak. She understood what it meant to me, how much I hated that part of myself. Honestly, I think that’s why she shipped me and Shaw so hard. Even if I hadn’t been nursing a crush on him for years, she saw the commonalities, but I wasn’t as sure that two soul-suckers could be soul mates.

His hunger wanted me all right. Maybe more than the man himself did.

Chapter Seven

Several hours and apartment tours later, I greeted Shaw with a spring in my step.

“What’s with that smile?” He leaned against the passenger-side door of his rental car.

I rolled my suitcase around to the rear bumper and fished a set of keys from my pocket. “Ta-da.”

“Nice.” He popped the trunk and added my luggage to his. “What do they go to?”

“An apartment in Rolling Hills.” I jingled them. Music to my ears.

He laughed until I put them away. “I guess I don’t have to ask where your bonus went.”

“Nope.” I rounded the car. “Now I’m financially back to square one. So this trip better pay off.”

Shaw jogged to get ahead of me, opening my car door like the gentleman I was sure he wasn’t. I used the moment of silence while he circled to his door to pull on my game face. He seemed like the same old Shaw to me. What he meant or didn’t mean last night was in the past. Forget it. Move on.

When Shaw slid into the car, a faint whiff of earthy patchouli followed him.

I tried very hard not to wonder where he had come from just now. It made sense for him to fuel up before taking a long trip into the city. I wish I hadn’t known anything about it.

“Check under your seat.” He strapped in, skimmed his gaze over me to make sure I was settled, then merged into the light evening traffic.

I groped the floorboard until my fingers bumped a stiff edge. I was guessing a manila folder. After scooping it up, I cracked the thick file open across my lap and began skimming the front page.

“That’s everything we could find on the Richardsons. Maybe you’ll see something I missed.”

“I doubt that,” I murmured. I caught his pleased smile from the corner of my eye. Guys were so easy.

His fingers drummed the wheel. “You’ve got six hours to mull it over before we reach Dallas.”

My back ached thinking about it. “Explain again why we couldn’t fly?”

“On a scale of one to five,” he said with a dollop of sarcasm, “you and I are threat level fours.”

“That’s bogus.” I huffed. “We’re marshals. We’re the good guys.”

“We’re also predatory species who could do a lot of damage to the few hundred humans trapped with us in a tin can in the sky.” He sounded resigned. “It sucks for our kind, but them’s the breaks.”

I didn’t correct him. I didn’t have a kind. Like Mai said, Mac was unique. That made me one of a kind too.

“Huh.” I shifted my attention to the Richardson file. “Bethany was born in Hastings, Nebraska.” I grabbed my phone and accessed a map. “What are the odds that Hastings is spitting distance from Lebanon, Kansas?”

“It’s an hour drive,” he said without hesitation. “Spitting distance is out unless she’s part llama.”

Oh ha-ha. I hadn’t expected the location to be breaking news. He would have spotted the nearness to the conclave’s U.S. headquarters right off the bat.

“The missus is what—mid-forties?” I pocketed my cell then flipped to her picture and bio. “A very well-preserved forty-six.”

“You’re reaching,” he cautioned.

“There were riots in Lebanon during the mid-seventies when the first wave of trolls was granted the right to use the tether between realms to cross into the mortal realm and make their home here.”

“That’s circumstantial evidence at best,” he cautioned. “The conclave crushed the riots and spun the news coverage so humans thought a religious cult had imploded. Bethany was seven. I doubt she showed any undue interest in the news at that age. Nice catch, but you have to dig deeper.”

I arched an eyebrow.

Chuckles rumbled from his throat. “No offense meant.”

“None taken.” I smiled up at him. “I wouldn’t want to bark up the wrong tree.”

“I see what you did there,” he said dryly.

I smirked into the folder. “It’s okay when I do it.”

“Of course it is,” he said in his I know better than to argue with a woman voice.

High on smugness, I sank into reading the file, devouring the typed pages before asking Shaw to help me decipher some of his handwritten notes. By the time we reached Dallas and checked into our hotel room, yes, as in singular, I was exhausted. I was also an expert on one Bethany Marie Richardson.

Chapter Eight

Normally, I’m the opposite of a morning person. In fact, I have been known to growl at them on principle. Waking up to find Shaw standing half naked in the doorway to our bathroom with only his towel wrapped around his hips perked me up faster than an injection of double espresso to the heart.

I peeked at him from under my lashes, watching as he paced while brushing his teeth. His phone occupied his other hand. Furrows in his brow deepened the faster his thumb stroked the screen.

Shaw stopped with his back to me, giving me time to admire all the hard muscle packed onto his tall frame. Water pooled in my mouth. I wiped the back of my hand over my lips and faked a yawn.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Morning, sleepyhead.”

I checked the alarm clock and groaned. “It’s six o’clock.”

He crossed to the bathroom, spat and rinsed while I was trying to convince my bladder we could roll over and go back to sleep without me having to climb out of a comfy bed to make a pit stop first.

“The magistrates’ office emailed.” He raised his voice over the running faucet while he prepped to shave, which made my bladder situation worse. “The Richardsons have given their statements and been cleared to leave Odessa, provided they agree to make themselves available for future inquiries.”

I pushed upright and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. “What does that mean for us?”

His gaze traveled from my sparkly coral toenails up my calves to my knees. “What?”

Flipping the sheet over my lap, I tried again. “What does that mean for us?”

He killed the faucet. “I couldn’t hear over the water.” After giving that lie a moment to stink up the room, he pulled the door almost closed. “They can drive the twenty minutes to Midland, catch a ten o’clock flight and touch down at the Dallas/Fort Worth Airport at a quarter after eleven.”

“Can we get a confirmation from the marshals in Odessa?” I wondered.

“Already made the call,” he yelled. “They’ll ring us if/when the Richardsons hop a plane.”

I nibbled my bottom lip. The ranch was swarming with marshals. I couldn’t think of one good reason for them to go back there. Escape to Mrs. Richardson’s second home was their best bet. Or at least hers.

Now that they had been cut loose in Odessa, the marshals could watch them and let us know which way they ran.

“We’ve got five hours.” I tossed the cover aside and shoved into the bathroom with him. “Sorry, but you’re the one who wanted to share.” Pushing him over the threshold, I slammed the door closed on his heels. Pounding on the door caught me with my sleep shirt halfway over my head. “What was that?” I cranked up the hot water until the shower became a dull roar and grinned evilly. “I can’t hear over the water.”

My pulse sprinted as I ducked under the steam. Not even a sneak peek of Shaw’s abs had given me this sort of rush. A shiver wracked me. I was in serious danger of falling in love with my job.

Mrs. Richardson’s apartment was located on the eighteenth floor of a skyscraper in downtown. A man with nondescript features wearing a sedate gray uniform held the door open for us on the street. I was mildly surprised he let us pass until I caught a whiff of spice on the air. The scent tightened my gut, but it also kept the doorman smiling. When the uniformed man behind a desk in the lobby noticed us, he jumped from his chair and chased us to the bank of elevators. Shaw dialed up his lure, hooking the poor guy so hard he shuffled back to his seat with a dopey grin on his face. He was waving his pinky at us as the elevator doors closed.

“Don’t say it,” Shaw muttered under his breath.

I fanned the residual fragrance away from my face. “Say what?”

He leaned against the wall, letting his head hit it with a thump. “Whatever it is you’re thinking.”

“Other than hoping we don’t plummet to our deaths in a freak accident, my mind is blank.”

“That’s comforting.” He straightened as a chime indicated we had reached our floor. “Ready?”

I gripped my satchel’s strap. “Yep.”

We had exited the lift together and paused to gain our bearings when it hit me. A sickly sweet scent. Decay. “There’s a body.” I inhaled again. “Definitely fae. Recent too. Coming from this way.”

I put my nose to use and followed the pungent aroma to apartment three-twenty-two.

“That’s the Richardsons’ apartment,” Shaw confirmed. “Stand back.”

He dug in his pocket until he produced a weathered brass skeleton key.

It had a vaguely familiar look, like I had seen one in a picture once. “Where did you get that?”

His smugness level shot off the charts. “From a certain bean-tighe who no longer needed her all-key.”

“That’s Mable’s all-key?” Each bean-tighe was sent out in the world with one. A key that could open any door. So when they found their true home, they could enter without violating the building.

Shaw focused on the lock. “I can neither confirm nor deny that.”

“I thought it was a one-time-use deal?”

“It is, for them.” He lined the bulky key up to the sleek lock. “I’m not a bean-tighe. The key will work for me until I vow to remain inside the four walls of a building for life, which ain’t happening.”

“I’ll be sure to add one of those to my Christmas list.”

“Aren’t you a little old to believe in Santa Claus?”

“Have you seen Mable?”

“Point taken.”

Hovering at Shaw’s shoulder, I watched him press his elongated key into the slit on the knob. It shouldn’t have fit. Metal should have hit metal and called it a day. Instead, the lock gaped like one of those cartoon mouths and devoured the key. Shaw turned it, opened the door and then stood there for a good thirty seconds uttering threats involving hammers at the doorknob if it didn’t return his key.

Ptui. The lock spat out the key and its thin lips puckered into its previous shape.

“This is all very Alice in Wonderland.” I trailed him into the white-on-white living space. “Well, if she skinned the White Rabbit for her couch.” There were matching ivory chairs too. “I guess those were his cousins?”

Shaw locked the door behind us. “According to their website, all one-bedroom floor plans have a home office or office nook.”

“You take the office.” I sniffed out the foul scent trail. “I’ll take the bedroom and work my way out.”

“Wear these.” He tossed me latex gloves. “We don’t know what we’re dealing with here.”

I snapped them on, and the cool tingles of an activated spell swept over my hands.

A king-size bed sat catty-corner opposite me. The bedroom was painted white, but the comforter was crimson. Small black velvet bird appliques swarmed in the center. I’m not much for art. I’ll confess the deeper meaning of the twisted comforter was lost on me. Maybe death to all swallows?

Speaking of death… The faint essence of decay lingering in the hall shrouded this room. It smelled ground into the accent rugs, and no amount of plug-in air freshener could mask it from a nose as keen as mine. I followed the sharpest whiff of odor straight to the bed and ripped back the covers. The center of the bed, where the sheets should have been white, was a rusty-brown color and crusted with dried blood.

“Shaw,” I called.

He padded down the hall, stopping when his shoulder brushed mine. “Is this what you smelled?”

Easing around the side of the bed, I lowered my face six inches above the mattress and inhaled. I straightened slowly, processing the puzzling information. “No. It’s not. Someone—or something—else was in here.” I gestured toward the stains. “This is old, faint. Human. What I smelled in the hall, and in here, it’s hard to describe. The stench has seeped into the walls from constant contact with whatever it is.”

His gaze bounced from the en suite bathroom to the closet. “Do you think it’s still here?”

“Unless it’s hiding in the walls…” which, I’ll admit, was a possibility with fae, “…no.”

“Then keep searching.” He cleared the bathroom and closet. “We’ll set a perimeter spell when we leave. I want to monitor the foot traffic in and out of this place for the next forty-eight hours.” His gaze swept around the room. “Call if you find anything else.”

“Will do.” I tugged the mattress off the box spring then stood it against the wall. Stains covered the base and, when I shuffled it aside, more blood had congealed in a puddle on the hardwood floor.

I read once the human body contained five and a half liters of blood.

I bet every ounce of it had spilled here.

Nothing worth noting in or under the bedframe. I kicked aside the crimson area rug and examined the contents of Mrs. Richardson’s closet. More shoes than a Payless, but no secret compartments, odd stains or odors.

The bathroom proved less interesting. Jars and tubes filled each drawer, the labels all printed in French. I collected a few hairs from her brush and bagged her razor. Her nail clippers also got tagged. Nothing unusual so far. Okay, so the freaky stuff only happened in the bed. Didn’t it always?

Reentering the bedroom, I noticed two things. The box spring sat on the bedframe as though I had never moved it, and the mattress no longer leaned against the wall but now stood in front of the door.

A blast of cold air shot down my neck, stirring the ripe scent of rot around the room. This was it, the stench from the hallway. I turned a slow circle, coughing as the stench worsened. “Shaw?”

No response.

Okay then.

Keeping it casual, I walked to the mattress and gripped the fabric handles sewn into the sides. It wouldn’t budge. I jerked harder. No dice. I threw my weight into tugging it aside when pain stung my hand. I stumbled back, dripping blood from a nasty bite mark swelling across the top of my hand.

So much for the cut-resistant gloves.

A bite like this should have healed a second after the teeth let go, but it wasn’t mending. It was festering as I watched. Ick.

“Come out with your hands up,” I snapped.

Gray mist drifted from behind the mattress and settled across the floor. As the smoke-like twists uncurled, a slender creature no more than two feet high at the shoulder solidified with massive teeth on display. It wore a tailored crimson half vest trimmed with white fur. Factor in the pointy ears and it reminded me of an elf. Not North Pole stock, either. More like Krampus’s child-whipping helpers.

Huh. Maybe Shaw was on to something with the Christmas-fascination thing.

“I will do no such thing.” The creature straightened his vest. “This is my home.”

Uh-oh. House spirits were crazy territorial and—all-key or no all-key—we had trespassed. “What are you?”

“A boggart.” He sniffed. “I hope that wet-dog scent washes out.”

My jaw clenched. “Listen here, buddy—”

“I am not your buddy.” He flicked his wrist, and mist crawled across the ground and slithered up my torso. It trapped my legs and clutched my shoulders. Another flick and his rancid fog slung me across the room. My head bounced off the wall. “I must ask you to leave before the mistress arrives.”

I pushed upright, wincing as I put weight on my sore hand. “Mistress?”

A boggart could infest a house and terrorize the owners like this one was gunning for me, creating what humans considered a haunting. But the one word said it all, didn’t it? Mistress. She owned him.

So much for the Richardsons being uninitiated.

The spirit pinched his lips together.

I braced on the wall until I got my feet under me. “We haven’t been formally introduced.” I showed him my left palm, let him wonder at the soft light pooling on the glossy oak floorboards between us as I gathered power in my hand. “I’m Marshal Thackeray with the Southwestern Conclave’s Special Operations Division.” His hands went to his vest, smoothing the fabric while he ignored me. “Your mistress is under investigation for poaching.” I tagged the bloody bed with my gaze. “And the list is growing.”

Hammering at the bedroom door sent relief coursing through me. My hand was a last resort. My power didn’t come with an off switch. Every time magic pulsed through my runes, it meant kill or be killed. Right now I was lit up, glowing, and I wasn’t sure I could diffuse the energy without feeding.

“Thierry,” Shaw called. “Are you all right in there?”

“I’m fine.” I jerked my head at the boggart. “Step away from the door so my partner can enter.”

“What is that smell? Dirt and oranges?” The spirit sniffed. “What is he?”

Species was up to Shaw to disclose or not. “A conclave marshal, just like me.”

Beady eyes darted to my hand then to the air vent overhead. “That is not an answer.”

I snorted. “And here you’ve been so forthcoming.”

The boggart straightened his shoulders. “I will speak to you only with my mistress present.”

Great, he had just pulled the boggart equivalent of asking for a lawyer. Before I could bluff him into a corner, he turned to vapor and drifted into the vent. At least the stink dissipated once the twerp went airborne.

“The door’s locked.” The wood muffled Shaw’s voice. “Do I need to open it or can you?”

“Give me a minute.” I shouldered aside the mattress and twisted the lock with my right hand. “I was just wrapping up an interview with the help.” When he glanced around the empty room, I said, “Mrs. Richardson enslaved a boggart.”

He brushed past me on his way inside the bedroom. “So the Richardsons are initiated after all.”

“Bethany is at least. With their separate living situation, I’m not sure how much the husband knows about what his wife is up to.” I circled him. “Also? We have a tiny problem.”

He frowned at my hand, at the shine encasing it. “Turn it off.”

“You know it’s not that easy.” I flexed my fingers. “It’s all charged up with nowhere to go.”

“No one said it was easy. Learning to use my lure was a pain in the ass, but I did it and you will too.” He stepped closer. “Slow your breathing. Shake off the residual energy. Release it into the air.”

I shut my eyes, focused on each inhale and exhale. Power fizzled in my palm.

“That’s it,” he soothed. “Relax. Let it go.”

His nearness, the soft rumble of his voice, distracted me.

“I can’t.” Magical residue clung to my skin, softly lighting my runes. “It won’t release.”

“Do you want me to help?” His voice lowered.

I was afraid to open my eyes as I breathed, “Yes.”

His coarse, thick fingers threaded with those on my left hand. My eyes popped open on a gasp when Shaw’s lips brushed mine. His taste was warmth and comfort, and it lulled me deeper into his embrace. I was floating when the first tugs registered. My palm stung, the skin burning. From the corner of my eye, I watched as my runes flared brighter before another long draw through my hand extinguished the light. I broke away from Shaw.

His eyes were cloudy. The hand that had held mine was sharp from the growth of his nails.

“Thanks,” I rasped.

“Any time,” he answered, voice as ruined as mine. He turned to go.

“You didn’t have to kiss me.” He could have stopped when our hands joined.

“I know.”

“Well.” I cleared my throat and followed him into the hall. “Okay then.”

Chapter Nine

Shaw kept his eyes glued to the digital display as it counted down the floors we whooshed past on our way back to the lobby. I bit my lip to keep quiet. No sense in risking the fallout from what I had to say to him if the booth was wired for sound. They hadn’t bothered hiding the cameras. They hung in corners, watching silently.

By the time we hit the street, I had worked up a good head of steam. “Why did we leave?”

He kept walking, his long legs outpacing me. “We gathered all the information we could.”

“How can you say that?” I grabbed his arm. “Their boggart is a—”

“—slave who would die before incriminating its mistress. It’s part of their compulsion. They hate humans, hate fae too, but they’re trapped by their nature…” he exhaled, “…just like the rest of us.”

I recoiled, a wave of nausea bubbling in my stomach. “I guess that explains the kiss.”

He stopped so suddenly I smacked into his back.

“I wanted the kiss.” Shaw backed me against a wall of glass, the front of a coffee shop, I think. His palm slapped the pane over my head, pinning me with his body as much as the fury simmering in his dark copper eyes. “Hunger does not control me.”

“That was a cheap shot.” I rested my hand on his chest. “I shouldn’t have taken it.”

“Your aim is too good sometimes.” He covered my hand with his and gently removed it. He let me straighten, lowered his hand and got himself under control. “If the Richardsons left any evidence behind, the boggart would have hidden it in his den until they returned. By law we can’t question an indentured house spirit without its masters present, otherwise their testimony is coerced at best.”

“They killed someone there,” I reminded him.

“They killed a human.” He turned to leave. “That’s a matter for the human authorities.”

I darted around in front of him. “The Richardsons are human.”

He sidestepped me. “They’re suspected of committing crimes against Faerie.”

A cold realization settled in my chest. “You don’t care about them, do you?”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Shaw regrouped. “I was raised to view humans as food. I might enjoy their company, I might have been fond of a few in my time, but at the end of the day they are a breed apart. They’re safer as far from our world as they can get. Don’t act like you don’t know this.”

“If Mac had stuck around,” I snarled, “Mom would have been fine in our world.”

“You know half their story.” He touched my cheek. “Don’t judge your father too harshly before you hear his side. Your mother did the best she could by you. She loves you. Your father might too.”

I scoffed. “He loves me so much he ditched both of us, so much I’ve never met him.”

“He’s old. He was born in Faerie and has lived among the fae most of his life. You can’t judge him by human standards. If you do, he’ll fall short every time.” Shaw started walking, slower this time so keeping up was easier. “I’ll make a note on the file, okay?”

“If the Richardsons are proven guilty, they aren’t walking away from this.” I said it out loud to make it real.

“No, they won’t.” He took my arm and crossed the road.

I glanced at where his hand gripped me. “You’re humoring me.”

“Yes.” He scanned the stores lining the street. “Your fondness for humans is dangerous.”

“Seeing as how I am half human,” I emphasized, “I do have a vested interest in that part of my heritage as well.”

His exhale closed the subject.

A footnote in a report was all dead humans would ever be to most fae. Either I accepted that mortal lives were worth less and turned a blind eye or I bided my time. My partner was temporary. After OJT I could work solo, and I would never let a case with fae-on-human violence get swept under the rug. I owed humans that much. They deserved an advocate. One who wouldn’t tolerate this footnote bullcrap.

All of a sudden, I was invested. This wasn’t just work, it was an actual, physical need to see justice served.

I guess I had more of Mac in me than I realized.

“Come on.” Shaw shoved inside a bagel joint. “We’re eating breakfast.”

“Now?” I tugged against him. “We’ve only got four hours left.”

“You need to eat.” He studied the menu board. “How about a bacon, egg and cheese bagel?”

I recognized that tone. It was easier to humor a man on a mission than to argue with one.

“Yes, that sounds delicious.” I nudged him into line. “Make it a double, and let’s go.”

He dragged me closer and bent to my ear. “You need something to settle your stomach.”

“My stomach is fine.” I turned so our noses touched. “Have you lost your ever-loving mind?”

“When I feed,” he said quietly, “the women are always starving after.”

I thumped his ear. “Have you ever considered it was the sex and not the feeding?”

Embarrassment blossomed across his cheeks, even painting the tips of his ears bright red.

“Huh.” I studied him. “I expected a bigger ego from an incubus.”

Releasing me, he shifted his stance and waited. “Do you want the bagel or not?”

“Yes.” I sighed. “We can figure out our next step while we eat.”

“The boggart changes things.” He placed our order, added a coffee and a tall frappé then paid. If travel expenses weren’t on the conclave’s dime, I might have argued. “We assumed Mrs. Richardson would fly straight home once she was cut loose in Odessa, but that might not be the case. She would trust the boggart to do exactly what it did—conceal incriminating evidence and refuse to speak with us until she was present. That frees her up to head straight for her office on the other side of town.”

“Office?” I dropped into a sleek wooden chair at a table affording us a view of the Richardsons’ building. “I thought she worked from home. I didn’t see any copies of lease paperwork in her file.”

“The building is in her husband’s name. He owns it outright, but it’s the address she uses on her invoices.” The arrival of our food interrupted him. The waitress beamed at him, but Shaw only had eyes for me. The poor girl left in a huff. I smiled politely at her, but she didn’t take that well either. “With the ranch in ashes and a boggart protecting her apartment, our last hope is they got sloppy at the office.”

He passed me my food and set out my coffee before serving himself and sliding the tray onto the table next to ours. While unwrapping my bagel, I felt his gaze on me. “I’m fine.” I lifted my hand. “I have some joint pain, the skin burns, but it’s fading. I’ll pop some ibuprofen and be as good as new.”

“That can’t happen again.” He punished his sandwich with a sharp bite. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Which part?” I picked off a piece of bacon and nibbled on it. “The feeding or the kissing?”

After coughing into his fist, Shaw gulped his scalding coffee rather than answer.

“Here’s the problem.” I waited for his full attention. “I like you. At the risk of sounding twelve, I think you like me too. Whatever this is between us isn’t going away just because you told it to. If it was that simple, we wouldn’t be having this chat. You would have ditched those feelings a long time ago and lost the guilt I see in your eyes when you look at me.” When he could breathe again, I forged ahead. “I get that I’m young by fae standards. I’m young by human standards too, but I’m not a little girl. I stopped being a kid the night I killed my friends. I’m not innocent. I’m not fragile. If you think for one minute I’m letting you kiss me and then walk away, you’ve been sniffing your own lure for too long.”

Shaw sat there staring at me like he had never seen me before in his life. Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned the crush. Maybe I should have let him off the hook. Maybe I should have smiled through OJT and then freed him. Let him have his old life back. Let him hop in his truck and pursue his own dreams. Let the only contact we had be in the office or as we passed one another in the hall.

“Okay,” he said.

The frappé I had reached for slid out of my hand. “Okay?”

“We’re both adults. We can…” he swallowed hard, “…try.”

“You date women all the time.” I had watched the parade from my dorm window. “It’ll be fine.”

“I don’t date.” He scratched at a dry mustard spot on the table. “I don’t—I just don’t.”

His palm was damp when I set my hand in his. “Trying sounds good.”

Shaw looked pale as he tucked into his meal. Not hungry pale, plain old queasy.

I picked up my sandwich and ate while butterflies pirouetted in my stomach.

With both of us battling to keep our breakfasts down, I had to question what exactly we had agreed to.

Chapter Ten

With the world’s most awkward breakfast behind us, Shaw and I returned to our rental car. I put myself in charge of plugging the office district address into my phone’s GPS. When a man says he has a good idea of where he’s going, I suggest having directions ready for when he inevitably realizes he doesn’t.

Fifteen minutes of listening to a digitized voice chirp commands brought us to Sovereign Row.

The area was industrial, lots of tin and steel sheeting, but the Richardsons’ warehouse was brick and mortar. A lush strip of lawn in an elevated planter splashed color against an ocean of concrete.

“Any word from Odessa?” I unbuckled and swung my bag across my shoulders.

His lips compressed as he checked his phone. “None yet.”

Our eyes met, transmitting a shared sense of unease without saying a word.

We stepped out of the car and scanned the empty parking lot before approaching the side door.

While I kept watch against windblown burger wrappers, Shaw used his all-key to gain access.

“I have got to get me one of those,” I mumbled.

“Guard the door.” He crossed the threshold into the building. “I’ll clear the space then circle back for you.”

I peered into the gloom where rolled-up carpets lined the walls like Aladdin’s version of a thrift-shop paradise.

“Not happening.” I followed a step behind him. “Last time I let you he-man through a building without me, you ended up flat on your back with second-degree burns covering your entire left side.”

“That chimera came out of nowhere,” he deadpanned.

I arched one of my eyebrows in response.

With a deliberate motion, he reached behind me and shut the door on my heels, inserting himself into my personal space. He lingered there with his arm propped behind my back, leaning toward me.

Suddenly I had trouble breathing. Damn my sensitive nose. The dust in here was killer.

A slight grin touched his lips. “According to cached pages from around the time of purchase, this place was renovated before Mr. Richardson bought it two years ago. Four office suites, each with its own half bath, a full kitchen and four dock doors sum up the amenities. I doubt it’s changed since.”

I sidestepped out of his hold and locked down my hormones. I had a job to do.

“Good to know.” I filled my lungs with musty air. “Smells clear to me. Nothing fae.”

A slim dagger glinted in his hand. He must have palmed it from his bag. “Follow my lead.”

Easing through the suite, I let my gaze wander. In addition to the rolled-up carpets were bolts of fabric, drapery material was my guess, and thick coffee-table-style books crammed with wallpaper samples extending past the binding. A brass plaque screwed into the outer door read Suite D. Three more to go.

Suite C opened into a collection of antique bedroom pieces with assorted tables thrown into the mix. Suite B was even less remarkable. Lamps sat on the floor against the walls. Sofas and loveseats occupied the center of the room. A few desks huddled in a corner. On the whole it reminded me of a staging warehouse full of stock for the fancy model homes Mom had loved to visit when I was a kid.

The kitchen sat opposite of Suite B, so we cleared it next. Empty cupboards, empty fridge. The sink carried the faint smell of rot and soy sauce. I checked the cabinets beneath it. Garbage disposal. For the scent to linger, somebody was using the place. Two weeks tops and that smell would be gone.

Shaw ducked out to check the last bathroom, leaving me to reach Suite A first. “The door’s locked.”

“Huh.” He jiggled the knob upon his return. “The door is locked.”

I cupped a hand to my ear. “Is there an echo in here?”

All-key in hand, he aimed for the lock. Metal screeched against metal. Second try, same result. “That has never happened before.”

“It must be spelled.” I pursed my lips. “Do you have the supplies to break a hex?”

“Several.” He patted his messenger bag. “It all depends on who or what Richardson wanted kept out.”

“She hasn’t taken any anti-fae measures so far.” I smoothed my left palm over the door. Tingles swept up my wrist when I gripped the knob, but the frame itself felt magic-free. “Stand back for a minute.”

With him out of the way, I turned sideways and kicked the door about a foot beneath the knob.

“That’s not going to work.” Shaw rifled through his bag. “Nothing is that easy.”

Starting to think he might be right, I gave it a second kick. Frustrated, I went for a quick third.

He pulled out a plastic bag of herbs and a lighter. “I hate to say I told you so, but—”

Fourth kick was the charm. Wood splintered, and the cheap door swung inward.

“Me too.” I tossed a smile at him over my shoulder. “Luckily, my foot just said it for me.”

“By the grace of the seven mothers,” he murmured, tucking away his supplies.

My head whipped toward the room I had been too busy being smug to examine. Rookie mistake. The spelled door should have put me on guard against worse traps inside, but I had let Shaw distract me.

Rarity or not, I was starting to think the whole not-dating-coworkers rule was there for a reason.

Fumbling my cell out of my pocket, I tapped the flashlight app and cocked my head as the beam hit heavy plastic shrouding clunky shapes. Curiosity urged me into the room, guiding my hand. As I gripped the thick material, icy sensations rippled up my spine. Like to like, I sensed death here.

With a trembling hand, I ripped the sheeting from the nearest item then staggered backward with a scream lodged in my throat. Perfect glassy eyes stared at nothing. Silver hooves gleamed up at me.

“We were wrong.” Shaw braced his hands on my shoulders when my back hit his chest.

“She wasn’t belling.” I swallowed the hard knot cutting off my oxygen. “This is…”

“I know.” Rubbing circles on my back seemed to soothe him as much as it calmed me. “You don’t have to go back in there.”

Yes, I did. If I ran from this job, I was setting a precedent for cowardice the next time things got difficult.

“You handle inventory.” The whisper of my voice gained force. “I’ll catalog.”

Might as well put the phone to use. Shock had fused it to my hand. My fingers refused to let go.

Warm lips brushed my temple. Shaw pressed the side of his face against mine, and I knew then I could survive this. A hard exhale stuttered from my lungs against his neck. I breathed in him instead.

Reluctant as I was, Shaw was the first to break away, to reenter the room, and I followed.

My phone’s light beam helped me find a row of switches mounted to the wall by the door. I flipped several, and fluorescent light washed over us, illuminating the horrors of the room. I slumped against the wall, eyes drawn as if magnetized to the unicorn I had first uncovered. Its silver horn glinted. Dried blossoms twined with its sterling mane.

One by one, we uncovered them all.

Rare fae gazed numbly through painted eyes. They posed on wooden bases carpeted with grasses or peat, gruesome trophies on display. Brassy plaques identified each specimen, detailed the proud story of the beasts’ origins and the scope of their abilities, as if the engraved reverence of those words mattered to them now.

Faint traces of magic shimmered in the air. Faded essence from the great powers these creatures had possessed in life all but abandoned them in death. They were tragic statues, each one frozen in its prime.

As the initial shock ebbed, a memory surfaced. “Shaw?”

He emerged holding a spiral notebook with a pen in his hand. “Are you okay?”

No, I wasn’t. Judging by the dark shadows under his eyes, he wasn’t either.

“This case is bigger than we thought.” I dragged a hand down my face. “Should we be here? Should I be here? We aren’t exactly inspectors. What if we’re following the wrong leads?”

“We’re part of a team,” he assured me. “Mr. Richardson is being investigated by the team on the ground in Odessa. The ranch and this warehouse are the extent of his holdings. Between them and us, we have both Richardsons covered.”

Nodding, I let him go back to his list-making while I began snapping pictures of the inventory.

I had to think of the victims as stock. I needed the mental distance.

Distance was good. Distance meant I could do my job without breaking down. Distance kept me too busy to connect the dots between what the Richardsons had done to these creatures and what my left palm and I did to the chimera. A living, fire-breathing, natural wonder, and I had skinned it alive.

A heavy weight landed on my shoulder, and I jumped as Shaw came to stand beside me.

“Don’t.” His thumb smoothed over my collarbone.

I pushed out the word. “What?”

“Make this about you.” He led me forward into the shelter of his arms. “You’re one of the good guys. You don’t take innocent lives. You don’t hurt innocent fae or people. You’re a good marshal.”

I buried my face against his hard chest, taking solace in his familiar scent. Not the earthy citrus one, the tempting lure, but his essence, bare skin that reminded me of sunrises and wet grass, new beginnings.

His chin dug into my scalp when he rested it on top of my head. “I don’t know what’s changing with your magic. The magistrates kept you suppressed for so long while you were in school, it’s possible you have skills none of us suspect. We’ll learn them as we go, okay?” He drew back to pin me with his gaze. “Even if this thing between us goes south, I’m always here for you, got that? Promise me that much, Thierry.”

Numb as I was, his words couldn’t hurt me. “You sound certain we’re going to fail.”

“Spectacularly,” he said with a tender smile, “and I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

His lips brushed over mine softly before he faded back into the dark corner of the room to work. I raised my phone’s camera, grateful for the separation the screen gave me. Each tidy row of this grim exhibit exposed a new horror. A black mother púca and her litter huddled in their sleek rabbit forms. An emerald-haired mermaid sunned on a hollow rock, waiting on a tide that would never rise to carry her back out to the sea.

We lost hours in that room, poring over what Shaw had dubbed humanity’s capacity for greed and cruelty. As fae, our hands were no less bloody. He and I were capable of committing worse acts.

Already my palm itched in anticipation of the judgments to come while the darker aspect of my nature pondered how human souls tasted. Would they be as filling as the chimera? Would the flavor be as rich? The effects last as long before my own hunger began gnawing my gut, begging to be fed?

Hesitating before a manticore, its human face twisted with rage on its lion’s body, its enormous batlike wings unfurled in flight, its scorpion stinger poised over its spine, I snapped one last picture.

We were all monsters here.

Chapter Eleven

Down the street from the warehouse, Shaw and I found a coffee shop to hole up in until we got a confirmation from the marshals on the ground in Odessa that the Richardsons were heading our way.

We picked at bear claw pastries while staring at the phone on a napkin in the center of the table.

It mocked me with its blank display and distinct lack of flashing lights, so I thumped its screen.

“Feel better?” He spun his empty coffee cup on the edge of its base.

I huffed. “The phone had it coming.”

“Clearly.”

Flicking an almond off my Danish, I switched tactics. “How many marshals are on that team?”

“Marshal Johnathan Worth is handling the investigation into Mr. Richardson.” His gaze touched on his phone. “He oversees evidence collection onsite. Maybe three others are bagging and tagging.”

“Who’s your contact?” I pressed.

“Worth,” he answered. “I’ve worked with him before. Quiet guy. He’s a dhampir.”

“Half human and half vampire,” I said slowly. “How does that work? Vamps are dead, right?”

“If you’re thinking I asked him which of his parents was a necrophiliac, you’re wrong.”

Heat stung my cheeks. “Sorry, nothing should surprise me these days.”

“You’re young yet.” He chuckled. “Wait until you’ve been a marshal for a few years.”

Ignoring the age comment, I shelved my vampy curiosity for later. “Can you call anyone else?”

He shook his head. “I left a message for Mable when you went to the ladies’ room.”

“What?” Snow in July was almost as likely as Mable missing a phone call. “She didn’t pick up?”

His cup spun a little faster. “It rang three times then rolled over to voicemail.”

“I don’t like this.” I sank back in my chair. “What are we supposed to do?”

“Sit. Wait.” He mirrored my position. “This is also part of the job.”

“The boring parts were glossed over, much like Paperwork Mountain.” I narrowed my eyes. “Is it too late to turn in one of those instructor-review forms? There were serious gaps in my education.”

“This coming from the only person in her academy class who graduated,” he said.

I shrugged. “If I hadn’t wrecked the tower, more cadets might have reached the flag.”

“No.” His grin turned smug. “I had collected all the flags but yours.”

A nervous pang tightened my chest. “Tell me that wasn’t on purpose.”

“You saw me,” he said, voice rough. “It was all I could do not to…” He crushed the foam cup in his hand. “You earned your badge. Don’t let anyone tell you any different. The magistrates sent Watchers in the event the results were contested. You were the only one who fought, did Mai tell you that? The other cadets handed me their kerchiefs.” He snorted. “She threw hers in my face and ran.”

I barked out laughter. “Mai did that?”

Massaging the base of his neck, he nodded. “Not everyone is as brave when faced with the hunger.”

Not his hunger, but the hunger. I wasn’t the only one who craved distance from myself.

“It’s still you.” I let him see I believed what I was saying. “Underneath it all, it’s still you.”

“You think so?” His gaze drifted toward the ceiling. “Sometimes I’m not so sure.”

“Don’t make me beat you with a hypocrisy stick.” I leaned over the table and shoved him. “You don’t get to give me fortune-cookie advice if I can’t return the favor. Get your head out of your ass, bucko.”

“Bucko?” A softening of his features told me he was amused. “Confidence is sexy on you.”

“Yeah, well.” I ducked my head to hide my tingling cheeks. “Fake it ’til you make it.”

A sudden, urgent buzzing killed our conversation. Both of our gazes shot to his phone.

It was in his hand, at his mouth before I could intercept. “Shaw.”

Eager for something to do, I scooped our trash onto a tray. I dumped it before grabbing my cup. May in Texas was hot. Not bake your brain in your skull temperatures like we saw in July and August, but I figured another round of drinks for the road wouldn’t hurt. Though I might switch us to decaf.

Six cups of joe had Shaw’s leg bouncing under the table. My finger tapping wasn’t much better.

At the counter, I ordered two bottles of water. I hated the plain stuff, so back at the table I doctored mine up with a packet of the kiwi-strawberry flavored powder I carried with me. Shaw declined with a shake of his head.

“What do you mean?” He massaged his temples. “People don’t just disappear.”

“The Richardsons?” That would explain the lack of update.

He made a hush gesture with his hands, which tempted me to snag his phone and get straight to the answers. Instead, I turned up my bottle and chugged water to flush the caffeine out of my jittery system.

As it became apparent I wasn’t getting details out of him until the call ended, I blocked out what I could of his conversation. Counting red sprinkles on the inflatable donut behind the register helped distract me.

“Something’s wrong.”

A second passed before I registered Shaw had spoken to me.

“Mable said no one at the office has heard from the marshals in Odessa in the last twelve hours. She’s organizing a group to drive up there now.” He tapped his phone on the table. “No one has seen the Richardsons since they were released from custody. The marshal who tailed them is missing.”

I tensed to stand. “What’s our next move?”

“Five agents don’t fall off the grid.” He ran a hand over his mouth. “Not without help.”

“Do you think the Richardsons took them out?” I frowned. “Are they capable of that?”

His voice lowered to a cutting whisper. “How can you ask that after what we saw?”

“The marshals would have looked human,” I said just as softly. “They would have been wearing glamour. It’s one thing to murder fae you can convince yourself are animals, or abominations. It’s another to pull the trigger while you’re staring down fae who look human, on two legs, at eye level.”

He ground his teeth. Good. Our almost-relationship wouldn’t survive another humans are food diatribe. Humans were not food. Fine, not just food. They were, well, they were…people.

An exhale whistled through his teeth. “We have an hour until we get an update.”

“If the Richardsons were coming to Dallas, they’d be here by now.” I frowned. “That means they should have tripped a perimeter spell. So either they’re not coming or they’re crashing somewhere under the radar.”

“They’ve got money,” he reminded me. “We’re assuming they didn’t hop a plane overseas.”

“Fae law has a longer reach than mortal law,” I countered. “Their lock spell was weak, but it was proof they’re more magically capable than we anticipated. Then there are the missing marshals to consider.”

“The spell failed.” His leg kept bouncing. “It should have sealed the door to the frame.”

“What if it wasn’t meant to keep us out,” I wondered aloud, “but to alert them if we got in?”

“They had to know we would search the warehouse. They didn’t make any effort to hide it.”

“What if that was the point?” I chewed on my thumbnail. “What if they counted on us following the obvious breadcrumbs while they were biding their time, waiting to be released from custody? What if what they’re hiding isn’t in the city?” I dug out my phone and dialed Mable. “I need the last-known whereabouts of the subjects and confirmation whether they returned to the ranch after their release if you’ve got it.”

Shaw stared at me, waiting until I hung up before making a rolling gesture with his hand.

“She’s calling me back.” Stomach tight, I pushed out of my chair. “I could use some air.”

He waited until we got outside and the sidewalk emptied, then he closed the gap so our elbows brushed with each step. “Those fae had to come from somewhere. The Richardsons couldn’t procure them solo.”

The same thought had occurred to me. “They were fencing for a poacher.”

“Had to be.” He let me pull a step ahead. “How is this poacher getting rare fae out of Faerie into Texas? There’s only one tether between realms in the state, and it’s anchored on conclave grounds.”

Good question. No poacher had balls big enough to parade his conquests across conclave property. They must be using a tether outside the state that anchored to a more remote location. It might even be off-map.

“The chimera was alive.” My steps slowed as it truly hit me. “That means they’re smuggling live fae.”

Shaw stopped beside me, an odd look on his face. “Predators have to eat.” He pressed redial and brought his phone to his ear. “Hey, I need you to dig up sales records for the cattle. Find out if the ranch was self-supporting.”

The familiar sound of Mable’s voice drifted to my ears as she signed off with a huff.

I followed his reasoning. “You’re thinking the ranch was a front.”

“Predators like chimeras and manticores require massive amounts of fresh meat to keep them alive for any period of time. It makes sense that if the Richardsons were bringing in fae from out of state, they would do it in bulk. It takes time to process a body. More time if the fae are kept alive for other reasons.”

Black-market vendors would sell their own mothers for fresh organs, horns, hooves, bones from rare stock. Sold to the right magic practitioner or initiated fanatic, those parts were worth their weight in gold. Even as small as Wink was, its back-alley streets housed a licensed Unseelie bazaar on the fae side of town.

“The question is where.” We reached the parking deck adjacent to the apartment tower. “The ranch was destroyed.”

“The house and the barn were destroyed,” he corrected me as we searched the reserved guest spots for our car.

“Same difference.” Or was it? “Do you remember the receipt for the construction of those storm shelters? Each of the five shelters on the property would have cost him around one hundred grand to build.” A half million dollars buried underground. “It’s excessive even by Tornado Alley standards.”

“Underground holding cells?” Shaw jabbed the key fob, and our car chirped.

“We need to find out if the storm shelters were discovered and, if they were, whether they were searched. With a bill that high there must be blueprints floating around somewhere. At this point, I’d settle for a map showing their general vicinity on the property.” I borrowed his pen. “I’ll ask Mable when she calls.”

“You do that.” He started up and backed onto the street.

I looked up from my note-making. “What’s with that tone?”

“I’m dropping you off at the hotel.” He stomped on the gas. “You follow this lead.”

The pen rolled out of my hand. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m going to disable the perimeter spells.” At my puzzled glance, he added, “I have something better, but it takes time to arm them. The new hexes will track the Richardsons if they cross a warded threshold.”

“Impressive. An incubus with a knack for spellwork.” Most used their lures to get what they wanted. “I had no idea you were so handy.”

“I slept my way through a coven once,” he said in a detached voice. “I kept my eyes open and walked away three grimoires richer than when I got there.”

If he was waiting for condemnation from me, we would be here for a while. I wasn’t much for throwing stones, and all the panes had already been shattered in my glass house.

“Stop bragging.” I rescued my pen from between the seats and began doodling in my notebook until his white-knuckled grip on the wheel eased. “I have work to do.”

“I’ll try to make it fast.” He sounded hesitant, as if he didn’t trust he had gotten off the hook so easily. “The sooner we leave the better.”

“Leave?” I twisted to face him. “We’re driving back to Wink?”

“No.” His lips hitched into a half grin. “We’re flying into Midland then driving to Odessa.”

An hour. We could be on the ground in an hour. Two tops. “What if the conclave finds out?”

“Oh, they will.” He winked. “I plan on them reimbursing our tickets.”

“Shaw.” My teeth worried that same thumbnail. “I’m still on probation for the next six months.”

“I can’t make the decision for you. It’s your job if they don’t buy into the asking-for-forgiveness-instead-of-permission bit.”

I thought about that room, those fae and the humans who had profited from their misery.

“I have a confession to make. I’ve never flown before.” The potential for fiery death had my stomach executing a double barrel roll. “We should probably grab Dramamine on the way to the airport.”

Yeah. Because motion sickness was the worst of my problems.

Chapter Twelve

After staggering off the plane, I made a beeline for the ladies’ room while Shaw strode to the rental car desk to snag us a new set of wheels. We finished at the same time and met at the exit door.

“Here.” He passed me an ice-cold bottle with a peach on the label. “This was all they had.”

With a hand held in front of my mouth, blocking my breath, I accepted. “Much appreciated.”

The first sip was god-awful. I hated peaches. I know, I know, take away my Southern belle card. At least swishing the water around my mouth got rid of the bile taste clogging the back of my throat.

While I was doing the good old rinse-and-spit routine, Shaw jingled a set of keys in his hand.

What can I say? He was a subtle kind of guy.

“Feel better?” A pack of gum rested on his open palm.

“Yeah.” I took two hits of wintergreen and started feeling human again. Half human anyway.

He tossed the chunky keys then plucked them from the air. “Then let’s get a move on.”

Vibrations in my jeans pocket almost set off another round of dry heaving. “Hmph?”

“Thierry?” Mable’s gentle voice was a balm to my raw nerves. “Are you all right?”

“Fine.” I took another swig of vile peach water. “Just an upset stomach.”

“Oh.” She perked. “In that case, take some of the pink stuff, dear. It should do the trick.”

I dredged up half a smile. “I’ll do that.”

Papers rustled in the background on her end. “Give me a minute. There. All right. I have the information you requested.” Her exhale blasted the receiver. “I hope I’m not too late to be useful.”

“You’re fine. It’s not like we could use our—” phones on the airplane, “—never mind.”

She clicked her tongue. “Knowing Shaw, it’s probably best I don’t ask.”

“I— Yeah.” I didn’t want to start lying to her. Shaw was a big boy. He could fess up when the time came.

“As for the information you requested…” she hummed while the familiar click-clacking noise of fingers on a keyboard filled the line, “…the Richardsons were last seen en route to their ranch by a marshal heading into town for lunch. He passed their car, recognized the subjects and called in the sighting. That’s all I have there.”

Considering our lack of contact point, I had to ask, “What happened to him?”

“That call is the last recorded contact we have on file for him.”

A pang echoed through my chest. “What about the others?”

More clicking as her keyboard sang. “It looks like his call was the last documented contact from the ranch.”

I blinked. “Before the second team arrived, you mean.”

“No.” She hesitated. “The second team hasn’t responded in the last forty-five minutes.”

“It’s an hour drive to Odessa from Wink.” I checked my phone. “It’s been two hours.”

“I know.” Her voice lowered until I strained to hear her. “The magistrates have been informed.”

Air hissed from between my teeth. Not good. Not good at all.

Mable recovered faster than I did. “Is Shaw with you?”

“Yes.” I raised my voice so he would hear. “Shaw’s here.”

He turned at the sound of his name, brow furrowed as his gaze zeroed in on my phone.

“Save me a call and tell him the Richardsons’ ranch hasn’t turned a profit in the last five years. I can’t find any records of sales made since then. However, the ranch has continued to participate as a buyer in several quarterly auctions.” She hummed. “The ranch is three thousand acres with…it looks like…five hundred head at the ranch’s peak ten years ago. Based on the records we confiscated from the Richardsons’ accountant, almost six hundred feeder cattle were purchased in the last five years.”

“Too bad there’s no way to know how many cattle were there at the time of the fire.” I added, “Without counting skulls I mean.”

“Oh, but there is.” Mable tittered. “A recent vet bill shows vaccinations for three hundred head.”

“Well damn. Richardson wrote off eight hundred cattle, not counting what his own stock produced.”

“Do I assume from your tone that’s good news?”

“I’m not sure yet.” I snapped my fingers. “Any luck finding blueprints for the storm shelters?”

“No.” Her enthusiasm waned. “There are records of the costs and a breakdown of materials, but if blueprints existed, I figure they were either kept in the office at the ranch, or they were destroyed.”

“You’re probably right.” Though I could guess, I still asked, “What was on the material list?”

“Steel,” she said, “and lots of it.”

Another sip of water made me wince. “I figured.” Iron was the main ingredient in steel.

“Oh. An email from you just popped up in my inbox. Should I open it?”

“Well that took forever. It’s picture heavy. I sent it before leaving Dallas. I guess it took a while for the…um…” Crap. I sucked at lying. I had to work on my poker face—poker voice? “The important thing is you got the message.”

“You left Dallas?” Concern shot her voice up an octave. “Without telling me? Marshals are going missing. You don’t change locations without calling here first.”

“I, well…”

“Put Shaw on the phone,” she snapped. “Now.”

With a scowl aimed at me with laser precision, he accepted the phone when I offered it to him.

I’ll give him this much. He accepted his dressing-down like a man. A man whose eye twitch said he was counting backward from one hundred and that Mable wasn’t the one making him grind his teeth.

Me and my big mouth.

Clamping a strong hand on my shoulder, he kept me from beating a hasty retreat and calling my cell a loss. Squirming got me exactly nowhere. Slight paling of his eyes shocked me into stillness. It was one thing for me to blab our location to Mable. It was another for Shaw to incubus-out in public.

“Yes, ma’am.” Shaw grated out the words. “I’ll take good care of her.”

I tried looking contrite. “Well?”

He tossed my phone at me. “Mable threatened to lose my paychecks for life if I let you get hurt. Again.”

“Aww.” I pocketed the cell. “That’s sweet.”

He fisted the front of my shirt and dragged me up against him. “That mouth of yours.”

I wet my lips. “Yes?”

His eyes crushed shut as their color faded to white. “It’s going to get you in trouble one day.”

“Probably,” I agreed. “But that day is not today.”

His growl barely registered within my hearing.

“Here.” I stepped beside him and looped my arm around his waist. “Let’s get you to the car.”

Tucking me closer against his side, he leaned into me. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No.” Bruises healed too fast to fret over them.

His grunt sounded unconvinced. “You sent Mable everything?”

“All our notes, pictures and pertinent file information. She just confirmed receipt.”

“Good.” After a few test blinks, he opened copper eyes. “Still no word from the ground?”

“None.” I stared up at him. “This whole thing stinks to high heaven.”

“Yeah, it does. Someone has to go to that ranch and find out what the hell is going on out there.” He twisted until he faced me. “This situation goes beyond anything you were trained to face. I can’t ask you to square off against these people.” His surly expression gentled. “I want you to consider sitting this one out.”

I laughed. Hard. Until my eyes watered.

He didn’t so much as crack a smile.

“You aren’t serious.” I waited for him to tell me I was hearing him wrong. “We’re partners.”

“Whatever the Richardsons have out at that ranch is taking down seasoned marshals.”

“You don’t think I’m good enough.” Coming from him…that hurt.

“We’ve lost a quarter of the marshals out of our office.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “According to Mable, I’m the highest-ranking marshal in the vicinity. That makes me interim divisional commander, and I’m not blindly ordering more of our people to their deaths.” His jaw flexed. “The Southeastern Conclave is on standby, and I’ve asked Mable to prep another team. But they won’t be dispatched until I’ve gotten a look around. I need to give the others an idea of what we’re up against so they can prepare.” He hesitated, trying to temper his next words. “That’s why I can’t ask you to go. It’s a solo mission.”

I read between the lines. “A suicide mission you mean.”

“Thierry.” He kept using that placating tone. “I don’t plan on going anywhere.”

“Good.” I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans, then pasted on the syrupy-sweet smile I usually reserved for con jobs on Mom. “Then you won’t mind me not going anywhere with you.”

“Stubborn.” Eyes flickering to white, he lowered his head, parted his lips.

“You’re going to try to kiss me with that mouth? After what you just said?” I jabbed the unlock icon on the key fob dangling from his fingers then shoved him back. “Dream on, Shaw.”

While he grumbled, I got in the car. By the time I got the nervous flickers in my palm under control, Shaw slid behind the wheel with a grunt. I strapped in and pulled up the GPS.

Ready or not, here we come.

Chapter Thirteen

Chewed-up bits of asphalt crunched under our tires as Shaw guided the rental car off the uneven shoulder of the road. A slim green mile marker staked out the ground ten feet from the front bumper.

“Proceed for one point two miles,” a computerized voice urged.

I killed the navigation prompt and leaned back against the headrest.

Silence filled the car to bursting.

“There’s still time to change your mind.” Shaw’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel.

I told him the truth. “I’ve changed it at least six times since we left the airport.”

His white-knuckled grip relaxed a fraction. “And?”

“I can’t let you go alone.”

A slow nod left his head hanging as though he expected a guillotine blade to fall.

Reaching behind my seat, I retrieved our satchels from the floorboard. I dropped his onto his lap, turning away while I did a cursory check through mine to hide my trembling fingers from his sight.

Once I forced my tremors under control, I shoved open the door and stepped out of the car. “Let’s do this.”

His response was to join me on the sandy strip near the highway, underneath the glaring sun. Laughter tickled the back of my throat when he locked the rental behind us, like he was making the statement we would be back and that he didn’t want to be liable if someone stole it. Optimism. I liked that.

“I’m texting Mable our location now.” Calling her would have been too hard. I might have said something stupid, like goodbye. Texting kept me calm, kept those fears expanding my chest bottled.

Another nod, this one as distracted as the first. He slung his bag across his body and started walking.

“Here we go,” I murmured.

There was no traffic, no sound except for our footsteps, the shift of sand and the occasional grind of asphalt or concrete or litter underfoot. A tickle of unease had me stifling nervous giggles. I was not a giggler. But the lack of cars, lights, sirens—anything—sent creepy sensations crawling down my nape.

“That must have been the first checkpoint.” He jerked his chin toward an unmarked car covered with an odd sheen. It looked like someone had taken a handful of Crisco shortening and smeared it over the hood. The tires on the right side looked flat. No. They were still inflated, but buried in sand. The whole car tilted to that side. Doors stood open. Soft country music drifted to my ears. The engine was running.

I took a step toward the car. “Should we…?”

Shaw’s hand clamped over my upper arm. “Leave it.”

Dusty air filled my lungs as I scented the area. “No blood. That goo—it’s definitely fae.”

“No marshal goes down without a fight.” He grimaced. “Whatever got to him, it got there fast.”

After surveying the area, I noted the nearest structure, the only one untouched by the fire, was a pump house.

“Stay put.” Shaw flicked his wrist, unleashing his claws as he released me. “Watch my back.”

For once I didn’t argue. Muscles tense and palms damp, I waited as he searched the small building.

“Clear,” he called. “Let’s go.”

Nodding, I drifted toward him, shoring up my nerves. I liked to run my mouth and play at being a badass, but the bottom line was both our asses were on the line out here. I was young. I was inexperienced. I didn’t know it all, and if I thought too hard about it, my fear would take control.

Pangs radiated through my chest, like my vital organs wanted to bust out of their cage and hotfoot it back to the car. A hand over my thundering heart made me wince. I rubbed the spot like it would make a difference.

This was real. We were here. Evidence suggested the other marshals were dead or taken. That left Shaw and me to stop whatever horror the Richardsons had harnessed and taught to pop marshals into its mouth like M&M’s. By the time we reached the driveway, spots danced on the edges of my vision and breathing was like trying to gulp air with my lungs full of water. I was ready to tuck tail and run, and the fear pissed me off.

I had done bad things. I would do worse one day I was sure. But I had done good too, and this was my fight. I had trained for this. It was my job to make the Richardsons pay for the lives they had taken. Fae or human didn’t matter. Seeing justice done—that was important. Come hell or high water, I was doing this.

“Here we are.” Shaw stopped where the road dipped and turned from blacktop to dust.

Straight as an arrow, the dirt road shot toward where the Richardsons’ house once stood. Acres of green pasture rolled as far as the eye could see in either direction. Ahead, the charred bones of the once-lavish house glared at those who dared to visit, to see it reduced to such bitter leavings. Beyond that, the blackened skeleton of the main barn stood watch over smoldering stalls on a burnt patch of grass.

With a growl, Shaw stalked toward the nearest gatepost. “This should have been the second checkpoint.”

Spent shell casings littered the ground. A rifle stuck to the post he examined, covered by opaque slime. He swiped a finger through the thickest bit, hissing a string of swears as he wiped off the goo.

“What’s wrong?” Unidentified fae ooze could mean any number of things.

“It stings.” He rubbed his finger through the dirt. “Reminds me of a mild acid burn.”

“Any idea what it could be?”

He straightened and dusted his hands. “No clue.”

“Those checkpoints…” I jerked my chin toward the last one. “Were they maintained by the backup units?”

“They had to be.” He exhaled. “The first responders hadn’t reported anything unusual. Most weren’t armed.”

Unarmed meant different things to different fae, but most shunned guns and modern weaponry.

“This should be fun.” Flat as the area was, the Richardsons could literally see us coming from a mile away. Based on the evidence at hand, they had one nasty welcome wagon ready to roll over us.

When I stepped from the road onto the driveway, the thick soles of my sneakers sank in the sand and turned my foot. Stupid ankle. Thrown off balance, I flung out my arms and braced for the fall, landing on all fours. That was when I felt it, a slight trembling under my left palm.

“Do you feel that?” I reared up, scanning the area, hearing nothing, seeing nothing.

In my periphery, Shaw shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I don’t hear it now.” Stinging in my palm made me wince. Blood smeared my hand where I must have landed on a rock. Before the cut closed, instinct guided me to place the wound to the earth. Sound exploded in my head. “Something’s coming. Something big.”

A shudder wracked Shaw, the start of his change. “I don’t see anything.”

Filling my lungs only made me cough. “I don’t smell anything, either.”

“I got nothing.” He knelt beside me, bracing his palm flat on the ground. “Are you sure?”

“I don’t know.” I dusted my hands. “My magic has been on the fritz lately. I’m not sure if it’s—”

The rumbling became audible. Tremors made the ground quake beneath our knees. Dirt erupted, and a dusky appendage burst upward, spraying sand. The conical tip swung left to right, hesitating as runes flared in my palm. The stout column swayed, lowering, following that burst of frantic light.

“What the hell is that?” I squeaked.

“It’s an annuli.” Shaw’s hand clamped down on my arm. “Don’t make any sudden moves.”

Muscles quivered in my thighs, twitching with the urge to run. “Is that Latin for ‘giant worm’?”

“Close enough.” His stance tensed. “It shouldn’t be able to track us this well aboveground.”

Its segmented skin faded from a swarthy rose color to near translucence around the area protruding from the ground. “It doesn’t have eyes.” I flattened my palm to help my balance, and the thing’s head rotated to one side. Crap. A vague memory of a gross earthworm dissection in my sophomore year surfaced. “It’s the light.”

“Receptors in its skin cells,” Shaw agreed. “It can detect light and changes in light intensity.”

“So it can’t see us,” I reasoned, “but it can track our movement using our shadows if we run.”

Except—lucky me—I had a beacon in my palm, making me easy to spot.

“Something like that.” He studied its swaying bulk. “It can’t hear, but it can sense vibrations.”

Thinking of how quickly it had pinpointed us, I swallowed hard. “Magic or otherwise?”

“I’m guessing,” he said, lowering his voice despite himself, “but I’ll go with both.”

I groaned. “What you’re saying is we’re screwed.”

“Pretty much.”

The annuli continued swaying like a cobra ready to strike, with what, I wasn’t sure. No eyes, no ears—was it too much to hope the giant worm didn’t have a mouth filled with sharp teeth either?

Ripples worked through its neck, like a cough with nowhere to go.

And then the tip of its head split in two.

“You’ve got to be joking.” I tried to look away, but stared transfixed as its gaping mouth parted. The annuli’s hacking cough worsened, deepened. Like idiots, Shaw and I knelt there watching it all. After a few more tries, it hocked up a glob of white mesh hanging from a thick cord down its, well, it didn’t have a chin. The odd bundle dripped familiar opaque goo. “It looks like a melting spider web made out of gooey string.”

“New plan.” Shaw didn’t wait for it to slurp the mesh back into its mouth. “Run.”

He jumped to his feet and jerked me so hard after him my knees left the ground. Stumbling, I gained my balance in time for the annuli to vomit—its tongue?—at us. Spittle from the tongue flecked the backs of my arms with liquid agony as it smacked into the ground on my heels.

“Does this new plan have a next step?” I panted. “We can’t outrun it forever.”

“I’m working on it,” he growled.

The driveway stretched for maybe half a mile ahead of us. The rental car sat about that far in the opposite direction. The abandoned car was closer, unlocked, which made it a damn tempting refuge. But I wasn’t sure how much the annuli would swallow to get to us, and all I needed was to be caught Googling How to Hot-wire A Car in Sixty Seconds or Less when it showed up, flung its drool-covered net over the car and gulped down the whole thing. Any way you cut it, death by digestion sounded disgusting.

Hard-packed dirt split beneath our feet. Sand bubbled through the cracks when the annuli passed under us. Its tunnel bowed the road, making our feet sink into the shifting debris trail. Heavier than I was, Shaw sank to the ankle in the freshly tilled soil. I clamped my fingers around his belt, steadying him until he caught his balance. While I kept hold of him, I led him toward the fence and the pasture.

“We need more room,” I yelled by way of explanation.

“It won’t help.” Planting a palm on the nearest fence post, he vaulted over it. “Thierry?”

Barbed wire raked the inseam of my jeans when I leapt. Unlike Shaw, my landing didn’t stick. My ankle was still tender and it turned, sending me sprawling into the grass on all fours. The same raw power as before seeped into my palm, flipping a switch in my pain-addled brain and launching my darker self into the foreground of my mind with a snarl. Pressure built in my head. Familiar hunger set my stomach cramping.

I had experienced this out-of-body sensation before, a tangible awareness splitting plain old Thierry from the Black Dog’s heir. As it had with the chimera, some internal set of scales began shifting, searching for balance, weighing my life and Shaw’s against the annuli’s. Seconds later, the uneasiness vanished, and only a cold resolve remained.

My hunger wasn’t like Shaw’s. It wasn’t set by a clock. It didn’t follow a pattern. It didn’t crave a thing I could supply to slake its yearning. My need wasn’t a whisper in my subconscious, haunting me all the time like his. It burned hotter, struck faster, goaded me nearer to the edge until I tumbled.

The fall was white-hot bliss burning through my palm.

Shaw grabbed me by the elbows, lifting me onto my feet and dragging me after him.

“We can’t keep going like this,” I wheezed, breathless from the magic swirling inside me.

“What’s the alternative?” he snapped. “Stop and let it eat us? No thanks.”

“No. Not you.” I swung my leg out and tripped him. “Me.”

Momentum carried him crashing to the ground. Turning my back on him, I faced the worm and spread my arms. The wait was a short one. Vibrations underground jarred my teeth. A plume of dust spat at the sky as the annuli rose into the air and towered above me. “Come and get it,” I screamed, waving my glowing palm.

The worm belched its net over me. That is so nasty. Sticky and slimy like those hand-shaped toys you got for a quarter out of vending machines at the grocery store. Where its saliva touched me, I burned. I had a nice crosshatch pattern going before he started slowly reeling me toward his mouth.

“Are you insane?” Shaw sank his fingers into the tongue and latched on. “Get out of there.”

“Let me go.” Or both of us would die. “I got this.”

Understanding widened his eyes. “This thing is huge. You can’t take it down by yourself.”

“We don’t have a choice.” I sank my elbow into his gut. “Trust me.”

With a furious snarl that raised hairs down my nape, he released the net. His jaw set and his fists clenched, but he let me go. I turned my back on him before I lost my nerve and found myself facing the worm’s gullet.

As it dragged me past its liplike folds, it began coughing again. This time it spat stomach acid that splashed me, burning so much worse than the mesh ever had. Skin blistered and welts rose. The smell made my eyes water. As its mouth closed around me, the annuli jerked its tongue, and I fell onto its bottom jaw. Feeding every ounce of power I had into my palm, I flattened that glowing hand flush with its skin.

Hissing and writhing, the annuli slung its head, slamming me against the walls of its throat. The length of my body caught sideways in its craw, and it choked. Ripples in its skin pulsated beneath my hand. Sunlight flashed in my eyes as its maw gaped open. With a wet hack, the annuli horked me onto the ground. Two bodies came hurling out after me in a mound of mucus, both partially digested.

I recoiled, scuttling backward until I locked down my panic. The bodies of the fallen marshals gave me strength to stand. While the annuli flailed and spat, I ran straight for it, leapt onto its throat and pressed my runes back into its slimy skin. Its scream rang in my ears as ravenous magic jolted its heart, no hearts. Five massive organs all lined up in a neat row down its center. Power blazed through each, shocking them out of sync like the annuli had gulped a live wire.

Its soul was scattered, pockets of it lingering behind each pulsing beat, and my magic writhed in those nooks and crannies, chomping down on that sweet, dark energy until my body hummed with it, until my senses were bloated with a crazed hyperawareness.

Fueled by the meal, I sent scissoring blasts of power sliding under its skin. It cried out once more, a horrid sound that faded as its soul extinguished and my internal scale balanced. Too late to call back what I had unleashed, I clung to the body of the annuli until its skin peeled and fell over me, drying to a ringed husk that crinkled as I batted it away. The creature’s flesh quivered for a minute, its tiny brain realizing too late that it was dead, before the column thumped onto the ground.

Tangled in yards of peeling skin, I leapt aside. Not far enough. The stout neck rolled, crushing my right foot before I could crawl out of its path. I was lying there, screaming, when Shaw bent over me and shoved a ball of fabric into my mouth to muffle my shouts. I bit down, gnashing my teeth and clawing the annuli.

Throwing his shoulder against the worm, Shaw slammed into its corpse until I could scoot from under it. Backed a safe distance from its still-twitching body, I fell onto the ground in a sobbing heap. Tears veiled my eyes, but I saw Shaw, pale skin clashing against the green grass and blue sky.

“Focus.”

I shook my head. I couldn’t hear. It hurt too much.

His hands cradled my face, and he removed the gag. “Lock down the pain so you can heal.”

The next shake of my head was feebler.

“You’re shaking.” He forced my gaze to his. “You took too much. Your body can’t process so much energy.”

That explained the sensation of being stuffed with sizzling light that wanted to blast out of my pores.

“Hurts,” I managed.

“I know.” His thumbs swept across my cheekbones. “Come on, Thierry, focus for me.”

My eyes watered. Shaw’s touch centered me, anchored me while I pushed the strange new magic swirling in my system toward my injuries. Power fused the broken bones. Muscles snapped back into place. The burst of agony as my body mended sent shock waves rippling up my leg and shivering through my torso. It jarred my heart and zoomed up my neck to my head. Faint sparks danced on the ends of my hair.

“I need to…” I pushed upright, slurring drunkenly as I rotated my ankle. “Hey, I thought that was broken.”

The smile touching Shaw’s lips didn’t reach his eyes. “I have to take you down a few notches.”

I laughed, giddy from the high of surviving, the rush of feeding, the sweet ache of being so close to him. Throwing my arms around his neck, I tugged him over me as I flopped down to the plush bed of grass.

He surrendered with a pained groan, as though the flurry of jade sparkles in my hair had ignited the beast in him, reaching deep inside, past his defenses, drawing his monster out to play with mine.

Skin already pale faded. Razor claws elongated, thickening, curving to spear into the ground beside my head where he braced himself over me. Even his canines elongated at the corners of his mouth in a savage way that sent anticipation trembling through my lower stomach. My hand rested on his shoulder. It was so easy sliding it down his chest, over the buckle of his belt.

“Don’t,” he begged me. “Not like this.”

“I don’t think I can stop,” I confessed on a ditzy laugh. “I need you.” His touch was my anchor, his skin and his scent the only things able to stop me from shattering into a million sun-drenched pieces.

“I know.” He pressed a lingering kiss to my forehead. “But not in that way.”

Before I could argue, he captured my wrist, joined his right hand with my left one and threaded our fingers together. I jerked against his iron grip as the grim set of his mouth penetrated the cottony haze stuffing my head.

“This is going to hurt,” he said.

I caught lightning in my palm. That’s how it felt as he bled the excess magic from me into himself. My gut burned and my heart stuttered as I weakened. His need was nothing gentle, nothing caring. It was endless and miserable, mindless and reckless. At that moment I was all that existed in his bleak world, all he craved, the best thing he had ever tasted and the one meal he wanted to savor forever.

His stream of consciousness seared my brain for days, or maybe it was seconds, before my mind shorted out and the world spluttered from full color to a static flicker. Soon even that twinkle faded to an icy-cold black.

Chapter Fourteen

Waking in a small room in a wet puddle left me more confused than the half-baked dreams I left behind. Faint light spilled from my hand, illuminating a water pump and a pressure tank near my leg. Humming from a motor droned in my ears, a not-so-nice counterpoint to the ringing already there.

Muck squished under my hand when I pushed upright. “What’s that smell?”

“Manure,” a rough voice answered from the darkness opposite me.

I angled toward the sound, blinking while my eyes adjusted. “Where are we?”

“The pump house,” Shaw answered.

Mentally I tallied our position. “Halfway between the start of the driveway and the rental car.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Metal jingled. Keys dangled from the ring looped around his middle finger. Shaw stared through a crack in the door, gaze sweeping from side to side.

Rotating my ankle, I winced. “That’s not a subtle way of asking me to wait in the car, is it?”

His hand closed and the rattling ceased. “I didn’t say anything.”

“That makes it easier to forgive and forget what you implied.” I settled some weight on my foot. “Forgiving is tough. Forgetting is easier.” I hissed as I stood. “That might be brain damage talking.”

He cracked a smile. “I can’t tell any difference.”

I made a face at him. “What are the odds the Richardsons have another annuli on patrol?”

“Zero,” he answered a beat later. “They’re too territorial to even share land with a mate.”

“Good.” I shuddered. “If I never see another one, it will be too soon.” Shaw turned from his post to study me limping around the tiny room’s edge. “How do you think the Richardsons controlled it?”

“Annuli minds are small and easily influenced. A simple spell would do the trick.”

The more I walked, the looser my ankle became and the less it twinged. “How long was I out?”

“Twenty minutes.” His expression softened. “How do you feel?”

“Like the worm after the early bird got through with it.” I frowned. “No, that’s not right.”

His warm chuckle calmed my nerves. He pulled my phone from his jeans. “Mable emailed.”

“Good news?” I took the cell, thumbed the email icon and grinned. “Very good news.”

“Anything you want to share with the rest of the class?”

“Cute.” I snorted. “She sent a scan of a map of the Richardsons’ property.”

“And?”

Two blue dots sat inches apart. “There are two locations marked for storm shelter installation.”

“I thought there were no records?” He folded his arms. “How reliable is her information?”

“Apparently the Richardsons went all out. They added plumbing in two of them.” I forwarded a copy of the email to him. “They needed permission from the local water company to run the pipes. It looks like the water company has an easement on the property, so they kept a record for future use.”

His fingers spread over his phone’s screen, enlarging the image. “Which looks more promising to you?”

“The one on the right is close enough to the main house to have been a storm shelter. Every inch of the foundation was pored over by the investigating team before they started vanishing. Anything unusual would have been found and reported.” After taking the second dot and our relative position into account, I tapped the screen. “The other is positioned several acres from the house and offers more privacy.”

“With the annuli guarding the property line,” he mused, “they could afford to retreat deeper into their acreage.”

“Okay.” I slid my phone into my back pocket. “Let’s go.”

“I’m only going to ask this once.” Blocking the door, Shaw faced me. “Are you sure you’re—?”

“Don’t make me hurt you.” I walked up and jabbed the center of his chest. “It’ll look bad on my performance evaluation.” Grazing him on my way through the door, I scowled. “Don’t count me out yet.”

His breath blasted my nape. “You’re like a dog with a—”

My elbow shot back and sank in his gut. I’m lucky I didn’t break something on those abs of his. While he coughed manfully over my shoulder, I studied the flat, grassy terrain between us and our objective.

Resisting the urge to rub my elbow, I stepped outside the relative safety of the pump house. “Are we just going to walk up to them?”

“We don’t have much choice.” He sounded pained. “Last time I checked, neither of us had mastered any covert glamour skills. We can’t mask stationary objects from view, let alone obscure moving ones.”

The man had a point. “If they see us coming, that gives them more time to prepare.”

“They’ve already fallen back. They’re in their safe place.” His teeth flashed. “They’re trapped.”

The predator in me roused, still hyped from the kill. “They’re in a defensive position.”

“No, they’re in a box in the ground.” That toothy smile grew a tad sharper. “And they’ve got to get air from somewhere.”

“What does—?” Tempting spice hit my nose, the scent of his skin intoxicating. It backed me up a step, until my shoulders hit his chest. Understanding pierced the fog rousing my libido. “Oh, I like the way you think.”

Chapter Fifteen

No two ways about it. The Richardsons knew we were coming. Even if they hadn’t figured out I had decommissioned their guard worm, it stood to reason that if the annuli had first become aware of our presence because we had tripped a perimeter spell, then the Richardsons also knew of the breach.

Yet for all that, the walk was uneventful. The most excitement we had was dodging cow patties.

A warm breeze ruffled my hair, drying the sweat running down my nape. The hike into cow country did my foot good. It stopped aching, but the skin felt too tight, like the time Andrea dumped a bottle of Elmer’s over my toes then sprinkled an entire box of emerald glitter over the top.

Hey, when you’re five and don’t have access to nail polish, bad things can happen.

That flicker of memory, even though it was a happy one, pierced my heart. Andrea, my first best friend, dead because of me, because she was the first to touch the light kindling in my hand.

“Is your foot hurting?” Shaw rested his hand between my shoulder blades.

“No.” I rubbed the tender center of my chest. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

The look he shot me called me ten kinds of liar, but he didn’t press me.

“The dot didn’t look so far away on the map,” I grumbled.

“We’re almost there.” His steps were light, his expression clear. Almost serene. Tense as he had been the whole trip, for days really, I doubted the annuli’s demise was the reason for his newfound calm. “Keep up.”

As he set off ahead of me, I hung back admiring the view. The man knew how to wear jeans, and his shirt was missing a six-inch strip around the bottom where he had ripped it before using it to gag me. The dirty thoughts his rear view and peekaboo abs inspired caused a light bulb to flash over my head.

No wonder Shaw was Mr. Zen. He had fed. A lot. On me.

He was at peace, if only for a little while, and I had given that to him. He had helped me out too. Without him, I would still be flying as high as a kite and batting at the clouds like a kitten on catnip.

“Take a look at this.” Shaw stood with his hands resting on his hips, staring at something on the ground the high grass hid from me. He kicked out his boot, and metal clanged. “I think we found it.”

“I think you’re right,” I agreed as a three-by-six-foot steel door inset into a concrete pad came into view. The surface was smooth. Its hinges must be to the inside. The handle, and there must be one, was hidden. Two feet of concrete framed the door. Sod covered the rest of the concrete lid, giving us no clue how much hollow mass spread beneath us. All we had was an access point we couldn’t, well, access.

“Stand back and keep watch,” Shaw ordered. “I’m going to find the intake vent.”

Twenty yards away he whistled and knelt. Rising onto my tiptoes, I shielded my eyes against the glare from a whirling silver turbine.

From here, Shaw looked like any guy resting on his knees in the grass, but the tingle in my nose told me the truth. Standing slightly downwind from his position meant his lure drifted past on the edge of my periphery. His scent made sweat bead on my forehead and roll into my eyes.

Never had it occurred to me to wonder where his scent glands were, how his lure was produced. If he kept this up much longer, I would be forced to explore answers to those questions with my tongue.

Snap out of it.

I held my breath until I regained coordination of my limbs then eased out of the path of his enticing scent.

With a tight nod at me, he stood and dusted off his jeans. His first order of business was punting the spinning turbine downfield. Sound wasn’t a concern as he crushed the base with his heel. Taking off the shredded remains of his shirt, he balled the fabric and shoved it down the tube before kicking dirt into the hole. The air shaft was clogged. Even if they had a second intake, the circulation was hampered, sealing the Richardsons in with the tempting fragrance of an incubus male in his prime.

Or so we hoped.

Ten minutes passed. Twenty. Shaw gave them thirty minutes before crossing back to me.

“It didn’t work.” He surveyed the area while I worked hard at not surveying his shirtless state. “They must have a filtration system.”

Forcing my girly bits to behave, I tamped down the lure’s effect. This was not the time nor the place to get frisky. “Let’s give it another minute.”

Just like a man, he took me literally. “Time’s up. We should fall back and work a new angle.”

We cleared a dozen yards before a pinging sound made me whip my head around. I shoved Shaw behind me, which made him snarl and forced me to elbow his gut. Again. “Did you hear that?”

Twisting groans from grating metal made him cock his head. “I do now.” He edged around me, jabbing a finger at the shelter entrance. “Circle around. Get downwind and stay there, understand?”

I jogged a wide circle around the buckling door, coming up behind it, straight in front of Shaw. I flipped him a thumbs-up, the extent of my sign vocabulary, then dropped onto my stomach in the grass. At least I didn’t have to worry about a human scenting me. If I kept quiet and out of sight, I was golden. Except…the Richardsons had no qualms pitting fae against fae to protect their interests.

Muscles tensed along my spine. Why open the door we couldn’t budge and risk making themselves vulnerable to attack? Was Shaw’s spicy lure that powerful? Or was that exactly what they wanted us to believe? I didn’t like this. It was too easy. They wouldn’t surrender now, they had gone too far.

Frustration had me chewing on my lip. Too late for second-guesses.

Hinges squeaked and silver flashed as the door swung open. A blast of pressurized air tainted by urine, feces and stale blood hit me in the face, and I almost gagged. Fae, if I had to guess. Crawling nearer, I lined up with a part in the grass that let me keep an eye on Shaw.

The bottom dropped out of my stomach as a slender woman climbed the stairs on her hands and knees. Once her head cleared the doorway, she glanced over her shoulder, right at me, as if she knew I was there. Her pupils had swallowed her irises, leaving her eyes black voids. Her parted lips gave her the appearance of panting. In a blink, the moment ended and she resumed her crawl onto the ground.

Several yards away from the safety of the door stood Shaw, and the woman was ruining her pale gray pantsuit by crawling every inch of it to reach him. Her movements made my eyes twitch. I kept getting hung up on how her knees bent backward, like a giant grasshopper. I had trouble reconciling her insectoid scuttling with the curvy, middle-aged woman she otherwise appeared to be. Blonde hair whipped behind her head from the speed of her passing. Her otherness hypnotized me until I blinked.

Remember, you are the cavalry. Don’t fall off your horse yet.

Those intense tendrils of fascination wrapping my mind cleared once I coaxed my gaze from the womanesque creature. All we needed was another lure-wielding fae on the playing field. What the hell was that thing?

Shaw watched her approach with a neutral expression, but panic welled behind my breastbone. He was out there standing that thing down alone. Screw the plan. I pushed up from my hiding spot as a jagged wire sliced into my throat. My skin sizzled where the rusted steel touched me. Barbed wire, really?

My back bowed as the person holding the garrote tugged to get my attention. I bit down on my tongue to keep from calling out for help. Shaw had his own problem barreling straight for him. I had to solve mine on my own or die trying.

“How many marshals did the conclave send us this time?” a man with a thick Texas twang asked over my shoulder.

“What you see—” I hissed, “—is what you get.”

“I don’t believe you.” He tightened the strand, cutting into my throat. “You killed Ethel.”

“Ethel?” I wheezed. “You named the worm Ethel?”

Metal shifted with the roll of his shoulders. “When in Texas…”

I gasped against the wire carving into my airway. “Who are you?”

“Forgive me, darlin’. Let me introduce myself,” he drawled. “I’m Jake Richardson.”

Black spots dotted my vision. If he was Jake then… “That thing out there is Bethany.”

His laughter grated in my ears. “Beautiful, isn’t she?”

His weight settled on me. He knelt over my legs, trapping them between his thighs.

Instinctive panic soured my stomach. His knees were close enough I could reach his kneecaps with my fingertips, but to do it I had to face plant and then swing my arm behind me. Without the support of my hands, my throat would cut into the wire seesawing toward my larynx. I wasn’t sure if I could survive that kind of damage, let alone heal from it.

Anticipation spiked Richardson’s scent as he tightened his noose and settled in to watch the show. He was salivating for the kill. Not my death, though that was coming, but Shaw’s. I got the impression Richardson liked to watch. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t kill me in a blink.

Jealousy was a double-edged sword, and I swung it. “Your wife can’t resist him.”

He chuckled. “She isn’t trying to.”

Okay, maybe I was cutting in the wrong direction. “He will kill her.”

“Not for long.” He exerted slight pressure on the wire, eagerness shaking his hands.

I made a gurgling noise that managed to sound like disagreement.

“He can try. He might even succeed.” Fingers tangled in my hair. “That’s why I have you.”

A snarl peeled my lips from my teeth.

He leaned down, scenting the skin under my ear. “You smell like…potential.”

Inhales whistled through my nose. “Thanks…for the…compliment.”

“You smell like power. Young. Fresh. Untapped.” He groaned. “So raw, you might as well be human.”

As far as insults went, that one missed the mark. Being human sounded nice right about now.

Shrill cries snapped my attention back to Shaw. The woman, Bethany, crouched in the grass in front of him. Red lines scored her white blouse. Claws were out and teeth were bared, but his hunger was absent.

Something sharp and hot like pride burned in my chest as he gestured her forward with the flex of his fingers.

“You care about him,” my captor observed. “Are you more than partners?” Laughter shook him. “Of course you are. You’re too young to know any better, and he’s got you all figured out. It never ceases to amaze me that incubus, as a race, haven’t gone extinct. All those women scorned...”

In hindsight, Shaw using his lure might not have been the best strategy. We had tipped our hand, and it gave them an edge.

Enraged screams filled the air as the woman sprang over Shaw’s head, twisting in midair so her forearms raked down his spine. His back arched, a roar ripping from his chest. She settled into a fighting stance, her arms blocking her face. Sunlight hit the curved edges of the smoky blades embedded in a line down her elbows to her wrists.

My fingernails dug into the soft ground, the urge to run to Shaw overpowering. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes, I do,” Richardson said softly. “It’s do or die, and I plan on living.”

Lack of oxygen made forming coherent thoughts impossible. The same weighted feeling hit me. Balance the scales. Make him pay. His life for theirs. “You killed all those fae.”

“No,” he sounded tired. “I saved myself.”

“You only thought you did.” Gritting my teeth, I let go. My face hit the ground, dirt went up my nose. Wire carved into the delicate skin of my throat, a line of fire that burned clear to my spine. Pain cut so deep, I forgot how to breathe. I wasn’t sure I could, that my head wasn’t ready to pop off my neck. Somehow I swung my torso left. That arm shot out, and my palm gripped his kneecap.

“What are you—?” His scream as I fed magic into him silenced the urges in my head.

Twisting onto my right side, I kept hold of his knee while shoving him off me. Keeping a tight leash on my powers caused my hands to tremble with strain. “What type of fae are you?”

“Half-bloods like you…have it all.” His face contorted. “Fae power without…strings attached.”

The man was insane. My life was a tangle of fae politics and obligations. Being a half-blood just meant I got sneered at whether I fulfilled my obligations or not. Full-bloods outclassed me. Oh yeah, and I had a twenty-five/seventy-five chance of being mortal. So yay! I might also get to die one day.

“You’re spewing crazy.” I upped the pulse of magic. “Tell me what I want to hear or this ends.”

“I can’t—” Blood coated his bared teeth. “It hurts too much.”

Telling him I couldn’t stop what I started would be counterproductive, but I did throttle back as much as I could.

“Answer me,” I said, keeping my voice level, “and the pain stops.”

A wild gleam lit his eyes as blood dribbled down his chin. “We ate them.”

I blinked away my surprise at his abrupt change in topic. “What exactly did you eat?”

“All of them,” he sneered. “We savored each one.”

While my mind scrambled for traction, I hit on a possibility that made bile rise up my throat. “We found human blood at your wife’s apartment.” My hands felt dirty where they touched him. “Did you kill someone there?”

“A human? What would be the point? They are nothing. Less than nothing.” His laughter sprayed his shirtfront—and me—with crimson spittle. “Though I wouldn’t put it past that damned boggart. He never was quite right.”

“Says the man confessing to eating mystery meat,” I muttered.

“Fae, you stupid bitch,” he snarled. “We eat fae.”

Consumption of living fae tissue by humans to absorb residual fae powers… “You’re ghouls?”

Ghouls got a half-page description in the academy handbook and a brief mention in class. No wonder the thought hadn’t crossed my mind.

“We are not ghouls.” He recoiled. “After we feast, we’re as fae as you are.”

“Not so much. I’m half fae regardless of my stomach contents.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Wait.” One last tidbit niggled at me. “If you were eating the fae, where does the taxidermy come in?”

“The acquisition of rare fae is an expensive habit.” He stuck out his chin. “The art pieces subsidized that.”

Art pieces. Art. Pieces.

I had no words.

None.

“You realize you can’t eat fae until you become one any more than you can rub one on your skin to—? Never mind.” In case this capture blew up in our faces, I didn’t want to give him any ideas. “You’re born fae or half fae or plain vanilla human.” Fury glinted in his gaze, but the truth was the truth. “If you eat fae, their magic seeps into your blood. As it breaks down, it becomes toxic. Any effects—” such as sprouting freakish grasshopper legs, “—are short term. Human bodies aren’t made to withstand the wear and tear. You can’t sustain whatever powers you’ve stolen. You’ve been doing this for what—five years?” He stuck out his chin. “Your hourglass has to be running low on sand.”

“The thing about sand…” he clamped a hand on my wrist, prying my grip from his knee, “...is there are more beaches where those grains came from. Yours, for example, is downright pristine.”

Twisting my wrist, I formed an awkward handshake with him. “How is this possible?”

“Incubus.” His gaze tagged Shaw. “It’s what’s for dinner.”

Freaking monkeys. My control wasn’t getting better. Richardson’s resistance was. The effort wasn’t draining me—he was.

“They were right, you know.” He flipped me facedown into the dirt. “You are what you eat.”

Cold fear solidified into an icy ball in my gut. Fighting him was like squaring off against Shaw. The more I fed him, the more powerful he became. Incubi digested the energy they consumed. I did too, sort of, but at a much slower rate. My rebound was days in coming. His was a few minutes, tops.

How to fight someone who could throw my best right back at me? I had to take him down like I would topple Shaw. But first I had to flip the power switch. I couldn’t risk him getting any stronger.

Richardson gloated over me, twisting my arm parallel with my spine. The burst of pain amped up my magic, and he sipped it down on a sigh. Not helping.

I had to get myself under control. No more excuses, no more try. I had to do it.

I threw out my lifeline and lassoed memories of my mother. That crinkly thing her eyes did and the small twitch in her lips before she caved into guffawing laughter. The expression on her face the night I… No. Not that one. The strength of her arms wrapped around me as we waited for a conclave representative to arrive. Her promise to stand by me, to love me, no matter what happened.

And she did. I was all she had. If she lost me, then she had lost everything…for nothing.

Between one breath and the next, the white-hot burn of my power extinguished to a spark. Close enough. Flat on my face with an arm pinned behind my back, I had no leverage. I was stuck. Not my best plan. I had juiced him up, and now he was straddling my calves. At least he had ditched the garrote.

Bracing my right palm on the ground, I pushed up a few inches and allowed the weight of the barbed wire to yank itself free. Gulping unrestricted air, I shoved upward and threw all my strength into a reverse headbutt, smashing the back of my skull into his face. A satisfying crunch greeted me. His fingers vanished, giving me back the use of my left hand and allowing me to cock my right arm and throw it backward. My elbow connected with his ribs, and he wheezed over my shoulder.

Twisting hard to the right, I rolled us into the grass. I was digging my nails into the dirt when Richardson sprung at me. Lurching out of his reach, I got my feet under me and bolted toward Shaw.

“Thierry.” His voice ripped from a throat gone raw.

For one terrible moment, my gaze locked with his. Blood dripped into his eyes from a gash across his forehead, but his fear was for me. Even as he deflected blows from his opponent, I was his main concern. My heart stopped, and I knew I couldn’t lose him like this. Not to them.

The open door to the shelter gaped in the ground ahead. Unsure of the extent of the Richardsons’ magical immunity, I ran down the stairs, inside their lair in search of an effective weapon to use against them. The smell hit me first, cold and bloody, like a freezer full of freshly butchered meat. A short hall gave me three options. I shot through the door on my right, where the cloying scent of death was weakest.

Footsteps thumped behind me. Richardson was on the stairs.

Inside a sterile white room, I flipped the door lock then ransacked the area, searching for a way to combat him.

“There are scalpels,” a frail voice said, “under the counter.”

“Who said…?” My hand flew to my mouth. “Oh my God.”

“Yes,” he chortled. “Pray to yours. Mine abandoned me long ago.”

Behind a white curtain, strapped to a gurney, a slender male fought for his life. His skin was the color of a ripe avocado. His knees bent at odd angles beneath the sheets. He was nude except for the thin white sheet draped over his waist, covering him from the hips down.

Bile rose up the back of my throat when I saw his chest, sliced open, flaps of skin pinned to his sides, revealing organs pulsing as silver contraptions cradled them. Behind him, on the walls, were shelves filled with bespelled jars. In them, lungs expanded, hearts pulsated. All major organs were accounted for, and most were in pairs.

Fists pounded on the door. “Open this door.”

“The scalpels,” the male urged.

“Right.” I headed for the counter and rifled through the bins underneath the first shelf. “Better than nothing.”

“You’re with the conclave?”

“I am.” His voice brought my head up, and I forced what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “Marshal Thackeray at your service.”

“Good.” He relaxed against his paper-thin pillow. “Good.”

The door rattled in its frame. Richardson was ramming it. Had to be. With a fistful of scalpels, I placed myself between the wounded fae and the monster about to barrel into the room pissed off and ready to brawl. Picking one blade from the others, I gripped it until my fingers went numb.

“May I?” the male asked.

I darted a glance back at him. He jerked his chin toward my handful of blades. “Uh, sure.”

After so long being a victim, if a scalpel in his hand bolstered his courage, I owed him that.

He flexed the fingers of his nearest hand. “Cut the tether first, please.”

I sawed through the thick nylon strap as the door burst open. After wrapping his hand around the stem of a blade, I turned to face Richardson. He braced in the doorway, face purple from strain. A faint musky odor perfumed the room, slithering over me, leaving chills in its wake. I shivered away the sensation.

Sweat droplets blossomed on his forehead. Maybe he had absorbed too much magic. Maybe his body was melting down and all I had to do was give him a firm shove toward No-Going-Backsville.

“His lure.” The injured fae coughed. “He’s using his lure.”

I blinked at that. Either Richardson sucked at playing the seduction card, or hanging around Shaw had given me a degree of immunity from other incubus lures. Honestly, it was probably a little of both. Richardson wasn’t attacking me, because he thought he already was. With his lure. Okay. This might work.

I let my shoulders slump. My arms fell limp at my sides, my grip on the scalpels sure. I widened my eyes the way I had seen Shaw’s victims do dozens of times and shuffled toward Richardson. His face shone with perspiration. His victorious grin made me want to stab him there first, but I had other plans.

A sudden, keening cry bounced off the walls.

I hesitated, trying to get a reading off Richardson. Was his backup on the way? Did that mean Shaw was…? No. He couldn’t be. While watching Richardson for a reaction, I continued playing the role of the lust-ridden zombie.

Wind rustled past my ear. My hand lifted on reflex at the same time Richardson let out a startled grunt. Blood coated my fingers. The tip of my ear was nicked, but a shiny silver handle stood out of his forehead. I whirled around, but the fae’s head lolled. His unbound hand hung off the stretcher, his long fingers brushing the floor. A shrill beeping split my ears as his alarm cried for help and his monitor flatlined.

My vision blurred as I turned to face Richardson. He slumped on the ground, feeling around the wound, working up his nerve to grasp the handle and yank out the blade. He wasn’t dead yet, and that told me he would heal from his injury. Probably thanks to me. Unless I put him out of commission first.

Before his fingers touched the warm metal, I grabbed the handle and yanked it out of his skull. I palmed his forehead, putting his skin into contact with as many of my runes as possible, and I let the trickle of power still lit from our earlier encounter flare to life with the heat of my anger.

Power left me in a rush. This time I didn’t try to hold back, I didn’t give him time to absorb the magic. No. This time I ruthlessly lit him up from the inside, until pale green light shone from his pores and his body seized.

Shaw was alone out there, and God only knew what other horrors awaited us down here.

Stoking the fires of my powers, I unleashed it all, burning through his veins as my magic sought out the spark of creation itself and clamped its jaws around Richardson’s pathetic excuse for a soul.

Torn free with a squelching tug, a piece of rancid fruit plucked from a rotten tree, I devoured it.

Energy coated every inch of his skin. He was still twitching when I peeled away his flesh.

Kicking aside the husk of humanity left after Richardson’s death, I jogged up the stairs. Too full of fear and magic to tap into common sense, I stepped onto the field without first checking for Shaw or the remaining Richardson. When fingers dug into the fleshy part of my shoulder, I clamped a hand around the thick wrist and, stepping into the body pressed flush to mine, sank my right elbow into…

“Oof.” Shaw hit the ground like a ton of bricks.

I fell to my knees at his side. “We have to stop meeting like this.”

“Jake?” he mumbled.

“Dead.” I took his hand. “Bethany?”

“Dead.”

I hovered over him, afraid to touch him. One eye was reduced to a red, puffy slit. His bottom lip was split. The bottom third of his nose bent left. I traced the high edge of his cheekbone, the only part of his face not ruined. Being shirtless meant I got an eyeful of the carnage below his collarbone.

He winced when I touched the purple splotch blossoming under his eye.

I pulled my hand back despite his protests. “Do you want some help with this?”

“I’m good.” He wet his lips. “I’ll just— Fuck.”

My palm ignited. Energy arced between us, and instinct clocked Shaw’s noble intentions upside the head. Poor guy had no choice, really. His hunger played moth to my flame, latching on and jolting me to the core. Tugging healing gulps of magic, Shaw drained the feeding buzz I was happy to relinquish.

I gave more than I should have, enough to erase Richardson’s imprint, enough that when this case closed and I saw my bed again, I might get to sleep without his oily essence roiling in my belly.

“Thierry,” Shaw groaned.

“Shh.” I brushed damp hairs from his forehead. “I’ve got you.”

Chapter Sixteen

I was sprawled on my bed at the dorm, ready to sleep for days, when my phone rang. Tempted as I was not to answer it, Shaw and I would be tangled up in paperwork and interviews for days, which meant not taking a call wasn’t an option. I flicked the green icon and yawned. “Marshal Thackeray.”

“You sound tired.”

Shaw’s voice in my ear made me smile. “Yeah, well, you sound exhausted.”

He chuckled. “Did Mai finally go home?”

“About thirty minutes ago,” I said. “I fell asleep when I was supposed to be admiring the flex of Jeremy Renner’s biceps in some action flick she bought to add to her collection. Mai slapped me for insulting her man with my short attention span then left in a huff muttering about how I wasn’t maid of honor material.” I dug the remote from under me. “How about you? Are you home for the night?”

“Not yet.” A bell tinkled in the background. “Did you call your mom?”

“She does not know and does not wish to know.” If he heard the bitter edge in my voice, then he ignored it. He was polite like that. “If I get hurt on the job, I want her worst-case scenario to be some guy pulling a gun on me or a car accident or whatever else CSI has taught her kills cops. That’s why I signed the cremation voucher my first day. Whatever happens, she doesn’t need to know the truth.”

His end of the call stayed quiet.

“Sorry.” I swung my legs over the side of the bed. “I didn’t mean to unload all over you.”

“You’re fine.” Static crackled. “If I didn’t want to know, I wouldn’t have asked.”

I screwed up the nerve to reciprocate. “What about you? Have you made your life-affirming calls?”

“I’m doing that now.”

Heat swept through my chest, prickling up my neck. “Oh.”

“Have you—?” A blaring car horn cut him short. “Asshole.”

I scowled at the phone. “Excuse you?”

“Not you.” He grunted. “Have you eaten?”

I covered my mouth, swallowing hard, forcing myself not to dwell on Tobias Long, the caelifera fae Mrs. Richardson had used as her food source for the last three months. “No. I’m not hungry. You?”

“Open your door,” he answered.

“I’m in my pajamas,” I warned him.

A teasing note entered his voice. “Same ones as last time?”

“No.” I plucked at my Eeyore sleep shirt. “Unless…” I snorted, “…was that a request?”

“Sure,” he said after a moment. “Take off the pajamas you’re wearing.”

Fingering the hem of my shirt, I walked around the room in search of Pooh. “And then?”

“And then open the door.”

I straightened. “We’re not at the place in our relationship where I answer the door nude.”

A purely masculine groan vibrated in my ear. “Fine.”

Knocking sounds commenced, and I cautiously approached the peephole in my door. What can I say? It had been that kind of day. Peering through the fisheye lens, I spotted a weary Shaw carrying a cardboard box with a familiar winery logo emblazoned on the side.

“What have you got there?” The words tumbled out before I got the door unlocked.

“Dinner.” He slid past me into the room. Glass tinkled when the box hit the desk.

My eyebrows climbed. “Since when are you on a liquid diet?”

When his response was to mash his lips together, a sense of dread coiled around my chest. “Would you like ice or a glass with your meal?”

Shaw reached into the box and pulled out two bourbon glasses. “I’ve got us both covered.”

I approached the desk and inspected a dark purple label on a wine bottle. “Sweet Dreams, huh?”

“Brewed by narcoleptic pixies under the full moon.” He recited the label verbatim.

“Do we need—” I counted the corked tops, “—seven bottles?”

The thick-bottomed glasses hit the desk with a thump. “The evac team found the other shelters.”

The cushion of wellbeing I had built up over the past few hours burst. “And?”

“The Richardsons sealed the vents over the four other containment areas the night before.”

I dropped into the nearest chair, suddenly ready for that drink. “Were they occupied?”

“Thierry…”

Leaning forward, I braced my elbows on my knees and covered my face. “That’s a yes.”

“We couldn’t have saved them,” he said softly. “They were gone by the time we got there.”

Biting the inside of my cheek, I nodded. “What about Mr. Long?”

“They couldn’t save him.” Shaw’s hands settled my shoulders. “He died on the way to the medical ward.”

“How do you do it?” I wiped the dampness from my cheeks.

He began a slow massage that made me feel worse for feeling better. “Believe it or not, sometimes the good guys actually win.”

“Not this time.”

“We stopped two people from processing fae like livestock. That’s a win in my book.”

“We don’t know how they accessed those fae or how they transported them here. This happened in our territory. We should have known.” I gulped a sharp breath. “This doesn’t feel like winning.”

The firm hands on my shoulders vanished. “You have to take victories where you find them.”

“Yeah” was the best answer I could manage.

“The magistrates reported the crime to the Faerie High Court. It’s out of our hands.” He circled until his boots touched my toes. “We caught the leak on our side. Now they get to plug the hole on theirs.”

“How is that enough?” I examined the mud flaking from his boots onto the tops of my feet through my fingers. “For them or us?”

“It’s all we’ve got.” He sat on his haunches and pried my hands from my face. “The world is an awfully big place. You need to accept now that you can’t fix it. Do the best you can to make it better when you leave than it was when you got here. That’s all you can do. It’s enough. It has to be.”

Gazing into his eyes, witnessing his sincerity, made it easier shrugging off the guilt. For now.

“I also thought you might be interested to know the Richardsons’ boggart has been taken into custody.”

“I guess they had to remove him, huh?” He wouldn’t allow the Richardsons’ things to be collected and the apartment to be cleaned for listing otherwise. “He would have been one heck of a deterrent for potential renters.”

“They removed him because evidence was found linking him to the disappearance of Rosalie Lindt.” He explained, “She worked for a local maid service. She was the second Molly Maid to vanish after cleaning the Richardson’s apartment.”

The blood I found on the bed had been hers. “Thank you.” I touched his cheek. “Her family deserves closure, even if they can’t know her killer was captured.”

Gaze dipping to the floor, he shrugged. “I was tying up a loose end in a case.”

Knowing better than to press my luck, I pointed to the wine. “Are you pouring, or am I?”

“There’s something I want to do first.” He leaned forward, knees touching the ground. Walking forward on them, he wedged his hips between my thighs and wrapped his arms around my waist. Wide palms cupped my rear, dragging me closer until my hips were flush against his. “I almost lost you today.”

I shuddered against him. “If I never see the inside of a giant worm again, it will be too soon.”

“I’m serious.” His hands glided up my sides, smoothed over my shoulders. His fingers trailed over my throat until he cradled my face between his warm palms. “You let that annuli swallow you.”

“It was him or us.” The math was simple. Even for me. “I chose us.”

“This is me…” his warm lips brushed mine, “…choosing us.”

I groaned into his mouth, hating to be the sensible one. “Are you sure?”

His face obscured my vision, his nose almost touching mine. “You don’t trust me?”

I bit the inside of my cheek, but ultimately I told him exactly what had been bumping around in my head for the past few days. Sometimes I couldn’t stop myself from blurting out the truth. “You’re used to using the incubus thing as a shield. Someone wants sex, you lower the shield. Someone wants more than sex, you raise the shield and pump ten thousand volts through it to discourage climbing.”

A crease formed between his eyes. “What?”

“Your dietary needs might be a restriction if I were, say, human. I’m not. I think I’ve proven that I can satisfy you.” When the tiniest pinprick of white dotted his eye, I swallowed hard. “I meant that I’m capable of feeding you. The question is, can you survive on chicken-salad sandwiches night after night after night? Because dietary restrictions or not, if we do the dating thing, then I expect fidelity.”

“In this analogy…” he rubbed his jaw, “…you’re the chicken-salad sandwich?”

I nodded. “Correct.”

“Then we have a problem,” he said, withdrawing from me, his voice thick with regret.

The tense spot in my chest coiled tighter. “At least you’re honest.”

He used the arms of the chair to push to his feet. “See, I’m allergic to mayonnaise.”

“You aren’t serious.” I hesitated when he reached for me. “Wait. Is the mayo thing an analogy for commitment?”

Without answering, he pulled me to my feet and spun me around, shoving me onto my bed.

“If only you were fried chicken.” He palmed my shoulder and pushed until my back hit the mattress. “Or lemon chicken.” He straddled my thighs. “Or even chicken tenders, then we could be together.” Leaning forward, he covered my body with his much larger one. He braced a palm near my ear and bent down, letting me watch as his pupils faded to stark white. Nails on the hand beside me elongated, and he used them to slice through the fabric of my pajamas. “All this chicken talk is making me hungry.”

I clutched the material over my breasts. “Too bad about your allergies.”

“Tomorrow, after work.” Shaw buried his face in my neck. “I’ll pick up an EpiPen.”

“Cute.” I screwed my thumbs into his sides until his panting laughter made me chuckle.

Twisting to break away from me, he hit the edge of the tiny twin bed and tumbled onto the floor, bringing me down on top of him. I landed sprawled across his hips, which Shaw didn’t seem to mind since he gripped mine and pressed down as his rolled upward against my core. My eyelids fluttered shut.

With reverent hands, Shaw slid my top down my arm, tossing it aside. I figured him for a breast man, but he just lay there, soaking in the view. “Beautiful.” One leg hole in my shorts was intact even if the other side was cut down the seam. As he tugged the fabric aside, a rough growl vibrated through his chest. White rims circled his irises, but he was still Shaw, still with me. That primal, hungry part of him gazed out at me longingly, there one minute and gone the next.

Brushing his hands aside, I unbuckled his belt and popped the button on his jeans. His zipper tab was pinched between my fingers, his claws embedded in the carpet, when pounding started on my door.

A low snarl rose up his throat. “Ignore it.” He gripped my hip hard enough to leave bruises.

Eyes crossing as he continued grinding against me, I slid the tab down one tortuous click at a time.

“Marshal Thackeray,” a prim voice called. “I assure you ignoring us won’t make us go away.”

“Damn fae super hearing,” I grumbled.

“We heard that,” replied the slightly irked voice.

Shaw pushed up onto his elbows, leaning forward to capture my bottom lip between his teeth. The sound I made when he bit down earned me a throat-clearing through the door.

“I’m coming,” I called. Shaw’s husky chuckles made me flush ten shades of red. “Shaw.”

“Jackson,” he corrected as he gripped my waist and lifted me onto my feet.

Unable to fit my mouth around his name, I scrambled over his long legs, hit the bathroom where I snagged a robe, then peeked through the hole in my door. A lean woman with pale blonde hair was checking her watch. Two men flanked her, both wearing black combat fatigues and carrying swords.

I gulped. “Um, Shaw, you might want to zip up for this.”

Taking his time, he stood, fastened his pants and drew his shirt back over his head. He was well on his way to looking respectable by the time I opened the door and our guests entered my room.

“We have a lead on the poacher who supplied the Richardsons.” The petite woman wrinkled her nose at the chair by the desk. One of her guards removed a packet of antibacterial wet wipes from his pocket and wiped down the seat. After the streaks dried, she sat. “Your magistrates were kind enough to offer your services to us in the hopes of apprehending them before they cross back into Faerie.”

Shaw came to my side and folded his arms over his chest. “Who is us exactly?”

“My name is Irene Vause.” Her laser-sharp glare would cut through steel like butter. “I’m a magistrate with the Northeastern Conclave.”

I frowned at her. “An interdivisional loan?”

A dangerous edge entered Shaw’s voice. “Why aren’t your own people handling this?”

Her cornflower-blue gaze locked with mine. “We have our reasons.”

“Thierry is a week into her OJT,” Shaw said. “I’m not sure working outside our district is wise.”

Another time, when I was less naked and more informed, I might have argued with him and his ideas for me. But he was my training officer, and my friend, and I trusted him to have a better reason for stepping between me and an opportunity than some misguided-caveman, almost-had-sex instinct.

“I am sure,” Vause answered in a quiet voice. “We will double any bonuses you incur and cover all travel expenses.” The edges of her lips twitched. “I understand you enjoy flying, Marshal Shaw.”

I gritted my teeth in what I hoped passed for a smile. I knew that joyride would bite us on the ass one day, but I figured Mable or someone from accounting would be issuing the wrist slaps and not an actual magistrate. Considering I had only met our magistrates once in the five years I had been sheltered by them—on the night I was examined before being given sanctuary—I wasn’t sure what protocol was in dealing with them. How hard could I push? How hard would they push back?

As if reading my mind, Vause asked, “What do you think of our proposal, Marshal Thackeray?”

I turned to my partner. “Shaw?”

“I asked for your opinion.” Vause narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. “Not his.”

Once again, the truth got the better of me. “I want the job.”

“The money…” her gaze took in our surroundings, “…could improve your situation.”

I took a step forward, and her guards did too. “I’m not in this for the money.”

Amusement danced in her eyes, her expression softening. “Your father would be proud to hear you say so.”

I set my jaw. “Paternal approval isn’t a great motivator for me.”

“Cash works for me,” Shaw volunteered. “Not that anyone asked.”

Vause raised a hand. The guard on her right placed an envelope on her palm. She then offered it to me. “There are two first-class tickets to Wallagrass, Maine in there. Along with a few incidentals.”

Tearing open the flap, I thumbed through the contents. Two tickets and a check for ten thousand dollars. Made out to me. “A few incidentals?” My fingers trembled. “This is a whole contingency plan.”

“You have one hour.” Vause held out her hand a second time. The guard on her left reached into his pocket, withdrawing a small object. The scent of strawberry lemonade filled the room as he popped the cap on a bottle of hand sanitizer. He squirted a generous amount into her palm, stopping at her nod. She stood while rubbing her hands together. “I expect a call when you land.” She motioned to her guards. “You’ll find my card in the envelope.”

With a warning glance at me, the guard on the right ushered Vause into the hall. The guard who had been stationed on her left followed them out and shut the door on their heels with a gentle snick.

“From Wink, Texas to Wallagrass, Maine sounds like a long flight.” Shaw hooked my robe with his finger and dragged me closer. “We should pack our own food. I hear what they serve on planes is terrible.” His thumb absently stroked the lumpy knot in my belt. “What do you think?”

I bit my lip. “What are you in the mood for?”

His warm mouth closed over mine. “I never did get my chicken-salad sandwich.”

Thierry’s story continues in the full-length novel, Heir of the Dog.

About the Author

A cupcake enthusiast and funky sock lover possessed of an overactive imagination, Hailey lives in Alabama with her handcuff-carrying hubby, her fluty-tooting daughter and their herd of dachshunds.

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Copyright Information

No part of this book may be reproduced in any written, electronic, recording, or photocopying without written permission of the publisher or author. The exception would be in the case of brief quotations embodied in the critical articles or reviews and pages where permission is specifically granted by the publisher or author.

Dog with a Bone

© 2014 by Hailey Edwards All rights reserved.

Edited by Sasha Knight

Cover by Damonza

Interior format by The Killion Group

A Demon Bound

Debra Dunbar

Think your landlord is a demon from hell? This one really is.

Samantha Martin is an imp. She throws her gum on the floor of five star restaurants, bounces inflatable holiday decorations down the highway at rush hour, and clips jaywalking pedestrians with her car. Sam also likes to kill people and keep their souls inside her for all eternity, but acting on that particular urge will get her killed by the angels, who are determined to rid the world of her kind.

Sam works hard to keep her human identity realistic: she owns slum rental properties, and she is trying to get her hot neighbor into the sack. When she kills a werewolf in an act of self-defense, his pack leaders blackmail her into helping track and kill a rogue angel. The very actions she must take to appease the werewolves put her at risk of being discovered and killed by the angels.

Because angels show demons no mercy.

To Dr. Hadley Tremaine (1939–2001), Chairman of the Department of English, Hood College, Frederick, Maryland, who taught me that there is great treasure to be found in what others consign to hell.

Chapter One

I parked down the street from the bail bond office and pretended to fuss with some papers on the passenger seat as I watched two boys race toward me out of the corner of my eye.  They were hauling ass, and one darted across traffic in a daring effort to cut the other off.

“Wait for it, wait for it,” I muttered as they sped toward the car.

One, two, three, open.  I flung the car door out to its full width and a wave of satisfaction rolled through me as I heard a thump and felt the door vibrate against my hand.  The boy toward the outside had managed to dive out of the way, missing the door by inches and rolling expertly as he landed on the ground.  The inside boy wasn’t so lucky.  He’d bounced off the door with the thump I had felt and hit the cement sidewalk with a meaty thwack.

“Yeah,” yelled the outside boy as he hopped to his feet.  He punctuated the word with an exuberant fist pump.  I got out of the car and gave him a high five.

“All yours, Roberto,” I told him.

I paid a twenty to any kid who watched my car while I took care of business.  That normally wouldn’t have been a good deal.  A Corvette in this neighborhood would attract a lot of attention, and a kid watching it wouldn’t necessarily deter theft.  But my car was well known.  All the kid needed to do was inform anyone looking to lift the tires that this was my vehicle, and let me know if anyone was stupid enough to do so anyway.  Well worth the twenty.

I turned to the other kid, who was staggering to his feet from the pavement and wiping a bloody nose.

“Maybe next time, Dante,” I said.  He nodded, pinching the bridge of his nose and staggered off.

I had a moment of panic as I shut the car door and thought that Dante may have dented it.  Humans were soft and squishy, but he’d hit with a good bit of force.  I lucked out this time, though.  No dent, just a bit of blood and snot that I wiped off with the side of my arm.  Fuck! That was close.  I don’t always think things through before I do them, and it would have really sucked if he’d damaged my car.

“Are you going to evict Old Man Larson, Ma’am?” Roberto asked me.

“Nope, just collecting rents,” I replied.

Most people would rather have been home by the pool with a cold beer on a hot day like today, but I actually liked collecting rents.  I’d spent the morning taking cash from those tenants who didn’t trust the mail system, or who found it impossible to obtain a checking account.  This was my last visit of the day with one particular tenant who needed an in–person, see–the–light kind of call.

I’m a slum lord.  Commercial, residential, it doesn’t matter as long as the building is cheap, squeaks by code and I can rent it.  About seventy percent of my tenants pay promptly.  I’ve been told that’s an incredible percentage with these types of properties.  The others shove cash–stuffed envelopes at me as soon as I ring the bell.

I’m also a demon, which is probably why I have such a high compliance rate on my rent collections.  We demons usually live in another realm and pop over here to vacation.  Low ranking demons save for centuries to pay someone for safe passage.  Ones with status in the hierarchy come over whenever they feel like it.  Of course, it is still risky trying to get through the gates undetected, and to hustle your ass back before your fun activities bring death down on your head.  The more often you come over, the greater the chance is that you’ll be caught and killed by the angels.

I’ve been here over forty years on a sort of extended vacation, which is unheard of among my kind.  I’ve managed to stay alive by laying low and posing as a human, with as little energy usage and bad behavior as possible for a demon. So far I’ve succeeded in remaining undetected.

I walked the block down to the apartment building feeling the heat from the broken sidewalk right through my shoes, and kicked an empty whisky pint out of the way to ring the doorbell.  My tenant should have been waiting for me since I pulled some favors and had a friend arrange a drug buy.  Otherwise he would most likely hide in the back and pretend he was not home.   When that happens, I have to sneak around the place peering in windows and eventually breaking in to confront the tenant.  I hate that.  These houses are all over one hundred years old and the windows aren’t standard size.  It’s very difficult to get them repaired.  My tenant was expecting a buyer and not a landlord, so I hoped I didn’t have to break any windows to get in this time.

After a few moments, I heard some shuffling near the door and sensed someone looking out the peephole.  I tried to look around nervously like I was a proper yuppie addict.  I’m a terrible actress, so I was actually a bit surprised when he opened the door and ushered me quickly in.  He looked me over and visibly relaxed.  Humans are sometimes uncomfortable around me, but once they really look at me, and their eyes tell them I’m an average sized woman with average features, their brain squashes any fearful instincts.  I go out of my way to look harmless.  Not covered in tattoos, not pierced all over, no punk hairdo.  No big warts, bulging muscles, glowing eyes, horns, etc. (could these two lists go together?)  Just a nice normal, middle aged, rather plain woman.

“Are you Brad?”  I asked him while looking around the place.

The inside looked like a frat house with old pizza boxes and beer cans carelessly tossed on coffee tables or stacked on the rather dirty beige carpet.  I eyed it in distaste.  I’d have to clean that carpet when their lease ended.  I’d charge them double for it too.  A plaid second–hand couch sat in front of a huge flat screen TV on the wall.  Two guys sprawled on the couch with pistols visible in their waistbands.  They were big, but flabby with wrinkled dirty clothes and longish hair.  They looked pretty stoned and rather unaware of my presence.

“Yeah,” he replied “what are you looking to take home?”

“The rent.”  I gave that a moment to sink in.  “I’m actually the landlord, not a buyer.”

That announcement was greeted with laughter from Brad.  The guys on the couch didn’t budge, still slumped with their eyes fixed on the TV.  At least they weren’t lunging at me with guns drawn at this point.

If the stoned guys on the couch managed to somehow achieve a miracle and hit me, I could repair almost any wound.  It would hurt, and it might take a while, but I wouldn’t’ die.  Or I could convert the bullets before they reached me.

When demons convert, we dissect the molecules or atoms of something and rearrange them into something else. Transmutation, as the human alchemists called it.  That is the big ‘magic’ of demons.  Sometimes conversion works out neatly and you end up with all your atoms and molecules used and accounted for.  Sometimes you have spare shit that you have to figure out what to do with.  Some of that shit isn’t particularly stable on its own, leaving you to borrow atoms out of other things around you to stick together.  All this has to occur in fractions of a second because that’s usually all you have before something explodes, or there is chlorine gas, or worse.

In the bullet scenario before me there were some troublesome atoms to deal with.  You could do pretty much anything with carbon, but iron was the atom demanding attention when a bullet was speeding at you.  Not a big deal when viewed on a world disaster scale, but kind of messy to deal with on the fly like this.  And any conversion action on my part could possibly be messy enough to attract notice of the angels, who dedicated their existence to noticing these kinds of things and coming down with holy fury on our heads.

I could weld the steel triggers of the guns.   Just shoot a blaze of energy across the room and melt the guns, burning half their pants off in the process.  Back home, no one cared if you set the guys on fire welding triggers.  Back home, no one would even bother with welding triggers, just shoot a big flashy burst of something and cook them all dead.  Problem solved.

I couldn’t afford to be too flashy though, since I was living under the radar as much as I could.  I would bet that a small amount of energy from me wouldn’t set off alarm bells with the angels, but why take the chance?   Plus, I kind of got off on the risk of handling these situations without any energy usage at all.  It was a real adrenaline rush.  A bullet to the head or a vital organ would most likely kill me in this form, contrary to mythology.

“Come on, cough it up,” I told him.  “You owe it, I’m here.  Just pay me the three months rent and no one gets hurt.”

I had a premonition someone was going to get hurt.  Might be me. Definitely would be Brad.

Brad sneered.  If I had been a human, I probably would have been shaken.  It was a good sneer.  Very dramatic.  Very Hollywood.

“You are the only one likely to get hurt, babe,” he said.  “And you’re not leaving here with a dime.”

Brad then proceeded to look me over like I was a steak on the grill and added an addendum.  “Maybe the guys and I could enjoy some quality time with you to repay us for time wasted on this bogus deal you set up.”

To bring his point home, he took a menacing step toward me.

Now this is when the fun starts for me.  I live for the day this sort of thing happens.  I smiled at Brad and let my mean out.

“All three of you?”  I asked.  “I haven’t had that kind of pleasure in a long time.  I prefer to leave my tenants alive and functioning so they can pay their rent, but if you’re offering this in lieu of cash payment I am very tempted.  I get a little carried away with the rough stuff though, so I can’t guarantee that any of you’ll survive.”

I didn’t see how the guys behind me reacted, but Brad looked unnerved for a brief second before he pulled himself together.  He must have been made of tough stuff or perhaps sampling his own wares since he took the remaining three steps toward me, well within my zone of personal space, and gripped my chin in his hand.  I locked eyes with him and froze him to me.  Stupid human.  To meet a demon’s gaze like that was to give them control.

I smiled, convinced that I had him and was shocked when he punched me in the face.  It was a good uppercut to the chin that knocked me on the filthy stinking carpet.  I was reminded of Dante as I felt blood drip down my chin, although mine was from my mouth.  Fucker had made me bite hard into my tongue.  What had happened?  Why couldn’t I lock him in place?  Was he legally blind or something?  Maybe his drugs had blurred his vision?  Did I suddenly suck at this particular skill?

“You are one sick psycho, freak,” Brad told me.  “Maybe you’ll be less cocky with a few broken bones.”

He went to kick me in the side and I rolled out of reach, scrambling in an embarrassing fashion to my feet.  I was pissed enough to want to just blast him through the front of the building, but instead held back and assessed the situation.  I backed up to a table and glanced quickly at the two on the couch.  They sat still as statues, so thankfully all I needed to deal with was Brad.

Brad dove at me, and I spun out of his reach, putting the table between us.  This wasn’t working out like I’d planned.   He had greater strength than me in my human form, and I wasn’t exactly skilled in human fighting methods.  I was reluctant to use any of my demon energy, but it would really suck if he pummeled me.  My reputation would suffer.

We circled the table a few times.  Brad looked smug.  It pissed me off further.  Pissed me off enough that I reached down and used some energy to snap a leg off the table, hoping it wasn’t enough to be detected by any angels.  The table remained improbably upright, so I kicked it over with my foot and dove at Brad, swinging.

His visual impairment wasn’t so severe that he couldn’t see a table leg coming at his head.  He backed up, ducking and dodging as I chased him into a corner, and I finally connected the thing with his stomach.  He doubled over and presented me with a lovely opening to whack him on the head.  He dropped, but I gave him a few more swats to his kidneys just to make sure before I rolled him over and really locked him in this time.  Fucking bastard.  I should kill him.  I should Own him.

It had been so long, and the urge to Own was beginning to gnaw at me with an annoying regularity.  It would be risky, though.  Owning is our process of gathering the essence of a being into ourselves.  Of course, the physical body dies, and it’s not pretty either.  Humans have their spirits so deeply embedded in the flesh that there is a lot of shredding that happens when we Own.  That’s part of the appeal, honestly.  The pain, screaming, thrashing about, terror as you rip them from their very cells, it’s very stimulating to a demon.  And the fun continues because they live on inside you to play with and enjoy as long as you live.  Brad didn’t look like he’d be worth the risk though.  Sad, since I haven’t had the joy of Owning a human in several decades.  Killing him would be almost as much fun.  I didn’t like to kill tenants who paid though.  And I was hoping he’d pay.

“Perhaps you’d rather just pay the rent?” I asked him as he stared up at me.

Chapter Two

Moments later I left the row house with the back three months rent, plus four months forward on their lease.  I really don’t understand why Brad would have let those two stoned guys on his couch have guns since they were far too impaired to use them.  How they were supposed to join in on a threesome rape in that condition was beyond me.  It was all rather anticlimactic.

I headed toward my car and grabbed my cell phone.  It was just after noon, and I was pleased that I had wrapped this up so early.   “Michelle, I’m done and three fifty one is paid through December.”

Michelle is my property manager.  I’ve been through quite a few property managers over the last four decades, but Michelle is a keeper.  Our partnership has profited her, too, and she now owns her own company — although she still continues to manage my properties personally.

“Woohoo!” Michelle cheered.  “Are you coming by?  We can grab lunch.”

Michelle’s eagerness to see me had less to do with our friendship and more to do with the fact that she got an under–the–table cut of all cash payments.  A large amount of my business was off the books, and Michelle whole heartedly supported this.

“I can’t,” I told her.  “I’m going to just grab a bag of tacos and get home in time to ogle the lawn service.”

“You go girl!” Michelle said.  “It’s Friday, meet us at The Wine Room for happy hour.  You know, your hottie neighbor will wrap up mowing early so he can hit the clubs tonight.”

I hated The Wine Room.

“Wait,” I hesitated.  “Will they let me in?  After last time?”

“Yes, they will let you in,” Michelle sighed.  “But no more groundhogs.  That thing bit a waiter.”

“It wasn’t me,” I lied.  “I told you it wandered in off the street.”

I’m a terrible liar.  I don’t think she believed me.

“All the girls will be there, and a real estate agent whose been pestering me to meet you.  She’s handling that block by the canal on the south side,” she said.  I was grateful she dropped the groundhog subject.

Most of Michelle’s friends didn’t like me but she always asked me to join her for social events.  Our friendship gave a gritty edge to her very businesslike reputation, but this time I was sure she just wanted her cash before the weekend.  No hurt feelings on my part.  I’d show up dressed inappropriately, and see how many people I could make uncomfortable in an hour or so.  The real estate agent was a mild draw, too.  I really wanted this block of canal houses.

“Sheesh, Michelle,” I complained.  “I don’t want those dilapidated pieces of crap.  And you know the bank will want fair market value because they loaned some idiot twice that five years ago on spec”.

“Come anyway,” she said.  “She’ll buy you a Cosmo to try and get on your good side, and you can scare all the suits at the bar.”

I hated Cosmopolitans with a passion, but agreed to be there at five.

“Any problems, Roberto?” I asked my young car watcher.

“Some weirdo was giving it the eye, but they left when I told them it was Satan’s car,” he said.

It was a huge stretch to refer to me as Satan.   The appropriate term would have been Ha–Satan, The Iblis, or The Adversary, but no one had held that title in over a million years and my actual level in the hierarchy was far below that.  Ah well, whatever got the job done was Okay with me.

Roberto took in the growing bruise on my chin and the red staining my shirt.  “You have some trouble, Ms. Martin?”

“Nah,” I told him as I looked carefully over my precious car.  “I bit my tongue.  You should see the other guy though.  He’ll be pissing blood for days.”

I thanked him and handed him a twenty.

The noontime sun was intense and the pavement shimmered in front of my car with the radiated heat as I slowly edged my way through downtown traffic.  A jay walker darted across the road and I swerved, barely hitting her big purse with my rear view mirror.    It sucked that I hadn’t hit her properly, but my mind was on other things.  I kept thinking about the energy I used to break off the table leg.  It wasn’t much.  It wasn’t like I’d converted or anything.  It probably wasn’t enough for any angels to sense.  Hopefully.

The city gave way to farms interspersed with one–street towns.  Cows huddled under scrub trees to escape the heat, and the crops drooped in the blistering sun.   I was hoping there would be some heat lightning this afternoon.  Enjoying the gorgeous day, I cranked the air conditioning with the windows open as my tacos made a mess on my lap.

In thirty minutes I was pulling carefully down the long rural lane toward my house.  I passed by my neighbor, Wyatt’s house on the left.  Wyatt had bought the place a few years back when it had gone up for tax auction.  I’d bid on it, but he was willing to pay a bit more than I was.  It was one of those old, Cape Cod style houses that had suffered from fixed income elderly owners, and neglect.  Wyatt hadn’t done much to fix it up, but he didn’t seem to have a lot of money.  He constantly played computer games and did odd jobs to keep him in Ramen noodles.  That’s how he came to be in charge of my lawn mowing, stable care, and pool care.

When I saw what an incredible specimen of maleness had moved in next door, I had promptly trotted over a basket of baked goods along with a six pack of beer and introduced myself.  We’d struck up a friendship based on my continued bribes of alcohol and food, and my willingness to let him treat my house and property as his own.  Early on he had offered to do barn work and it had progressed from there.  He tended to do the lawn mowing without his shirt on, so I ensured he had to do it several times a week.  Everywhere else lawns languished in the drought, but my grass grew like it was on steroids.  Wyatt never mentioned how unusual this phenomenon was.

I’d razed the old farmhouse when I bought this place.  Instead I’d built a sweeping contemporary with stone and cedar.  There was a seldom used front porch with Adirondack chairs and lots of glass windows that looked mirrored from the outside and clear from the inside.  It was around the back of the house where I spent most of my time.  Huge two story windows and sets of double French doors looked out from the kitchen and bedrooms to a lovely patio and pool.  From the front and back of the house, wide pathways lead to the barn, horse pastures, and a little landscaped garden with a fountain and private spot to sit.  I’d become really fond of this home.  Especially the pool.

I parked in front of the house and headed around to the barn, hoping I hadn’t missed the lawn mowing peep–show entertainment of the afternoon.  Wyatt was pushing in an empty wheelbarrow as I walked over.  He had on cut off shorts and a wife beater.  His dirty blond hair was sun streaked and hung around his ears in front and in back to his shoulders.  Wyatt always looked like he was a few months late for a haircut.  It was a good look for him.  His was the sort of broad shouldered, lean musculature that comes from lifting hay bales, not dumbbells.  He grinned as he saw me and I caught my breath at his fineness.

“Hey, Sammy,” he called.  “I mucked the stalls, but am waiting to let the horses out to pasture until later since it’s so hot.  I’ll put a round bale in the feeder, then I’ll weed-eat.”  He peered at me closer.  “What happened?  I thought you were just collecting rents, today.  Did someone give you a hard time?”

“I bit my tongue.”  I really needed to fix my wounds.  My jaw was throbbing and my tongue hurt so bad that I couldn’t eat or drink without pain.  Eating tacos on the ride home had been an agonizing experience.

“Looks like you took a face plant into someone’s fist.”

“Yeah, that too.  I beat the shit out of him, though.”  I turned to walk into the house.  “I’m going to chill by the pool with a beer.  Come join me when you’re done.”

I had only taken a few steps when he called out.

“Sam, have you seen Boomer?  He hasn’t been around all day.”

Boomer was my Plott hound.  He hunted at night and pretty much slept in the barn all day.  Wyatt was always after me to contain him somehow, to curtail his nighttime wanderings.  He was worried that Boomer would wind up a stray collected by Animal Control, or possibly full of buckshot from a neighborhood farmer.  I knew my hound could take care of himself.   I reassured Wyatt that he’d be back eventually, and ran in to change out of my taco stained jeans and into a swimsuit.  First I stopped by the kitchen to throw some beers and ice into a cooler, and then headed up the stairs, stripping as I went.

Throwing on my itty bitty powder blue bikini, I raced out to the pool.  The water looked cool and inviting on the hot day, but I didn’t want to miss the entertainment by swimming.  I’d pop in later.  Outdoor piped music on, cooler with beers beside my lounge chair, shades on.  I strategically placed my chair to watch a shirtless Wyatt weed–eat and hoped he didn’t wonder why my back was blocking the sun.

I was closer to Wyatt than I was with any other human.  After he’d moved in, he’d immediately started doing odd jobs for me, but he also came around all the time to just hang out.  He was over every day, sometimes several times a day.  It wasn’t unusual for him to be hanging out in my kitchen, or swimming in my pool.  Every now and then I’d ask him to do some handyman kind of work, but most of the time he’d just take the initiative to do stuff like mulch the garden or clean out the fountain.  Then we’d sit by the pool and drink, or cook something up in the kitchen, or relax and watch TV.  He was over here a lot and I liked that.

Of course, I’d wanted to have sex with him the moment I saw him, but I waited.  Demons are not usually so patient.  Humans have such short lives and they tend to crank through them quickly.  It seems that in a blink of an eye they are dead and gone.  So if you want one, you’ve got to grab him or her quick.

There was also that pesky age thing.  Wyatt was mid twenties in age and I was closing in on one thousand.  If I did the math, he was slightly older than me in demon years.  As Samantha Martin, I was in my forties, but for humans in this day that kind of age difference didn’t seem to matter much.

I saw women come and go from Wyatt’s house without a repeat appearance and I knew he was a player.  That wasn’t something that bothered me at all.  What did bother me was that I wanted our close friendship, I wanted sex with Wyatt, but I also wanted more.  I liked him; I wanted him to be with me.  I fantasized about having him for eternity; about Owning him.

Maybe after I became bored with him, I’d Own him.  The prospect was exciting, but then I’d think about our friendship and have doubts.  I liked hanging out with him by the pool, talking about our day, listening to him go on and on about some video game he was playing.  If I Owned him, all that would be gone.  The thought of losing his friendship was a painful ache in my middle.

Done with the trimming, Wyatt skimmed out the pool, then dropped his cutoffs and dove in for a cool down swim in his boxer briefs.  I watched him swim long laps under water, my head moving back and forth like at a tennis match.  How transparent would those boxer briefs be after a swim?  They were pretty clingy before he dove in and I’d had a nice profile look and a breath taking view of his tight ass before he hit the water.

Finally cooled off, Wyatt rose from the water in front of me like a Greek god and flung himself in the lounge chair beside me dripping streams of water in a path from the pool.  Silently, I handed him a beer and he used the edge of the chair to pry off the cap.  All this without one word to each other.  I can’t begin to describe the amazing warm contentment and sexual tension that I felt that afternoon.  It was perfect.  Better than anything I had back home.

“You’re looking better,” Wyatt broke the silence with his cheerful voice.  He reached over with a finger and touched my jaw.  “Swelling and bruising are totally gone.”

“My tongue is healed too, see?”  I stuck my tongue out and he leaned over to get a closer look.  Romantic, I know.

“Amazing how fast you heal,” Wyatt drawled.  “And your grass needs cutting every two days too.  It’s like everything is on hyperspeed at your house, Sam.”

“I’m special,” I told him.

“Yeah, I think so,” Wyatt said.  I felt all sorts of happy inside at the compliment. “You heading out tonight?” he asked.

“Wine Room.”  I grimaced.  Wyatt wrinkled his nose in sympathy.  “I’ve got some business I need to do, and an agent wants to unload some bank owned properties on me.  It’s those canal row houses I told you I was interested in, so I probably need to meet her.  You?”

“I really need to work, too.   Some zombies need killing,” he said, referring to one of his video games.  “I may hit the club early for some fun and kill zombies on an all–nighter.”

“Techno music, Ecstasy, and a curvy blond?” I asked ignoring the video game part of his comment.  If zombies ever invaded the realm, I’m guessing Wyatt would save the world.  He would totally be my go–to guy if I found an animated corpse wandering around my pasture.

“I hate X,” he replied, “but the dance club and the curvy blond sound good to me.”  He reached over and tapped my beer bottle with his own.

What the hell was that about?  I really didn’t understand the subtleties of human interaction sometimes.  I liked curvy blonds too, but was this action on his part supposed to mean that we were doomed to be only platonic buddies?  Or that I was equally the player?  Or that he thought I was a lesbian?  Humans were so confusing, so hard to read.  The anticlimactic afternoon with Brad had me craving sex, and having Wyatt so close was tempting beyond belief.  I could take him now.  Sex, body and mind, Own him as part of me forever.   Then run like crazy for the nearest gate home, and hope I made it out of here before an angel caught me and tore me to bits.  Instead, we sat for a moment in silence and drank our beer.

“Hey, do you want to ride the horses tomorrow morning?  Early, before it gets hot?” Wyatt asked, turning to me.

“Sure you’ll be up to it, with your blond and zombie all–nighter?” I asked, more than a bit of bitterness creeping into my voice.

“I have amazing stamina,” he said grinning and wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.  “I’ll be here at six to tack up.  Think you can drag your lazy butt out of bed that early?”

“Doubtful,” I told him, taking a swig of my beer.

“If you’re not there, I’m gonna come up and get you,” Wyatt teased.  “And yes, I know you sleep naked.  You’ve told me repeatedly.”

Maybe there was hope for consensual sex, after all.  I daydreamed for a moment about Wyatt and I having sex in a field with the horses grazing nearby.  Or maybe in the tack room on top of the saddle pads.  Or maybe we’d never get out of my bedroom.

We finished our beers, and Wyatt headed back to his house, announcing that those zombies weren’t going to kill themselves.  I went inside and studied my wardrobe to see what outfit might shock all the movers and shakers at The Wine Room.  I decided to go with comfort and pulled on my faded skinny jeans with the strategic worn patch on the upper thigh.  I made sure I had on a good push up bra for maximum cleavage then, thinking of Wyatt with his wife beater, I yanked a thin, tight, white tank top over my head.  The scooped neckline barely covered the lacy edges of my bra.  I added some worn cowboy boots, a blingy belt, and voila!  Sexy country girl.  I never bother with my hair or make–up, but for some reason tonight I went all out.  Thick mascara, sweeping eyeliner, and deep pink lip stain.  I piled my shoulder length brown mane high up on my head and let pieces escape to hang straight along my face and at the nape of my neck.  I was very happy with the overall look.  It was like one of the Petticoat Junction girls had come out of a good romp in the hay.

I thought about driving my Suburban to complete the look, but parking that thing downtown was a pain in the ass.  I only drove it when I was hauling the trailer or picking up feed.  The Corvette was my true love.

The Wine Room was as pretentious as you could get.  It was purposely small, so it was always packed.  Crowds of hopefuls waited to get in the door.  Huge panes of glass covered all the exterior walls, so you could see and be seen.  It was especially a nightmare to try and eat there since the bar crowd was inches away from the dining tables.  Nothing was worse than trying to eat your eighty dollar prime rib with a gin–drinking lawyer six inches away and staring at your plate.

The guy at the door recognized me and nodded me in once he checked to make sure I didn’t have a large bag with a groundhog in it.  Not that it mattered much.  They normally ended up kicking me out within an hour of my entering, even without a groundhog.

Michelle and her posse were in the usual spot.   Theirs was the best location, and one they would have had to arrive unfashionably early and fight for to score. From their special spot, they could see and be seen by passerby on Main Street.  It was hard to see them from the door, but I knew they’d be there and wove my way among all the navy and black suited business people with their ties and sensible pumps.  I made sure I rubbed my boobs and hands over everyone I could on the way back.

Michelle had done her hair different.  She normally had a mess of long black braids intricately arranged around her head, but she had taken the extensions out and had a pixie-looking straight do.  I’m sure it was twenty times cooler in this heat than her usual style.  She was tall and thin with high cheekbones and dark eyes in her ebony face.  She grinned when she caught sight of me.  She had a slight gap between her blazing white teeth that I found totally sexy.  She was beautiful in an exotic, angular kind of way.

“Samantha.” She drawled out my name in a slight island accent as she took in my cowgirl attire.  Michelle’s mom was Jamaican or something.  I could never remember.  “Were you out riding that neighbor of yours?  Where are your spurs, girl?”  She gave me a hug.

Spurs.  Yum, what a visual.

“I wish.  Hey, you have any gum?  I had tacos for lunch.”  I rooted in her bag without waiting for her reply, pulling out a stick of gum and placing the fat envelope full of cash under her wallet.

As I stuffed the gum in my mouth, Michelle winked at me and on impulse reached over to kiss my cheek.  Michelle was straight.  Not that that mattered.  I’d considered many times assuming a male form and picking her up some night, but good business associates were hard to find.  Especially property managers.  I wasn’t about to jeopardize that relationship for a night of sex.  Besides, a conversion of that scale would be like sending up a flare for the angels to see.

I turned to look at her friends.  A few were trying hard not to notice me.  Two stared at me in amazement, taking in my casual outfit and my bold freedom with Michelle’s purse.  I picked out the real estate agent right away.  She was a walking stereotype.  In a sea of drab suits, she had on a bright yellow skirt suit of all things, with a flowered shirt peeking out the jacket.  Her blond hair fluffed out in a big wave.  She was the most immaculately groomed person I’d ever seen.  I met her eyes expecting to see vacuous excitement and got a shock.  Shrewd brown eyes met mine in calculating appraisal.  She wandered her eyes over the rest of me taking in the ripped blue jeans with a raised eyebrow and a twitch of her bronze lips before raising her eyes back up to meet mine.

“Candy Star,” she announced, reaching to shake my hand.

I almost burst out laughing.  It was a stripper name.  What kind of bimbo mom names their kid Candy Star?  She must have been horribly teased in school.  Why in hell hadn’t she changed it?  I glanced at her left hand.  Maybe Star was her husband’s name.  I never could understand the whole human thing of taking your husband’s name, and this would have been a good reason to break that custom.

“Hi Candy, I’m Samantha Martin,” I replied in a bored tone.  I didn’t want her thinking I was excited to meet her.   “I’m getting a drink, can I get you something?”

“Oh, I was going to get you a Cosmo,” she bubbled back, channeling a perky real estate agent personality that was in direct contrast with those shrewd brown eyes.

“I hate Cosmos,” I told her as I edged toward the bar.

“Me too,” she muttered under her breath and eyed the one in her beautifully manicured hand with disgust.

I discretely threw my gum on the floor where someone would be sure to get it all over their three hundred dollar shoes and squeezed between two half–drunk lawyers at the bar.  I brushed my hand and boobs against the one, and my rear across the other out of habit.  They eyed me appreciatively.  I seriously needed to take this much care with my appearance more often.  I’d probably get laid a whole lot more.

Standing up on the rail under the bar that you rested your feet on as you sat, I sprawled the upper half of my body across the gleaming mahogany showing cleavage to the front and sticking my rear out in the back.  The bartender practically knocked down a waitress in his rush to ask my boobs what they would like to drink.

The only redeeming quality of this place was that it offered a wide choice of quality vodkas, and did some cool infusions.  Vodka was amazing.  It was one of the best human inventions, ever.  Back home, everyone drank dull old wine, sometimes warmed up, sometimes cold.  It was Okay.  Nah, who am I kidding, the stuff sucked big time, but — whoo–boy! — vodka was the shit.

“Two shots of Van Gogh Double Espresso Vodka.  The stuff in the freezer,” I told him.

The bartender poured the shots into equally chilled shot glasses, all the while managing to keep an eye on my breasts.  No doubt in case one escaped and burst into full view.   I tipped him well and made my way back to Candy and the other girls.

“Here’s to our future partnership,” I said, handing her one of the shots.  She looked at it nervously, grimaced, and tossed it down.  Her eyes watered and she choked a little, sipping the Cosmo in her other hand in desperation.  It was a shame because up until that moment I had thought she was kind of cool.  Chasing the very elixir of life with that swill, how could she?  Disappointing.

I looked around the bar at the ocean of black and navy and thought about going home and watching X–Files reruns.  Normally, I’d be inspired to start some trouble, but I just didn’t seem to have it in me tonight.  I was still worried that my energy usage earlier today may have exposed me.  I was missing Wyatt and wondering if he’d found a curvy blond.  Besides, this place really sucked .  They got all stuffy and bent out of shape if you broke a bottle on some guy’s head or threw your steak knives at the wall.

Just as I lifted my glass to drink my vodka, I heard Michelle say in a soft worshipful voice “Ohhhh, look there.  Just look at him.”

I glanced toward the door, because that tone was the most un–Michelle–like I’d ever heard.  And I saw the angel.

Chapter Three

I’m not sure how I knew right away that he was an angel, but I knew.  I drew a ragged breath, choking on the vodka and dove behind one of Michelle’s friends.  The pudgy one who was luckily wearing a floaty muumuu thing.  It should have been embarrassing, cowering behind a fat girl like that, but I was more concerned about my probable death.

Panic was throwing my heart around my chest and beading sweat on my forehead.  Shit.  Shit, shit shit.  No, fuck, fuck, fuck, actually.  Was he here for me?  Stupid, of course he was!  He must have been close enough to sense the small amount of energy I’d used to break off that table leg and brain Brad.  Why else would he be here?  I’d been so careful for all these years.  I snuck through the gate with great skill, and had performed no conversion in decades; nothing but the tiniest of energy which I’d carefully covered up.  The biggest display I’d made was when I’d taken and Owned Samantha Martin, but that had been so long ago.  If that had alerted him, he’d have been on me twenty years ago at the latest.  It had to have been today, and he must have been close to sense it.  Damn my lousy luck.

I crawled across the surprisingly clean floor as far as I could from the angel, making sure I avoided my discarded gum.  You’d think he wouldn’t take me out in a crowded place like this since angels were supposed to be all goodness and light, but truth was I’d heard they didn’t much care about collateral damage.  The stupid humans didn’t even notice me crawling and scooting between their legs, they were so enraptured.

I’d only had a quick glance at him before my dive to the ground, but he definitely stood out in a crowd.  Tall.  Like way taller than anyone in the room tall.  Big chestnut curls on his forehead and touching the top of his ears.  His skin was a strange white tone and texture.  He was like a walking marble statue; a Greek god come to life.  I hadn’t seen his eyes and didn’t want to.  From the noises in the bar and the migration toward the door, I could only assume the humans were mobbing him.  Probably pawing him all over like he was a unicorn or something.  I wondered how he’d react to that.

Thankful for the crowd and the distraction, I reached the fire door.  Very carefully, I put my hand against the bar to open it, and my other hand near the door catch.  Gently,  I sent a small trickle of energy into the door, completing the alarm circuit around the latch.  Pushing the door, I quietly tiptoed out of the bar.   I hoped that hadn’t been enough for him to sense.  Luckily, the humans had tons of energy flying around with their microwaves and cell phones, and that masked quite a bit.

As I turned to make sure the door closed without a sound, I saw a quick hand hold the door open.   In my panicked state, I brought every speck of energy I had within reach to the surface, ready to deflect and defend.  Luckily, I noticed the beautifully manicured nails and tennis bracelet before I started blowing things up.  Candy slipped out behind me and pushed the door shut before turning to face me.  We stared at each other.  I know I didn’t look exactly human at that moment, with such a massive amount of energy humming out all my pores and my eyes glowing, ready to strike.  Candy, though, was unfazed as she surveyed me thoughtfully.  She met my eyes for a moment, nodded as if I had confirmed something, then turned on her heels to walk with purpose down the street.

I didn’t waste any time.  I raced down the block and ducked into an alley.  I wasn’t sure what to do.  Part of me wanted to go back and watch the angel leave to see what he was doing and where he was going.  Not knowing what he knew about me and my assumed life was the most fearful part of this whole situation.  I was terrified to get that close to him, though, in case he could somehow sense me near.

Should I head for the closest gate and get the hell out of Dodge?  The most reliable gate was near Baltimore, but everyone used it.  The angels kept a close eye on the area and a guardian routinely took out any who tried to use it.  There was a small wild gate west near Sharpsburg, but wild gates were very dangerous and I didn’t have time to study and master it.  I didn’t know where it went to, anyway.

I had come in through a gate in Seattle, but I wasn’t sure I could make it all the way across the country.  Plus, I really didn’t want to run and abandon all I had worked to build over the last forty years.  I had emergency procedures in place to protect my assets in case I had to make a quick break for it, but I hated to leave the life I loved.  It’s not like I could take my Corvette through the gate with me.  Or Wyatt, unless I Owned him first.

I was too afraid to even peek around the corner toward The Wine Room.  Was he still there?  He could be walking down the street toward me right now.  My heart thudded away and I gasped in air.

“Hey,” I hissed at a young guy walking past the alley.  He looked startled, but not terribly alarmed.  Happy hour downtown was fairly safe, even if someone was accosting you from the shadows.

“Yeah, you,” I insisted.  The guy took a step towards me, curious.  “Look down the street and tell me if you see an angel.”

He looked around the alley for hidden video cameras.

“I’m serious.  Down that way.” I pointed helpfully.

He looked at me quizzically, but backed a few steps out of the alley and looked down the street.  “Yeah, I see one.”

I freaked.  “Where?  Is he coming this way?  Is he glowing?  Oh fuck!  Oh fuck!”

I was making my new friend nervous.  “No, it’s that painting on the side of the building.  You know, the one that looks like an old guy leaning out a window, but he has shadowed wings behind him.  I thought that’s what you meant.”

“This is not I Spy,” I shouted at him.  “I need to know if a real angel is anywhere on the street, if you can see one.  I really don’t want him to kill me.”

“I’ll walk down here a bit and check,” the guy said in a placating voice as he backed slowly out of the alley.  “Just stay right here.  I’ll look for killer angels and be right back.”

I knew better.  The guy walked quickly toward a more populated area of downtown while I snuck around the block to my car to make my escape.  He’d either sic the cops on me or send the angel my way.

I thought about my situation as I drove toward home.  If I was going to die tonight, I was going to do it in my own house, surrounded by the things I loved.  My mind whirled, and I had to finally set the cruise control as my speed was fluctuating wildly between the legal fifty five and well over a hundred miles per hour.

The angel hadn’t locked right in on me at the bar, so my energy usage must not have been strong enough for him to have an absolute fix on me.  He hadn’t come running when I’d opened the fire door or, more importantly, when I pulled a bunch of energy to the surface for defense.  Maybe I would be Okay.  If I could just keep things absolutely minimal, fly even more under the radar, maybe he would give up and go kill some other, more careless, demon.

I was so distracted with my thoughts that I was three miles past my road before I even noticed.  I pulled into a little local bar to turn around and stopped.  I needed to calm down and focus.  And I was suddenly afraid to go home and be there alone waiting for death to possibly find me.  At least here I had a chance of blending into the crowd.

The Eastside Tavern was a local’s hangout.  The narrow front parking lot was packed with trucks and bikes.  People milled about the fenced deck beside the front door, smoking cigarettes in the cooler evening air.  I edged my way between the carelessly parked cars and around the back, searching without success for a parking spot.  The place was packed.  I finally found a parking spot way out at the rear lot, past the dumpster, by a little wooded area.  The Corvette might not have fit in with the motorcycles and trucks, but I did with my jeans and boots.  I got out and set the car security.  There were a few people around back here too, smoking or talking.

“Nice car,” a bearded man said waving his smoke at it.  “I have a Corvette too, but it’s not as nice as yours.”

I smiled at him in acknowledgement.  There were wooden steps leading up to a back entrance that appeared to open to a dining area or perhaps some kind of banquet room.  I walked around to the front of the building and headed up the wooden stairs past the smokers’ deck.  The front door was a slab of heavy glass, reinforced with metal bars.  I wrestled it open and paused to take the place in.

Everything in the Eastside Tavern was cheap and fake.  I don’t know if this was so it would be inexpensive to replace when patrons trashed it, or if the owners didn’t give a shit about even pretending to run a classy joint.  Probably both.  The floors were fiber board with a photo of wood grain laminated on top.  The long u–shaped bar had the same wincingly artificial wood as the floor.  The tables were cheap metal and Formica topped with metal rims.   Torn vinyl–covered metal chairs were scattered around each table.  The owners had dispensed with any kind of ceiling and instead had hung old license plates and plastic light fixtures resembling deer antlers from the exposed floor joists of the second story.

The tables were full of people gleefully smashing crabs and picking out meat with knives and fingers.  Dismembered carcasses piled high on the brown paper protecting the Formica, or spilled onto the floor in a mess of broken shells and Old Bay Seasoning.  Observing all of this with placid faces were the only non–fake things in the bar: a plethora of mounted deer heads; pheasants, foxes and boars decorated the walls side by side with aluminum sports signs and neon beer advertisements.  I loved humans’ affection for taxidermy.  Killing something, and then displaying its dead body in a prominent place to show everyone what a successful and powerful killer you were was near and dear to my heart.  I envisioned humans eyeballing each other’s kills and suffering from antler envy.  We weren’t so different.

I headed around next to the pool table so I could look out across the expanse of the bar and the people eating their crabs.  I wouldn’t have a clear exit if an angel stormed the front door, but at least I’d see him first and have a brief moment to hide.  The pool balls crashed behind me and I heard the cheers and smacking palms of a good break.  The guy beside me flicked his eyes to me, and then turned his gaze back to the TV screen above the bar.  He had dried mud on his work boots that extended almost a foot up his jeans.  There wasn’t a navy suit in the place.

Two women worked behind the bar, hustling primarily beer for the customers.  I really wanted a drink, and thought about draping myself across the bar as I did at the Wine Room.  I reconsidered when I realized I’d only piss off the women on the other side.   Instead, I flagged a bartender down with some help from the guy next to me.  I didn’t rate any attention, since I was clearly not a regular, but the guy next to me certainly did and she came promptly over when he bellowed for her.

“Do you have any vodka in the freezer?” I asked.

She looked at me, as if she were waiting for the punch line of the joke.  I wasn’t about to drink warm generic vodka, so I ordered a bottle of Bud Light.

Another guy had joined the muddy dude on my side of the bar, flanking me between them.  Muddy guy had a plate of food covered in gravy plopped in front of him, and proceeded to ignore everything but his meal.  Nobody was paying any attention to me at all.  I looked around behind me at the men and women engrossed in their pool game and realized no one seemed uncomfortable with my presence.  Relaxing, I took a swig from the cold beer bottle and looked around.

There was a group of bearded guys by the smokers’ door trying to pick up a shapely girl with legs a mile long; an overweight couple stealing fries off each other’s plates and laughing; several rowdy groups gleefully smashing crabs and clinking beer mugs; a Latino guy in a construction logo hat who looked like he’d been up since before the sun; a really hot blond guy with some blond girl rubbing her boobs on his arm.  Hey.  Our eyes met across the room.  Pleasant warmth spread down my body as I smiled into Wyatt’s beautiful baby blues.

He made a beeline for me, practically dragging the curvy blond hanging onto his arm.

“Sammy,” he said, clearly delighted to see me.  “I didn’t know you ever came here.”

“I haven’t been here before.  I was on my way home and thought I’d stop in.”  I looked around.  “I like it here,” I said honestly.

There was a sense of calm I got from the place.  Not that it appeared to be a mellow, chilled out kind of bar.  It was just familiar.  I felt I could relax and maybe be a little bit myself without getting thrown out every time I came in.  Or at least I’d get thrown out with others hitting the dirt beside me.

“You. . . you look really nice,” Wyatt said, his eyes traveling down me, as if he hadn’t seen me almost naked this afternoon.

I caught my breath and stared at him in amazement.  Could this day have any more wild swings between shit and great?  Where had this come from?  Had someone slipped something into his drink?  Had I transformed from his older, scary, moderately attractive, neighbor buddy into a potential friends–with–benefits candidate?

“Thanks,” I replied.  “I need to do the make–up and hair thing more often.  Maybe then I’d have sex more than once a decade.”

“The gravity defying boobs are pretty eye–catching, too.”  Wyatt grinned.  “Honestly, Sam, if you’d at least pretend to be normal you might get laid more.  You scare all the girls and boys away.”

I knew he was teasing, but I think he meant it, too.   Hopefully he meant the boob part.

“If I get horny enough I’ll just whack someone over the head with a pool cue, duct tape them in place and have my way with them.”  I was only partially kidding.

Wyatt laughed.   The woman on his arm tugged slightly, clearly wanting to move Wyatt away from me and my duct taping ways.

“Are you scared of me?” I asked him suddenly.  I hoped not.  I’d hate to have to eventually resort to duct tape with Wyatt.  He’d be a whole lot more fun with his hands free.

“Absolutely terrified,” he said.

I wondered if both Wyatt and I had been waiting for the other to make a move, like in those sappy movies on Lifetime.  I appraised the woman hanging on his arm.  Wyatt hadn’t introduced me.  In fact, Wyatt was rudely ignoring her existence.  Not that I had a problem with that.  She was pretty.  Nice figure.  She looked like a boring fuck to me.  I was going for it, and blondie wasn’t going to get in my way.

“The waitress just brought our beers out,” Wyatt said, disengaging with great difficulty from his blond albatross.  “I’ll go get them and be right back.”

The second he turned his back I snapped my eyes to the girl and glared at her.  She shook a little, and then raised her chin in defiance.  Ooo, putting up a fight, was she?  Well, I didn’t have time for this nonsense since Wyatt would be back in a short moment.

“Get out right now,” I snarled at her, throwing every bit of mean I had into it.

Her eyes widened in terror and, without delay, she took off out the door.

“Woman, you really are scary,” the muddy guy next to me said in admiration before turning back to his chicken fried steak.  Yep, I liked this place.

I chugged down my beer as I saw Wyatt approach, shoving the empty on the bar.

“Your friend left.”  I snagged the second beer out of his hand and took a swig.  “She won’t be coming back.”

Wyatt raised an eyebrow and I was relieved to see he looked amused.

“I like this one better anyway, Wyatt,” said the guy next to me.

Thumbs up from Mr. Chicken Fried Steak.  I wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or not.

Wyatt’s smile reached his eyes and we talked in that comfortable, easy way we always did.  He’d nixed his original dance club plans for the night pretty soon after he turned out my horses for the evening.  Instead, he had popped in here for a few beers, intending to go straight back home to kill the zombies.

I told him about my Wine Room experience, leaving out the angel, of course.  Wyatt made sympathetic noises when I described my outrage at the vodka abuse Candy had perpetrated.  I told him I’d left early and never really got to discuss those canal properties with her.  We chatted comfortably as the evening drew late and I felt myself relax fully.  After we finished several beers, I reluctantly told him I needed to head back home.  I intended to hide all night under my bed from the angel.  Maybe he’d keep me company.

“I’ll walk you to your car”, he said.

The summer bugs were making a deafening racket in the wooded area behind the bar.  The smokers had migrated closer to the door, and a few said goodbye to Wyatt, addressing him by name.  I beeped the alarm off the Corvette and turned my back to the driver’s door.  After two years of flirting and friendship, Wyatt suddenly became a guy of action as far as I was concerned.  He swooped down for a kiss, wrapping one arm around my back to curl me up against him and reaching the other up to brush his hand along my neck and up to gently hold the base of my skull.  Smooth.  Unexpected.  Dreamed about many days and nights for a very long time.

I love kissing in human form.  Their lips are so full and soft.  You can bite down on them with your dull human teeth, or run your tongue across them, or suck on them.  So many nerve endings and so many senses at play.  You can be a little rough, too, without worry of slicing anything off with razor sharp teeth, or asphyxiating someone with a two foot tongue down their throat.  Humans don’t get off on that sort of thing.  At least, not the ones I’d met to date.

Wyatt was feather–light to the point of frustration.  Lips, tongue, teeth, even his thumb rubbing along my jaw line were just barely at the point of contact.  Every nerve ending in me quivered as if they were trying to reach out and complete the connection.  I’m not good at the whole delayed gratification thing.  I grabbed his shirt on either side of his waist with both hands and spun him around so I was pressing his back into the car.

Wyatt gave a muffled laugh and kissed more firmly.  Just to make sure he knew where this was going, I straddled one of his legs, and rubbed my thigh up against his crotch.  He returned the favor, easing his hand from my waist to cup my ass and hold my hips in an optimal tilted position.  Heat scorched through me, and my breathing turned ragged.  Nothing existed outside him at this moment.  I could no longer hear the million bugs singing in the night, or cat–calls from any smokers who might be watching.  I could no longer smell the mix of cigarette smoke, fried foods, and dumpster garbage that was the parking lot.  I didn’t think about Wyatt’s belt potentially scratching my beloved car.  And I most definitely did not think about the angel.

I stretched all my human senses as far as they could go and filled them with Wyatt as my hands yanked his shirt up and roved up his bare sides.  It was so much, but it wasn’t enough.  I’d had purely human sex with hundreds of men and women throughout the centuries, but this particular human pulled forth very conflicting desires.  I wanted so much more, but if I Owned him, our relationship would change forever.  I’d still have him with me, but not in this physical way, and definitely not the warm friendship I’d grown to enjoy so much.  No, no Owning.  Not with an angel so close, and especially not Wyatt.  Not Wyatt.

Unable to resist exploring beyond human limitations, I carefully sent tiny gentle feathers of my personal energy into him, touching, seeking, and gathering knowledge of him without taking.  No Owning, just checking things out.  No Owning.  Wyatt pulled his mouth from mine and gasped, his pupils huge in his blue eyes.

“Oh my.  What are you doing?”

He didn’t sound fearful, or in pain.  Actually he sounded turned on beyond belief, which ratcheted up the desire on my end as well.  I added more feathers of my personal energy, and focused them on his neural pathways.  Wyatt shuddered in obvious pleasure, and bent to kiss me again, running his lips over my jaw and down my neck.  I’m ashamed to admit it, but at this point I just lost it.  It’s hard enough to maintain control when your flesh in this form is so stimulated.  It had taken lots of practice and the guidance of my foster brother, Dar before I could have human sex without killing my partner.  And here I was, wanting that human orgasm so bad, and at the same time right on the edge of Owning him completely.  I tightened the feathers within him, and I pulled.

“Mine,” that familiar voice deep within me announced in silence.  It was a word that carried power, that announced claim.  It was my way of marking my territory and enveloping what I would soon Own.

Wyatt went rigid and with a sharp breath pulled back.  We began an escalating tug of war deep inside him that would have been funny had it not been so deadly.  Want, want,want.  I was firmly attached and nothing he could do could shake me off.  His tugs started to take on a feel of desperation.  I pulled steadily, making slow progress only to be halted as he dug in with all his might.

We were at an impasse.  I could take him against his will, but I would need to rip him free of his body.  It would be even more bloody and messy, and a clear act of violence to anyone who would be watching.  It also would result in my head being lopped off by that angel before I could complete the act.

The sexual stimulation had ended with Wyatt’s insistence on not becoming dead.  His unwillingness to proceed and give his whole self over was like a splash of sanity on my desire and I relaxed slightly in my grip.  What the fuck was I doing?  No Owning.  And no Owning Wyatt.  How could this have gone so wrong?

“Wait,” I told him in what I hoped was a reassuring voice.  “I’m pulling free, but I need to do it slowly so you don’t rebound and go into convulsions or start hemorrhaging”.  Okay, maybe that wasn’t so reassuring.

“Don’t pull back hard.  Just hold your ground and gently ease back.  Don’t panic.”

I’d never done this before.  I’d never had an unsuccessful Own, or stopped part way like this and backed out.  I was a little worried that I’d screw it up and end with Wyatt dead.  I took a calming breath and began disengaging the feathers one at a time, with great care.  When they were barely touching, I gently drew them back through Wyatt a few at a time.  It was taking forever, but Wyatt held very still.  I’m surprised he trusted me, but I guess he really didn’t have any other option.  His breath hitched as I pulled my energy back within me and I paused worried he was going to panic and injure himself.

Slowly I continued, pulling the last of my energy out of him and stepped back.  It felt almost cold after all the heat our closeness had generated.  Wyatt stared at me but I couldn’t read him in the darkness of the parking lot.

“What on earth were you trying to do?  What are you?” he said, his voice firm now that he wasn’t fighting for his life.

“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice a pitiful whine.  I wasn’t sure what to say.  “I lost control.  I’m so very sorry.  It won’t happen again.”

“What are you?” he repeated, careful not to touch me.  “Normal people don’t do whatever it was that you were doing.  I’ve always thought there was something weird about you, but you’ve been my friend so long that I just ignored it.”

I squirmed.  I really didn’t want to tell him.  Either way this was probably the end of any potential sex with Wyatt.  This was probably the end of anything with Wyatt.

“Wyatt, you’ve known me for two years,” I pleaded.  “I don’t want to lose you as a friend.  Please forgive me.  I promise it will never happen again.  Never.”

“Are you some kind of alien?  A witch?  Are you the devil, like that Jehovah’s Witness guy said this spring?  You need to tell me what you are right now or this friendship is definitely over.”

I sighed, closing my eyes.  “Your kind would call me a demon.  I’m not like you think, though.  I don’t run around mildewing the global crop harvest, or trying to enslave the human race.  I just want to have a normal life, like everyone else.”

“A . . . A demon?”  He sounded rather panicked.  “As in Satan demon?  You take people’s souls and condemn them to hell?  You like to tear people’s limbs off and torture them before you kill them?”

I winced.  Yeah.  Although it sounded so much worse when he said it.

“No, no, not at all,” I assured him.  “I’m just an imp, no more than a cockroach in the scheme of things.  I’m still me, Wyatt.  The same me that I’ve always been.”

He looked undecided.  But undecided was better than hating me, or never wanting to see me again.

“I never wanted to hurt you.  I’m sorry.  Once I realized what I was doing, and that you didn’t want it, I stopped.  You’re okay, I swear.  And I will never do it again.  I promise.”

“Were you trying to kill me?  How is that not hurting me?  How in the world would you think I’d want that?”  The indecision was teetering in an unfavorable direction.

“I would never kill you, Wyatt,” I told him, my eyes beseeching him to forgive me and go back to the way things were between us. “I just got carried away.  It’s been a really weird day.  I would never hurt you, never kill you.”  I was lying.  There was a good chance that I would eventually lose control and hurt him, probably would eventually kill him.

Silence stretched on between us.  I smelled the dumpster nearby, listened to the bugs singing.  I wished Wyatt would say something, or hit me, or knock my head against my car.  Anything.  I couldn’t even leave since he was blocking the door of my car.  This fiasco ranked right up on par with the angel showing up tonight.  I’d never see Wyatt again after this.  No relaxing conversations by the pool.  No sex.  No Owning.  I was a stupid fucking idiot and I just wanted to go home.

Wyatt stared at me in silence for what seemed like eternity, and then he stepped aside and opened my car door for me.  I felt like my guts were going to drop out of me when he did that.  It seemed so dismissive, so final.  I slid by him and bent to crawl into the seat.

“Get some sleep, Sam,” he said in a calm, tired voice.

I drove right home.  And I didn’t really care if the angel showed up and killed me in my sleep or not.

Chapter Four

I had a restless night and was just starting to get back to sleep when my cell phone rang.

“Ugh,” I grunted into it, not able to focus on the screen enough to see who was calling me at such an ungodly hour on a Saturday.

“Get your lazy rear out of bed and get down here.  I’ve already tacked up your horse.”  Then a click.

I stared at the phone fully awake and perplexed.  Wyatt.  And he sounded downright cheerful.  Was this how humans dealt with conflict that involved someone nearly killing you?  How they dealt with finding out their neighbor and best friend was a demon?  True, he wasn’t in my bedroom dragging my naked ass out of bed, but he was still intending to keep our riding date. With a spark of hope, I leapt out of bed and pulled on jods and a polo shirt.  I grabbed my field boots by the door and ran barefoot out to the stables.  Wyatt tossed my helmet at me as I dashed in.

Piper, my big bay gelding, stood ready with his English saddle and bridle.  Piper was a Thoroughbred Shire cross.  He was tall and solid with a placid, unshakable disposition.  Horses don’t like demons, and they especially don’t like me.  It had taken me years to get Piper to let me put a saddle on him, let alone ride him.  I loved riding, though, and the time it took to gain the horse’s trust was time well spent in my book.

Wyatt had saddled up Vegas for himself, a chestnut Quarter Horse gelding with an impressive pedigree.  He was smaller than Piper, and less muscular, but full of heart with a silly sense of humor.  Wyatt must have suspected I bought Vegas for him when I brought the horse home last year.  I don’t ride Western, and have never been into Quarter Horses.  I spent a fortune on this horse hoping Wyatt couldn’t resist and would ride with me. It had worked.  Since Vegas arrived we tended to go out a few times a week when weather allowed.

I eyed Wyatt as he finished with Vegas.  He looked the same as usual.  Well rested, freshly showered (unlike me), cheerful.  Had last night not happened at all?  If I’d realized my neighbor was some strange powerful being who wanted to fuck me and kill me at the same time, I don’t think I would be out riding horses with her the next day.  Well, maybe I would, but I’m not a human.

I hopped around the aisle of the barn in an undignified manner, putting on my boots as Wyatt tightened Vegas’ girth.  We hadn’t spoken a word and I wasn’t sure how to break the ice while managing to carefully avoid mentioning the last six hours.  I strapped on my helmet, then smiled and tossed Wyatt one off the rack.

“Catch.”

He caught it and scowled playfully.

“You must be joking.  Since when have you ever seen me fall?  Cowboy hat, maybe; riding helmet, no.”

I have this argument with Wyatt every time we ride.  I’d done the whole “my stable my rules” and “my horse my rules” thing.  He argued, but always gave in.  And it’s true he never fell.  The guy rode like he was crazy–glued to the saddle.

“Accidents happen, Wyatt.  And I can’t put your brains back in your head”.

Wyatt looked at me speculatively.

“Can’t you? You seem to be able to heal yourself.  To what extent can you do it with others?”

“I don’t technically have the ability to heal,” I explained.  “I can fix myself, but I usually screw it up when I try to fix someone else.    Besides, I’m not good with brains.  They’re really tricky.”

Wyatt thought a moment.  “Okay, why are brains so hard?  As opposed to, say, a liver or an amputated limb?”

“The actual physical formation of the brain isn’t an issue; it’s all the neural pathways.”  I loved explaining this sort of thing, and it was kind of nice to have this conversation with Wyatt.

“You have no idea the number of neural connections in the human brain.  Plus, they change from moment to moment.  You’re literally not the same person you were a few seconds ago, each experience changes the connections in slight ways.  I could do a decent job, only to have you missing half your life experiences or a significant change in your personality.  One little missed connection has huge consequences.”

Wyatt looked at the helmet with new respect.

“If you were a flatworm, I’d say ‘go for it’.  I’d be pretty confident I could fix your neural network and you’d still be fairly close to the flatworm you were before the accident.  Since you’re a human, I can pretty much guarantee I’d fuck it up big time.”

I was very serious.  Wyatt seemed to realize that and put on the helmet without further argument.

We rode for hours without a word, just like we always do.  Fast.  Through woods, and over coops into adjoining fields and the public trails that snaked all through this section of Maryland.  Normally we’d meet the occasional mountain biker or four wheeler, but today it was just us and nature.

I’m a terrible rider.  Couple that with the fact that horses don’t like me or my kind much, and it means I spend a lot of my time in the dirt, on my ass, staring up at the horse.  I only fell off once that morning, losing my balance over a coop.  Piper stopped as soon as I hit the ground and looked at me reprovingly.

“Sorry, boy,” I told him, then looked around for a log, fence, rock, something to get me up high enough to climb back into the saddle.  Piper was a big boy.  After trying a few things unsuccessfully, I clambered up the coop, but couldn’t get Piper close enough.  Wyatt rolled his eyes at me and finally hopped off to throw me back into the saddle.

As we cooled down the horses on a walk back toward my barn, Wyatt looked over at me cautiously.

“So, do you demons possess people?  Like in The Exorcist?” he asked.

I shuddered.  Possessing involves putting yourself in a human body with the human still in there.  It is stupid and dangerous.  You have maybe ten percent of your power, and it announces your presence like a bullhorn.  Demons who regularly do possessions don’t last a fortnight.

“No.  Only the very lowest demons do that.  Not me.”  Well, not since that time a few centuries back when a priest yanked me out and stuck me in a pig body instead.  Pigs don’t appreciate that sort of thing.

We hopped off of our horses in the stable yard and walked in together.  Wyatt still looked rather nervous.  I could see the fear in him, even though he struggled to hide it.  I wished I could show him that I was still the same person he grilled steaks with Thursday night.  The same girl he pitched into the pool headfirst last week.  I hated that he looked scared of me.

Tossing his saddle pad in the corner, Wyatt took his saddle into the tack room while I brushed Piper.  I hoped he could move past this.  I hoped we could at the very least still be friends.  No doubt I’d see a for–sale sign in front of his house within the week.

“Sam? You need to come in here,” Wyatt called.

I walked into the tack room carrying my saddle and saw Wyatt standing over Boomer.  My hound was sprawled on the floor, his brindle fur covered with bites, cuts and blood.  He thumped his tail and panted as he saw me.  I bent down and examined his wounds carefully.  This couldn’t have been the angel.  If it were, Boomer would have been dead and disintegrated.  I couldn’t imagine what could have attacked him.  No dog would have gotten a tooth on him, let alone tore him up this bad.  A fox wouldn’t have taken him on.  There were coyotes around, but even cornered and fighting for their life they wouldn’t have caused this kind of damage. The Allegheny Mountains used to be home to Eastern Panthers, but they were no more.  A few had been sighted down south, but not up here.  A bear maybe?  A black bear defending her cubs may have done this.  There did seem to be more claw marks than bites, which would indicate a bear.  Boomer wasn’t one to back down from a fight either, stupid dog.

“Uhhh Sam?  You’re, uhhh, leaking,” Wyatt said observing me cautiously.

I looked down and realized that I had let some of my raw energy creep up to the surface where it was glowing across my skin like a sheen of sweaty light.  An opalescent drop fell to the floor and sizzled like acid.  I discretely neutralized it.  I never leak.  It was a point of pride with me.  How embarrassing.  Just one more slip I couldn’t afford to make with an angel so close.

“Sorry.  I was trying to think what could have done this.  Boomer is smart, and much stronger than he looks.”

“I’d speculate big cat,” Wyatt said, bending down to look closer.  “Or grizzly, but not in this part of the country.  We really need to get him into the emergency vet.”

“No, he’ll be Okay,” I assured him.  “It’s not that bad.”

Wyatt looked at me in disbelief.

“Let me at least carry him into the house and do first aid from the vet kit.”

“He stinks,” I countered.  “I’m not letting him my house like this.”

Wyatt glared at me.  It was a good glare.  We stood that way for a while in a silent contest of wills.

“Okay!” I threw up my hands.  “I’ll fix him.”  I couldn’t say no to Wyatt.  Especially now that our friendship was teetering on the edge.

“I thought you said you weren’t good at that when it wasn’t yourself.  Let’s just take him to the vet,” Wyatt urged.

Wyatt had enough to freak out about without my explaining that Boomer wasn’t a normal dog.  That would have to wait.

“I can do Boomer.  He’ll be fine.  Really.”

I picked up a rubber handled screwdriver and looked around.  Crickets and spiders were too small.  The barn cat hadn’t had her kittens yet, or I would have used one of them.  Ah, there was a big mouse over behind the feed tub.  I locked eyes with it holding the animal in place as I carefully moved the feed tub.  Then I impaled him with the screwdriver.

“Here,” I said handing the squirming bleeding mouse–on–a–stick to an incredulous Wyatt.  “Take this and stick him in the bug zapper.”

“Can’t we just take him to the emergency vet?” Wyatt asked, holding the mouse with an admirably firm grip.

“The mouse?” I asked confused.  “He’s almost dead.  I don’t think they can do anything for him.”

Wyatt sighed in exasperation and left the room with the mouse.

I surveyed Boomer, and when I heard the distinctive sound of the bug zapper, I put my hands on him.  Before I fixed him, I wanted to check out his damage and make very sure that he hadn’t been in close contact with an angel.  I couldn’t imagine an angel would scratch and bite, but just in case I sent energy down inside the wounds to explore.  No angel or demon energy.  Just plain old bites and scratches, thankfully.  Satisfied, I pulled my energy back and readied myself to fix my dog.

One way I can fix is by driving cell reproduction into overdrive and accelerating the natural healing process.  It involves minimal energy, but has its issues.  You’re making a copy of a copy of a copy, and those cells aren’t as stable as what they originally were.  For a really good heal, you need to recreate and that involves conversion.  The resulting cells are solid and perfect.  Better than they were before injury in most cases.

Unfortunately conversion has a very specific energy signature.  Any angel who senses conversion (and they have very acute senses for this) knows exactly what he is dealing with and usually can track the energy to its source.  So basically, what I was about to do to Boomer was like sending up a flare.  I hoped that the energy of the bug zapper electrocuting the mouse would mask my own energy.  Human energy usage often did, if the energy I used was small enough.  Still, it was a risk.  I was a fucking idiot risking myself like this just to make Wyatt happy.

It took seconds.  I fixed everything at once.  Cracked bone, chipped rib, torn muscle, veins, nerve connections, skin cells, regrew hair.  He’d had a bowel perforation which was just disgusting.  I had to recreate the section of intestine, and then search throughout his abdomen taking out bacteria and microorganisms that had no business outside the digestive system.  As I stared down at the newly whole Boomer, I realized that Wyatt was still electrocuting the mouse.

“Okay, I’m done.  You can stop now,” I called.

Wyatt came running in and handed me the screwdriver with a blackened, reeking lump of burnt mouse on the end.  I looked at him in astonishment.  What did he expect me to do with it?  Eat it?  It looked like a macabre shish kabob.

“I thought you needed that,” he explained.  “For a magic spell or something to heal Boomer.”

His voice trailed off as he noticed Boomer was whole and standing beside me thumping his tail.

“Oh yes, worked great,” I told him tossing the mouse and screwdriver into the metal trash can.  “Thank you”

I wasn’t about to go into lengthy explanations of how I hoped the electricity would cover up my quick fix of Boomer.  How I hoped that I didn’t have an angel bearing down on me right now.

We finished with the horses and turned them out to pasture for the day, then stood awkwardly looking everywhere but at each other.  Neither one of us knew what to say; how to end the morning.

“I’m going to grab a nap.  I’m having some friends over for a gaming party tonight and we’ll probably be up all night,” Wyatt said looking at the rafters.

“Me too.  Nap I mean, not the gaming party.  So, see you around?”

He nodded, still looking at the rafters.  We each paused a moment, then left.  One step forward, two steps back.  At least he was still talking to me.

I made a ham sandwich, showered, and curled up for a long nap.  I had a busy evening ahead, and unfortunately it didn’t involve crashing Wyatt’s gaming party.

Chapter Five

I languished in bed a good chunk of the day, curling up in the feather pillows and indulging in some much needed sleep.  Late afternoon, I hauled myself up, showered, and ate some leftover Chinese food from my fridge while in the nude.  I saw the blinking light on my cell phone telling me I missed a call from Michelle.

“Hey girl,” I said as she picked up.  “Sorry I left last night without saying anything.”

I was undecided what excuse to give.  I couldn’t very well tell her that I was running for my life, or that I had a date to suck the life force out of my sexy neighbor.  Luckily Michelle herself supplied a plausible alibi.

“No problem, I know you and Candy had business to discuss.”

Ahhh , right.  Candy had left when I did.  I was surprised she hadn’t stayed and pawed the angel with everyone else.  She must have really wanted to sell me those canal properties to follow me out the back door like that.

“Were you there when that movie star arrived?” Michelle asked.

For a second I was confused, and then I realized she must mean the angel.

“I’m pretty sure he was in that action flick from this spring with the runaway train.  They’re filming some Civil War romance out at Antietam battlefield this week and he must be in it.  He was so nice.  Everyone mobbed him and he didn’t get angry or snotty or anything.  Huge guy, built like a tank and just gorgeous.  All those curls, and his eyes were black.  I mean black.  They were darker than mine.  He signed a few autographs.  Jeff thought he was that wrestler, but this guy had longer hair and was older than him.”

Yeah, much older.  I listened to Michelle continue to speculate on what movie star the angel might have been.

“Did he mention where he was staying or how long he’d be in town?”  I asked.  Or if he was hunting down a demon?

Michelle didn’t know where the angel was holed up, or if he was still in the area or not.  She didn’t seem to know much and I wondered if angels had the ability to wipe memory or influence emotion.   I wished I could do that.  It would be a very useful skill.

I hung up with Michelle without much more knowledge than before, and with an unsettling hunch that I would probably see this angel again.  Finally, around dusk, I threw on some running clothes and laced on my shoes.  Boomer was waiting for me on the doorstep.

Boomer isn’t a full blooded Plott Hound.  He was what humans would have called a hell hound.  One of my kind had impregnated a female dog, and the result was Boomer.  It’s really not as disgusting as it sounds.  We have sex with just about anything we can catch.  Breeding, though, is a different matter that requires intent on our part, even cross species breeding.  Spawning a hell hound wasn’t cause for embarrassment, but it would get you teased a bit.  Producing animal hybrids could be very lucrative, as there was a good market for them.  So, some of us put up with the teasing and earned a good living through hybrid breeding.

I hadn’t sired Boomer, I’d actually won him off another demon in a bet.  Back home, there was a certain enhancement to my reputation in having him in my household.  Unfortunately, I’d had to lock him down tight when I’d brought him here and he was not as useful as I wished.  I don’t have the best impulse control, but Boomer has none at all.

The first time I’d brought him here, we’d had to run for our lives hours later.  Several times, I’d experimented with different degrees of reduction of his powers, but I’d ended up having to practically neuter him to keep him from being detected.  He was little more than a regular dog in his current state, and that made me feel a bit guilty about his injuries.  If he’d been at his full strength, nothing shy of an angel or one of my kind could have hurt him.  Of course, I was a little pissed at him too for not backing off and retreating before he was so dangerously injured.  A normal dog would never had made it home in that state, but Boomer had enough minimal use of his energy to keep himself going and drag himself home.

“Take me there, boy,” I told Boomer softly, and he headed down our lane toward the main road.

As we passed Wyatt’s house, I saw the cars lined up all over his grass with people laughing and cheerfully carting boxes of electronics toward the front door.  Wyatt jogged out to the road when he saw me.  Boomer eyed him, then wiggled up to him and nudged his hand for petting.

“You hump his leg and I’ll rip your head off,” I told him.  I meant it.

“Me or the dog?” Wyatt asked in good humor.  “You’re going for a run this late?”

“Yeah, I slept all afternoon and my internal clock is out of whack,” I said.

Wyatt looked up.  “Should have some decent moonlight.  Come over when you’re done to help us kill insurgents and protect the homeland.  We’ll be going until the wee hours.”

I nodded, and Wyatt broke away to answer one of his guest’s questions regarding cable compatibility.  He seemed more comfortable with me.  Almost like before.  I felt an ache of hope and longing as I watched him carry a box in his house.  If I got back early enough, I think I might just go kill some zombies.

Boomer and I reached the end of the lane, close enough to hear the cars on Route 26.  Boomer looked at me expectantly and broke into a trot.  We headed west weaving through country roads and cutting across fields.  Although I appreciated the efficiency of as–the–crow–flies travel, I struggled to get over barbed wire fences and undetected through people’s lawns.  The terrain was hilly with rather treacherous footing given the dim light.  We crossed from Carroll into Frederick County and I wondered how far Boomer had been ranging.  Finally, about five miles from home, we paused at the fence line of a mowed hay field.  There was a tiny, one story ramshackle house at the back edge of the field.  Boomer again looked at me expectantly.

There were no lights leading up to the house, and no porch light, although the lights in the house indicated someone was home.   I wasn’t sure what was going on.  Boomer’s injuries didn’t look like they were caused by any guard dog that this human might have.  I couldn’t imagine this homeowner having a bear or a mountain lion as a pet.  Finally. I just walked up to the front door and knocked, figuring I’d ask the resident if he’d had any bear trouble lately.

The door swung open on its hinges from the weight of my knock.  You would have thought with all the movies I’d watched that I’d know better than to walk in.  In every cop show, in every horror movie, bad things happened when the door was ajar like this and the hero/victim walked right on in.  I wasn’t used to considering myself as either a hero or a victim, so walk in I did.  And I got knocked sideways into the wall.  A dirty, unshaven, vagrant–looking man glared at me.  Then, I did my second stupid thing.  I pulled out my mean and ordered him to back off.

I should have realized he was bumfuck nuts.  Insane.  Mentally unstable.  Mean works great on just about everyone except crazy people.  They are very sensitive to my kind as it is.  They recognize us, and they won’t back down ever.  No matter what you throw at them, what you do to them, they will not back down.  They will vocally and physically fight you with every whacked out insane skill they have.  They will out you to everyone they see.  Luckily, no one believes them most of the time.  Insane people have followed me all over downtown and for blocks informed all passerby that I was a fire–breathing, plague–spreading devil come to kill them all and end the world.  The only thing you can do is look embarrassed and hope the cops come to haul the guy away.

“Demon,” this particular crazy guy shrieked at me in a pitch so high it hurt my ears.  “You send your hell hound to spy on me, and here you are to take my soul.  You will not succeed.”

He started grabbing random things and throwing them at me.  He was very accurate in his aim.  I deflected the pillows and shielded myself from the bottles and books.  I ducked and dodged while running around the room trying to get in a good position to dive at him, or to force him in a place with fewer potential projectiles.  He didn’t seem to be running out of ammunition anytime soon, so I dropped to the floor and dove under a table.  This crawling on the floor thing was beginning to be a habit.

“Could use some help here, you fucking worthless cur,” I shouted at Boomer who peeked in the door and laughed at me.

The house was like a damn hoarder’s, I thought as I hid behind chair legs and avoided picture frames, headphones, lamps and ashtrays.  Ashtrays.  Who the hell smoked in the house anymore?  All the while, the guy continued to shrill accusations about my kind and my supposed intentions.  According to him, I had been stalking him for decades and was planning on forcing him to eat his own eyeballs while I gnawed on his spleen.

This could go on all night, and the guy could easily overpower me if he found an opening and grabbed me.  I knew the risks involved, but didn’t have much choice.  I shot a burst of electricity at him converting so I could get it past the air’s resistance.  It wasn’t much, only twenty five thousand volts, but I kept the amperage low and the burst short.  Hopefully it was just enough to throw him off balance and get him calm enough to tell me where the bear was.

The guy screamed and dropped to the floor clutching his heart.  Drama queen.  There was no way that did more than shock his skin.  I darted from under the table and held him in place with a chair.  I knew better than to try and touch a crazy person.  I should have known better than to shock one.

“Have you had a problem with any bears?  Maybe raiding your garbage?  Or perhaps someone around here has an exotic pet?  A big cat?”  I felt like a total fool asking someone these questions while I was pinning him to the floor with a chair.

Imagine my surprise when, with an inhuman roar stinking of garbage breath, the guy flung both me and the chair across the room and against the wall.  Things got blurry for a few seconds.  As the guy ripped the chair away and went to slap me, I raised my arm in defense and was again surprised when his nails tore through my arm, raking strips of flesh and muscle down to the bone.  Finally focusing, I realized that instead of hands he had claws.  And an elongated jaw with sharp teeth.  Very unfortunate and unattractive deformities.

I felt the claws dig into my side, and was flung once again across the room, to skid on the floor and into the couch.  Pain ripped through my side, but I was relieved to realize he hadn’t punctured my liver or any other important organ.  This was really enough.  I wasn’t about to fight like a human while he tore me into jerky strips.  I breathed in and threw a much larger bolt of electricity at him.  About one hundred amps worth.  It was a small amount, but still overkill when converting it through the air between us and pushing it through the skin’s natural resistance directly into his chest cavity.  I was capable of producing at the level of lightening, but I didn’t feel like setting the house on fire.  A billion volts and a hundred thousand amps would be hard to control too as it blew through the human and out through the wall behind him.

The guy convulsed as the current crashed his heart, seized his diaphragm, and burned out organs as it exited down his back.  He danced like this for a few seconds while I was sure to keep the current going steady.  In electricity, it’s important to keep a constant stream as humans have been known to survive short intermittent bursts even at very high levels.  It really sucks when you think someone is dead, only to have them get up and stagger at you a few moments later.  Finally, he collapsed with a smell of burnt hair and skin.

I walked over and lay my hands on the man, letting my energy explore him.  He was dead, which given the oddness of my last twenty four hours I wasn’t taking for granted.  He was also weird.  DNA is mostly the same among all mammals, but there are slight differences.  This guy had human DNA, but there were anomalies.  The areas I noticed were similar to those humans with Hypertrichosis, although it was more than the X chromosome link, and he didn’t seem furry enough.  Perhaps he indulged in laser hair removal?  He didn’t look like he could afford that kind of thing, especially since it would have had to be extensive.  Hypertrichosis also didn’t explain the extended jaw and elongated strengthened nails.

Reluctantly, I pulled away from the man.  Curiosity killed the cat, but I couldn’t let it kill me.  I had to get out of here.  With an angel so close and presumably on the hunt for me, I was worried that my energy burst, even one so common place as electricity, would be investigated.  I looked around at the wreckage of the house, and headed home.

Easier said than done.  Five miles with deep lacerations on your forearm and waist, plus a concussion and bruises was not a cake walk.  I jogged when I could, and walked a lot.  In some spots I needed to go around entire fields as it was too much for me to get over the fencing.  The whole way home I cursed Boomer, who had hid outside the door during the entire fight and was without a scratch.  The trip in had taken an hour max; the trip back over three hours.  I limped by Wyatt’s house at past three in the morning in considerable pain and longing for my bed.  His yard was filled with cars, and his house lit up with flashing lights of video games and sounds of shooting, screaming, and laughing.  People milled around the porch with the deep hum of conversation.  I know I was invited, but there was no way I was popping in to visit Wyatt and meet all his friends dirty, sweaty and covered with blood and gashes.  I paused and looked longingly at his house, then walked on by.

Boomer got another scolding as I locked him in the barn.  There’s nothing a hellhound likes more than eating corpses, and I didn’t want him heading back out to snack on the dead guy, or getting in any more trouble.  I was thinking of sending him back home for my household to care for if this was the kind of bullshit I’d have to deal with.  Bad, bad dog.

Giving one more longing look toward Wyatt’s house, I headed in.  Running attire went into the trash, and I showered, nearly passing out in pain as the hot water hit my wounds.  I had slowly begun fixing the damaged flesh, but I was taking a very long time to avoid any excess energy use, which might give me away.  I’d done way too much in the past few days as it was, and I could hardly keep frying mice or causing power surges in my house.  I would just have to deal with injury and pain and make this a slow project.

Finally clean, I dug around in my bathroom and carefully bandaged my side and arm.  They were healing nicely, but I didn’t want to take the chance of anything breaking open and oozing blood on my sheets.  I have absolutely no experience in first aid, and the tape pulled uncomfortably on my skin.  I tossed and turned in bed for a while before giving up and heading down to doze off watching TV.

Chapter Six

Sunday was another scorcher.  I was in my usual spot by the pool with fluffy towel and a mug of hot sweet coffee.  It had been a rough night of sleep, partly due to the invasion of Anime from the TV into my dreams.    My injuries were healing, but were still angry red welts across my arm and waist.  Ugly, even if they did match the red kiss marks on my bikini.  Not that it mattered.  No one was likely to see me sweating alone by the pool.

Taking a swig of the hot coffee, I rolled onto my stomach.  The heat on my back was intense, even this early, and drops of sweat tickled as they rolled across my back and down my sides.  James Brown shouted in my ears and I just let my mind wander.  That guy last night was so weird.  And not just his mental state either.  I wished I could have brought him back here and taken him apart at my leisure; tease apart his genetic sequence and see what his body told me.  I toyed with the idea of going back and seeing if I could stuff his body into the Suburban.  I’d need to hide it from Boomer while I played with it though.   Otherwise he’d eat it.

I wondered what the authorities would think when his body was discovered.  Electrocutions did happen, although you’d usually expect to see a fire, or at least a burnt out socket or appliance.  It clearly looked like there had been a fight in the place too.  House trashed and resident apparently killed with a burst of electricity to the chest.  I’d probably left some of my blood behind and that would be puzzling too.  I can hold my blood to strictly human parameters, but under stress or when I’m using energy, my own signature mixes in along with energy.   It would totally fuck up their analysis, I thought with amusement.

A shadow touched my thigh and moved up to block the sunlight on my back.  I rolled over and thought how incredibly sexy this was to be lying here sweaty and nearly naked, squirming as I shifted on the lounge with Wyatt standing over me.  Wyatt’s eyes roved and I adjusted the bikini top making sure to give the girls a good jiggle.  My eyes roved too and I really liked what I saw at this angle.

Wyatt’s eyes stopped and he frowned.

“What on earth did you do to yourself?” he asked, horrified at the raised red welts in slashes across my body and arm.  At least they weren’t oozing any more.  “Did you have a fight with some barbed wire last night?  Or that bear that tore up Boomer?”

“I should have stuck with the treadmill,” I said, skirting the topic.

“They look awful,” he continued, clearly not willing to let go of this one.  “I know how quickly you heal; you must have been practically cut in half to still look like that.”

“I’m fixing them very slowly,” I confessed.  “I kinda need to lay low and watch it, so I’m going to look nasty until later tonight.  It wasn’t that bad, really.”

“Why do you need to lay low?” he asked.

Ugh.  Why couldn’t he just stand there and look sexy?

“I’m a demon, Wyatt.  If I make my presence here too obvious, there are things that will come to take me out.”

That scared look flashed across his face, again.  My gut tightened in reaction; here we go again.

“What things?  You’re a demon, what in the world would be able to take you out?” he asked.

“I’m not immortal.  Damage this body enough and I won’t have time to fix it or create another before I die.”

“Humans wouldn’t come after you for healing yourself,” he persisted.  “What would?”

“Angels,” I admitted. “If they detect us, they come and kill us.”

Wyatt stared at me a moment.  “Angels.”

I wasn’t sure what to say, so I just let the word hang in the air.

“So, how did you get these injuries?”  Wyatt finally said, breaking the silence.

“Barbed wire,” I lied.  No sense in making him an accessory after the fact.

Wyatt studied the cuts in silence and nodded.

“Do I need to burn up another mouse for you?  Or something larger, like a squirrel perhaps?”

Ha, ha.  Very funny.  Actually I was relieved that he was somehow beginning to take all this horror film weirdness in stride.

“Nah, I’m good.  I’ve got fresh coffee in the kitchen.  Grab yourself a mug and pull up a chair.”

Wyatt looked amused.

“It’s got to be one hundred degrees out here and you’re drinking hot coffee?”

“I like it hot.” I told him.  “Throw some ice in it if you want though.”

Wyatt disappeared into the house. I loved that he was so comfortable around and inside my place.  Like he belonged here.  He’d know right where the coffee mugs were, where in the fridge I kept my special stash of cream.  I wished he was as familiar with the upstairs portion of my house as the downstairs.

I heard him return with his coffee and the scrape of the lounge chair he pulled up.

“I’ve got to go over to Mom’s this evening for a family dinner,” he said conversationally.  “Amber’s home from college.  Her birthday is Tuesday and we’re celebrating.”

“Amber is your younger sister, right?” I asked.  I could never remember human family relationships.  Back home, no one knew or cared who their parents or siblings were.  We were raised in group homes and didn’t have these complicated family trees to keep track of.

“Yeah, she’s nineteen,” he paused for a moment as if considering whether to continue.    “I did have an older sister, but she died before I was born.  Rachel was three when she drowned in a neighbor’s pool.  I wasn’t born until five years later, and Amber was born five years after me.”

“Your folks are divorced?”  Humans always seemed to get divorced.  I couldn’t figure out why they got married at all.

“No, Dad died when I was ten.  He was installing a two–twenty line in the garage for a dryer hookup, and he somehow electrocuted himself.”

Okay, that was really freaky, given all the electrocution occurring yesterday.  Clearly, it was a coincidence since it had happened fourteen years ago.

“Anyway,” Wyatt continued, “have any ideas on what to get a nineteen year old girl?”

I moved down my sunglasses so he could clearly see my raised eyebrows.

“Okay, I guess it’s gift card time.”

“How about those stuffed animal pillows I see on TV?” I suggested with amusement.

Wyatt laughed.  “Amber isn’t the cheerleader, pink, cutesy toy kind of girl.  She’s more geeky– Goth wannabe.”  He paused and grinned.  “A gift certificate for body piercing and a tramp stamp?” he laughed.  “Mom would kill me.”

In the end, he decided the gift card was the safest option.

I enlisted his help in giving Boomer a much needed bath, and then we brought the horses in from the heat and made sure water buckets were fresh and hay bags were full.  Wyatt headed off, and Boomer and I ordered pizza and settled in to watch TV.  Watching one show at a time was pretty boring, so I had installed four TVs next to each other on the wall in a square arrangement.  Wyatt said it looked like something from A Clockwork Orange.

I watched each channel’s news simultaneously, but there was no report on a dead man found in his house in eastern Frederick County.  The guy did look like a vagrant, so it could possibly be weeks or even months before anyone discovered his body.  He didn’t look the type to have social commitments where his presence might be missed.  I decided I should just forget about it and relax.

Chapter Seven

My Monday morning always starts with the six o’clock Zumba class at the gym.  It’s packed because the instructor looks like a Latin god.  Everyone loves to get in their early–morning eye candy, and they desperately try to attract his attention with their spasmodic hip thrusts.  I try to never miss the Zumba class since I believe comedy is a great way to start your week.

This class, I positioned myself amid a group of tittering soccer moms.  It was great fun, although I had to hold myself back from turning it into a giant mosh pit slam dance.  Last time I did that, they kicked me out for a month.  Today, I enjoyed watching an eighty year old lady — with a cane no less — shimmy, her boobs flying like weapons around her waist.

After the class, while everyone else lined up to flutter their eyelashes and thank the hot instructor in rusty high school Spanish, I headed out and did my real workout.  There was a flyer for a Judo class and I fantasized for a moment about taking it and beating everyone into a bloody mess.  I’m so competitive though that I know I’d be sparring and lose control and pop someone’s head off.  That would be a lot of fun, but it wouldn’t be a good thing for my continued life in this realm.  No Judo for me.

I was joining Michelle for lunch and meeting her at an end–of–lease walk through, so I actually showered and pulled on the clean shorts and tank top from my bag.  I just watched while she inspected the oven, fridge and carpet.  I can’t remember the last time I did a walk through.  Usually Michelle only called me in if she thought the tenant might get violent.  This guy was harmless.  Short skinny balding guy on government disability supplements.  He was moving in with his daughter.  His eyes flickered to me every few seconds, and if I moved, he jumped in alarm.  It was kind of funny actually, so I made a point of moving a lot.

“The toilet paper holder came off the wall, but I put a new one on,” the tenant pointed out, practically shaking with anxiety.  Did he think we were going to yank it off the wall and shove it up his ass?  We just wanted a decent apartment and money, not his personal pain and suffering.  Sheesh.

We ended up deducting a carpet cleaning and some dry wall repair from his security deposit.  No one gets out for free.  We’d find something to charge even Martha Stewart for.  Hot glue mark or excess faux stained glass on the lighting fixtures.  The guy didn’t argue, and in fact thanked Michelle and me profusely as Michelle handed him a check and collected the keys.

“Mexican?” Michelle asked as we locked up and walked toward the commercial area of downtown.  This apartment was actually in a decent neighborhood close to the trendy eateries.  I think I could get fifty more a month for it now.

“No way.  I need a salad or I won’t be able to shit for a week,” I replied.

“Lovely visual there, Samantha.”

I got  my salad.  Michelle had a ruben and enough fries to feed a small nation.   I don’t know where she put it.  She always ate hearty, never seemed to work out, and was thin as an international model.  I guess good genetics and height made all the difference.    Michelle and I discussed work, as we usually did on our lunches.  We debated trying a new plumbing contractor, talked about upcoming leases and who might renew versus who might move out.  We commiserated about the tenant who was always losing his keys.  We charged him for the copies at an exorbitant rate, but keeping spare sets and having someone run them over at very inconvenient hours was wearing on us.   I wondered if one of those numerical locks would help.  He’d probably forget the number, but at least we could just tell him over the phone rather than having to run over there in the middle of the night.  Maybe we could still charge him each time he called for the code.   Finally, as we were finishing up, I approached the topic I really wanted to discuss.

“I’ve got a relationship issue and want your advice,” I said.

Michelle stared.  We seldom discussed personal stuff.  I didn’t even know if Michelle had a steady boyfriend right now or not.

“What, like someone tried to spend the night? Or actually had the nerve to want more than a hook–up in a dark alley?  You need to know my advice on where to dispose of the body?”

Okay, that was hitting a bit close to home.

“Wyatt and I made out Friday night, but I freaked him out and things didn’t end well.  He’s still coming by my house and we seem to still be friends.  Do you think I’ve ruined my chances and we’re only platonic now?”  Crap, I sounded like one of those whiny, desperate letters women wrote to magazines.

Michelle squealed like a murdered rabbit.

“You guys made out? Finally? I want details.  Details, girl, details!”

Great.  Now I regretted saying anything at all.  I imagined having this conversation with my foster brother, Dar.  He’d laugh his head off, then advise me to haul Wyatt into my basement, tie him up, and do whatever I wanted until I got bored with him.  He’d think my extended vacation was making me weak and vulnerable.  There are no girlfriend talks at home, and this was making me kind of squirmy.

“We were kissing outside a bar, up against my car, and things got a bit intense.  I really freaked him out. “

“Was he into it at first?  What freaked him out?  How did he react?”

Hmmm, how to explain this one.

“I was doing some stuff to him that he had never done before.  He was into it at first, but then I got a little carried away and it was too much for him.  I could tell he wanted to stop, so I did.  After I stopped he didn’t seem as scared.  He seemed angry, but not smash–my–head–against–the–car angry.”  How was that for vague?

Michelle sighed.  “You’re not going to give me the details, are you?”

“Nope,” I told her.

Michelle looked disappointed.

“Girl, I always figured you were into the really kinky stuff, but Wyatt seems to be more of a bread and butter guy if you know what I mean.”  She wiggled her eyebrows.  I wondered if Michelle was into the really kinky stuff.  Probably not the same kinky stuff as I was.

“What happened after?” she prodded.  “Before you guys left to go home.  You said he’s still coming over?”

“We talked a few moments.  I tried to explain things.  I apologized over and over like a damned broken record and swore up and down it would never happen again.  He called to wake me up Saturday morning and tell me to get my lazy rear down to the barn for our ride.  He seemed cheerful, but cautious and nervous at times.”

“Have you guys talked about what happened since then?”

“No, but when something comes up that reminds him, he still gets that scared look.  He’s starting to tease me a bit about it though.  Is that a good sign?”  I was pitiful. The other demons would never let me live this one down if they found out.

Michelle nodded thoughtfully.

“I think you should be a little flirty with him.  Make a comment, then back off and don’t pursue it.  Let him know you’re interested still, but let him make the move.  But give him lots of openings where he can make a move, though.  He needs to be the one to initiate it, so he feels like he’s the man.”

I had no idea what the hell she was saying, but I smiled and nodded and swore to myself I’d never do this again.  Be flirty, but not too flirty.  Give him openings to initiate sex, but not too obvious.  Fuck this.  If I had to do all this crap just to have Wyatt, I might as well fall back on my traditional approach.  The one Dar would advocate.

I ran a few errands and headed back home late afternoon to see Wyatt heading down my driveway.  I pulled alongside and thought about incapacitating him, stuffing him in the Corvette’s tiny trunk and dragging him into my basement.  I didn’t have any decent rope, but I did have a lot of duct tape.

“Hey,” I said to him, restraining my impulses.

He leaned into the car resting his forearms on the window edge.  Seven inches away.  I could lean over and kiss him.  Or grab him.  But I was supposed to let him make the moves per Michelle, the love doctor.

“What are you doing tomorrow morning?” he asked.

“Eating oatmeal.  Reading the paper.  Taking a shower.  Naked.  With a loofa sponge.”

Was that flirty?  Or too flirty?  Shit, I didn’t know how to do this thing.  Wyatt did laugh though, so maybe it was the right thing to say.

“Come over to my place around nine.  I want to teach you how to shoot.”

“With a gun?”  I was a bit confused.  I couldn’t imagine why I’d ever need to shoot a gun.

“Yes, with a gun,” he said.

“Because I clearly need some way to defend myself?”  Did he think I was in need of human technology for protection of my person?  After everything that happened between us?

Wyatt reached in the window and ruffled my hair.  It was the first time that he’d touched me in an affectionate manner since our ‘incident’.

“No, I just thought it would be fun. “

“I didn’t even think you shot real guns.  Just the computer game ones.”  Maybe that was insulting, I though too late.

“How do you think I killed those groundhogs last fall?  The ones you asked me to get rid of?”  He laughed.  “Did you think I stabbed them with a screwdriver, or caused them to spontaneously combust?”

I hadn’t considered how he killed them.  They were there, putting big, horse–tripping holes in my pasture, and then they were gone.  How they got gone never crossed my mind.

“Okay, I’ll be there” I told him.  Didn’t Michelle say I should take an interest in his hobbies?  At least this was more palatable than sitting on a couch, waving some little plastic thing around in front of the TV.

The next morning, I locked Boomer in the barn to be out of the way of any bullets that might loop around the house and whizz onto my property.  Satisfied that he was safe, I proceeded to walk down to Wyatt’s.

Up close, the dilapidated Cape Cod looked like a damned shack.  The paint was peeling, and the window sills and eaves showed signs of significant rot.  One broken window had a plywood board nailed over it from the inside.  Was Wyatt so poor that he couldn’t make even basic repairs to his house?  He never complained about needing money, or doing without, but his house was in shambles.  From the outside, it looked like he hadn’t done a thing in the two years since he’d bought it.  Perhaps his home repairs had started on the inside?  It would take a lot to fix this place up, so maybe he was just doing a little at a time?  Either way, the place made me feel anxious inside, like I should find a way to sneak Wyatt more money, or arrange for a contractor to show up free of charge.  How could I manage this without offending his pride, I wondered?  Then I wondered why I gave a shit about Wyatt’s falling down house or his pride.  That wasn’t like me at all.

It was just as bad in the back yard.  There was a dangerously rickety deck off his kitchen, grey with age and full of splintered, bowed planks. He had an equally rickety card table set up on the ground in front of the deck with a target out in my back field.  There were cigarette burns, and bottle rings on the card table.  An assortment of guns was laid out like a flea market sale.

I’d seen guns in movies before but had limited experience with them up close.  I remembered a huge long gun about two hundred years ago when I had popped over here for some fun.  It was a stupid weapon.  It took forever for the guy to get it ready, and then it was just as likely to explode in his face as fire.  It never seemed to hit its mark either.  I’d pretty much written them off after that.  They looked awesome on TV, but I know the liberty producers take with reality.

Wyatt introduced me to the guns.  No really, introduced me.  Like we were at a cocktail party.  I got to meet Mr. Shotgun.  I learned about smooth–bore barrels, the difference between gauges and calibers.  This particular one was a 12–gauge, which was supposed to be the most common and thus easier to find and purchase ammunition.  It was also a pump action which, according to Wyatt, was more reliable than the semi–automatics, whatever they are.  Evidently, I was going to get up close and personal with Mr. Shotgun (whose first name was Remington) before I got to meet the other weapons at the party this morning.

Wyatt handed me Remington and I just looked at him.  The gun I mean, not Wyatt.  I stuck the butt end under my arm and grabbed the barrel with my left hand, my right hand on the bottom of the gun holding the trigger.

“Here, let me show you,” Wyatt said moving behind me.  “It’s not loaded.”

I think I stopped breathing when Wyatt put his arms around me.  He moved the butt of the shotgun to the hollow in my shoulder, putting his left hand on mine and moving it back to the appropriate position.  We stood there with his arms and hands against mine, the entire front length of his body pressed against my back and rear, and his lips so close to my ear that my hair moved with his breath.  A slow warmth built low in my abdomen and eased down between my thighs.  Maybe we could stay this way all morning.

“Sam?”

Oh, crap.  He’d been giving me some kind of directions and I was supposed to respond.  I had no idea what he’d said.

“Yep.  Okay.”

I hoped that would suffice.  Wyatt gave a low chuckle against my ear.

“Should I go over that again?”

I said no.  If we kept this up I was going to have to take matters into my own hands.  I wished that I’d brought some duct tape.

Wyatt loaded the gun and commented that he was out of bird shot, so we were using slugs.  I gleefully envisioned cramming slimy slugs into a shotgun and blowing them out the barrel.  That would be so cool.  Someone should invent that.  Everyone would want one.

Carefully, I racked the gun and placed my left hand on the forearm and my right on the grip behind the trigger where Wyatt had positioned my hands before.  Pointing it at the target, I pulled the trigger.  Nothing happened.

“Take off the safety,” Wyatt said, pointing to the appropriate part when I looked at him blankly.  “And don’t forget to seat the gun against your shoulder”.

I clicked off the safety and pulled the trigger.  There was a roar, and a slam of pain, and I was on my ass sprawled into the dirt of Wyatt’s back yard.

“Ow, motherfucker!”

“It’s a 12–gauge,” Wyatt said, helping me to my feet.  “And we’re using slug ammo.  You need to get it positioned solidly on your shoulder, with your cheek against it to site it better.  You’re strong, there’s no reason you can’t shoot this gun”.

I dusted my rump off and Wyatt assisted in cleaning me off, even licking a finger and wiping a smudge from my forehead.

“Let me see,” he said pulling aside my tank top and bra strap to look at my shoulder.

“Ouch.  You’ll have a bruise.”

I was feeling anything but pain as he ran a finger across my collarbone.

“Are you okay to shoot it again?  Do you want to fix your shoulder first?”

“I’m fine.  It’s not bad.”

Mr. Remington Shotgun may have won this round, but I’d be damned if I let him get the best of me.

“Did I hit anything?” I asked Wyatt.

“No, and if we’re lucky you missed the neighbor’s cows.”

I really didn’t give a shit about the neighbor’s cows, but I had Wyatt show me again how to position the shotgun properly.  This time, I tried hard to concentrate on what he was saying and less about his body pressed to mine.  I wasn’t entirely successful.

Five rounds later I was managing not to get knocked on my ass, but still didn’t seem to be shooting anywhere near the target.  My shoulder was killing me, but there was no way I was going to give in.  Wyatt finally threw in the towel for me and suggested we bypass the rifle and move on to the pistols instead.

There were three pistols at the table.   Wyatt picked up the shiny one first and showed it to me.

“This is a 9mm, which refers to the ammo.  It’s a Beretta.  This is pretty much your standard, common–use pistol.  It holds fifteen rounds in the clip, so you can get a good number of shots off before needing to put in a new clip.”

Wyatt showed me how to load the clip and the bullets inside it.  Next up was what appeared to be a gun for a toddler.  Wyatt called it a “pocket gun” and said it was a Colt Magnum Carry which was a six–shot revolver.  It was evidently an ideal backup weapon that you could strap to your calf or carry in a purse and use if something happened to your larger pistol.  I still liked the idea of preschoolers packing, but I could see this had its uses for adults too.

“I have another revolver, too.  My father’s Colt Peacemaker.  It was used in the army back in the late 1800’s and is what you would have expected to see gunslingers carry in the Wild West.  It was mainly a cavalry gun, but it was very popular outside the military at the time.  It’s a reliable gun, and even though it is single action, you can do that move you see in the westerns where the sheriff pulls the hammer back with his palm and lets it go to fire the gun rapidly without using the trigger.  That’s called fanning.  My father taught me to shoot with that gun.”

I quickly calculated human life expectancies.

“But your Dad wouldn’t have been alive when that gun was made and these new guns are so superior.  Why would he have bought such a relic and used it?”

Wyatt smiled.

“History is important to us, to me, and to humans in general.  It links us to our ancestors and makes us see the totality of our achievements instead of just what we can accomplish in our short lifetimes.”

He picked up the Beretta and looked at it fondly.

“We wouldn’t have these firearms, or even the amazing weaponry in our military, without exploding cannons in the sixteenth century and generations of people dedicated to improving them.  Keeping historic items around, it helps connect us with our past and allows us to feel like we can individually contribute to a chain of knowledge and advancement that builds our future.”

I can’t really describe how I felt hearing him say this.  Humans mentally were like amoebas compared to us.  The simplest things took them forever to think out and put together.    I knew humans learned from each other, but this was the first time I realized the sum total of their advancements.  They were mental midgets individually, but collectively and over time their intelligence and their accomplishments grew exponentially complex.  Who knew what they’d be in a few thousand more years.

“I’ve grossly underestimated you,” I said.  I meant the human race as a whole, but I think Wyatt took this as a personal compliment because he beamed at me.  I tucked this away to contemplate it later, and looked at the last pistol on the table.  It was a huge ugly hunk of metal.  I think I was in love.

“What this one?”

“This,” Wyatt announced as if he were presenting me to the queen, “is a Desert Eagle .50–caliber.  It has a gas operating repeating system with rotating pistol locks.”

Wyatt went on to describe the firing mechanism that produced enormous pressure in the barrel, and some other stuff about backward slide movement and recoil springs.  I picked it up and the sucker was heavy.  About seventy two ounces heavy.  It was blocky, ugly, big, and held only seven rounds, but I fell in love just as Wyatt clearly had.  It was such unbelievable overkill.  I did love overkill.

I picked up one of the bullets and let my energy explore it.  Brass casing with bullet inside, gunpowder, and a chemical mixture of lead, sulfide, and barium nitrate at the back end.  I could envision the process of ignition in the primer, subsequent ignition of the powder, and combustive pressure ejection of the bullet.  Brass is soft, so the powder combustion would push the cartridge case against the inside walls of the barrel, sealing the sides and allowing maximum pressure to propel the bullet with the expanding gas.  Simplistic and still inefficient since, by my quick calculations, only about twenty six percent of the energy created by the combustion would propel the bullet.  The rest would be wasted in heat or unused energy.  Clever, though.

I got to shoot the Beretta.  Wyatt had me shoot it two handed with the butt of the gun resting in my left palm.  One handed was supposedly ideal since you could turn your body and present a smaller target to your opponent, but using both hands stabilized the gun, especially for inexperienced shooters, and allowed for greater accuracy.  I could have had four arms like the goddess Kali and I still wouldn’t have hit the target.  Five rounds with the shotgun and fifteen (a whole clip) with the pistol and the target stood there pristine and mocking me.  I was tempted to just reach out and blow it to bits.  That would have not only been accurate, but very efficient in energy usage.  I decided that indulging in my urge to show off might send the tentative and rather promising advances in our relationship back a few paces.

Wyatt wasn’t so humble.  He slapped a new clip in the pistol and, with one hand, pounded out five shots in rapid succession.  He didn’t even look like he was aiming.  In fact, he was holding the gun at some strange crooked angle which was in direct contradiction to his instructions earlier.  We walked over to look at the target which had a nice cluster of holes where the drawing indicated a head should be.

“I think you killed him,” I said, admiring the grouping.  I wanted so badly to add that I could easily do this without a gun, while doing Sudoku and playing piano at the same time, but I figured that he knew that and I didn’t want to rub it in.

I helped him put the guns back in his safe where I saw at several others he hadn’t trotted out for our session.   The card table and target went under the dilapidated deck.

“Come have lunch with me,” Wyatt said putting a hand on my shoulder and sliding it down my arm to squeeze my hand.

I’d never been in Wyatt’s house beside my journey to the gun safe just a few moments ago.  It seemed strange that we’d known each other these two years, and he was so free with my place, yet I’d never been in his home.  I hoped this offer of lunch indicated some trust on his part.

The house inside was just as bad as it was on the outside.  Furnishings were sparsely scattered around on the chipped linoleum and worn carpets.   Wood paneling covered most of the walls, except for a strange wallpapered photograph mural in what must have been the dining room depicting a green forest scene.   The furniture all looked to be hand–me–downs or thrift store, and the appliances didn’t match.  Wyatt clearly spent every dime of his earnings on his computer equipment and TV which took up the entire living room in a humming sprawling mess of boxes and cables.  I reached into the lemon yellow refrigerator to get the iced tea and the door nearly fell off in my hands.

“Shit, Wyatt.  Your damned fridge door is falling off its hinges.  I know what I’m getting you for Christmas.”

Wyatt shrugged unconcerned and told me I’d need to lift it a bit when closing it to make sure it sealed tight.  The shape of his home didn’t seem to embarrass him at all.  In fact, he seemed oblivious to its dilapidated condition.

We made Panini’s for lunch.  Wyatt didn’t have a Panini press, so we used an old waffle iron instead.  What he lacked in modern, functioning appliances, Wyatt made up for in the contents of his fridge.  I expected a case of beer and cold Ramen noodles, but he had almost as many gourmet foods on his broken shelves as I did.  We fixed turkey Panini’s with gruyere, artichoke, and roasted red pepper.  They were amazing.  I’d not cooked before coming to this realm, but luckily many of those I Owned did know how to cook and I could call on their memories.  Otherwise, I would have been at the mercy of take–out for forty years.  Still, this was really good and beyond what I usually managed on my own.  I told Wyatt he should come over every day and cook me dinner on my decent stove.  He thought I was joking.

I hated to leave, but I had some zoning documents I needed to review this afternoon.  The city was trying to extend the historical district to encompass a few blocks where I had five apartments.  Having to comply with their regulations would seriously cut into my profits and just piss me off in general.  I was covering the bribery and threatening bases, but it still was good to explore their logic and reasons in case I needed to rebut this in a more civilized manner.  These documents would be boring as hell, but I needed to buckle down and plow through them.

Wyatt walked me to the door and as I turned to say good bye he planted a kiss on me.   It wasn’t passionate.  It was gentle and tentative.  I pushed back my raging hormones, kept my hands to my sides, and my tongue in my mouth.

“Wow, I didn’t die,” Wyatt said in amazement.

“And you didn’t shoot me,” I added.

Wyatt laughed.

“Are we okay?” I asked.

“Sam, you’re my best friend,” Wyatt said softly.  “I can’t just throw that away.”

He kissed me again this time with greater intensity.  I kept my hands fisted and firmly locked to my sides and kept myself in check.  It wasn’t easy as he held himself under no such restrictions and brought his hands up to cup my face, his fingers in my hair.  I really wanted to press myself against him, but held back, even as he ran his tongue over my bottom lip.  He stepped back and looked at me appraisingly.

“I’ll call you later tonight,” he said.

“Okay,” I told him breathlessly and headed down the lane toward my house.   Hmmm.  A lot to think about and absolutely no desire to peruse zoning documents and historic district guidelines.

I let Boomer out of the barn and flicked on the radio and outdoor speakers by the pool.  Maybe the documents would be more palatable if I read them outside.  Pop music blared from the speakers, pumping out a Rihanna song.  Walking over to the water I slipped off a sandal and dipped in a foot.  What the hell.  Work could wait.  I pulled off my clothes, throwing them haphazardly around the patio and dived naked into the pool, reveling in the feel of the cool water against my skin.  I did laps, and then sprawled on the inflatable lounge for a while.  Fuck zoning, this was too nice a day to read that crap.  I rolled off the lounge and did more laps.

As I came up for a breath of air, I saw a pair of high heels walking across the patio.  They stopped a few feet from the edge and I swam to them.  Pushing the hair from my eyes, I looked up and saw an immaculate Candy Starr before me.  Her blond poof of hair was pulled tightly back, and she daringly wore white capris and a crisp tan and white button down shirt.  I would have had dirt or coffee spilled on that outfit within seconds of putting it on.  I wondered if she had a dirt repelling force field surrounding her pants. Or maybe some other kind of repelling force field, I thought humorously.

I knew I didn’t have an appointment with her, and it was pretty ballsy to come out to my home uninvited to discuss business deals.  I stared at her silently, not giving her the courtesy of a greeting.

“I have a rather unfortunate matter that I need to discuss with you,” she said.

Chapter Eight

Okay, now I was curious.  I couldn’t imagine the canal row houses being an “unfortunate matter”.  Candy was at the bar when I saw the angel.  I was hoping that wasn’t the “unfortunate matter” she was referring to.

I swung myself up and over the side of the pool, noticing Candy’s uneasy expression when she realized I was swimming in the buff.  I decided to expand on this by pulling myself upright to stand square in front of her, and wringing out my hair onto the patio.  I didn’t know whether she was more alarmed at the prospect of getting pool water on her gleaming white capris or the full frontal view.

“What’s up?” I asked as she looked around unsuccessfully for a towel to hand me.

“I am a representative for Bobby Winegarten” she said, giving up her search and deciding to only look at me from the neck up.

She said this like I should know who the hell Bobby Winegarten was.  He can’t have been important or I would have remembered his name.  Although I was really bad at names in general.

“Is he one of the county commissioners?”  I guessed.  “The one who dated the previous mayor?”

“No,” she said watching me carefully with those shrewd brown eyes of hers.  “Bobby Winegarten was found dead in his house on Rosecrest Lane off Old Annapolis Road last night.  I’m here because he was part of my pack.  As head of his pack, I represent him.”

Oh fuck.  The electrocuted unwashed crazy guy.  It wasn’t on the news last night or this morning though.  And what was a pack?  Why was Candy even here?  Did real estate agents moonlight as crime scene investigators?  Was she undercover FBI with license to deviate from the bland clothing?  She’d have to be better than Spencer Reid to trace this back to me, especially in such a short time.

“I don’t know him,” I said casually.  “Did he leave me money or something?”

Candy sighed.

“No.  You killed him and I’m here to claim weregeld as the head of his pack.”

I understood weregeld.  We don’t have family so to speak, but we do maintain households and those in our households are our property.  If one is murdered, accident or not, it’s not a big deal.  The killer does need to pay a price to the owner, though.  If not, it calls their status into question and they could be knocked down in the hierarchy, or even killed themselves.  If Candy was the head of this Bobby’s household, whatever she called it, then I did indeed owe restitution.  I’d gladly pay it, but only if she could prove I did it.  Another demon would have been able to read my energy signature and pin this on me, but I doubted this human had a video tape of me doing the deed or something equally incriminating.  A murder with no evidence was no murder at all.

“If this man was murdered why aren’t the police investigating it?” I asked.

“Do you really want the police investigating this?”

I shrugged and smiled.  I’m not afraid of the human law enforcement officers.

“Well we don’t like to involve others in our matters.  Our kind prefers to handle this on our own.  I went to check on Bobby after he missed an appointment yesterday.  I found his house in disarray; clear evidence of a fight and a struggle.  Bobby was dead apparently from some kind of high voltage strike to the chest.”

I walked over to a lounge chair and sprawled into it making sure I flashed Candy all the good parts.  She winced and darted her eyes back to my face.  She didn’t want to involve the police, and her rambling about her “pack” sounded a little off the deep end.  I was beginning to figure she was in the Klan or with some subversive terrorist group.  I could take her.  And no one would find the body.  I shot a quick glance at Boomer, who casually got up and stretched before wandering off to guard against intruders.

“What makes you think I killed your friend?” I asked.  “Is there a super high–powered defibrillator in my car with my prints all over it?”

Candy looked at me carefully as if she understood the gravity of her situation.

“Bobby came to me last week as his pack leader and advised me that a hell hound was spying on him.  To be honest, Bobby had his struggles with reality and was always concerned that someone was trying to follow him or even kill him.  I told him to continue to report on this hell hound, but not to engage it in a fight.  I didn’t want him tearing up the neighbor’s Rotti and have to deal with covering that up.

“Late Friday night, Bobby called me and told me that the hell hound had broken into his house and he had severely injured it trying to defend himself.  He was terrified that the demon who owned the hound would retaliate.  I had a strong suspicion what you were after we met in the Wine Room, so I didn’t want to just dismiss his claims.  I met with him Saturday morning, but couldn’t get a good scent on this hell hound Bobby was talking about.  I could clearly smell the neighbor dog, though.  Since Bobby was uninjured and there were no unusual smells I figured he was having one of his psychotic episodes.  I had him take his pills and told him I’d check back with him on Tuesday.  When I didn’t hear from him before then, I thought he’d regained some sense of reality.

“I went over there this morning and found him dead.  He apparently died late Saturday night.  There were very clear scents in the house.  I recognized your scent from the bar, and this time I did pick up the scent of your hound on the door sill.”

“And what do my dog and I smell like,” I said.  This woman was clearly off her rocker.  She had nothing on me, and I was looking forward to killing her.

“Your dog smells like hot chocolate and wet dog.”

Yum.  Well, except for the wet dog.

“You smell like dark burnt chocolate — that’s very strong.  You also smell like the human form you have now, and behind all that I can smell wisps of hundreds of humans and animals.  I can’t differentiate the humans and animals.  You have the most complex smell I’ve ever known, and the most distinctive.”

“It’s nice that your nose is so acute,” I said in a bored tone.  “You’re quite the human bloodhound.”  It was time to wrap this up because I suddenly wanted some pudding.  The kind you cook on the stove so I could eat it warm right out of the pot.

Candy looked at me as if deciding what to do.  Slowly she began unbuttoning her shirt and slipping off her heels.  I watched her disrobe with interest.  She clearly wasn’t aflame with desire.  I could only assume that maybe she felt she would negotiate restitution better if we were both on an equal, naked playing field.

Candy obviously worked out.  Hard.  Her body rippled with lean muscles, and her breasts were small and natural with a slight gentle droop that comes from age and childbirth.  Her belly showed confirmation of childbirth too.  Low down on the six pack abs she had soft folds of skin and a cesarean section scar pale above her light brown curls of pubic hair.

She carefully folded and placed her clothes on a dry lounge chair.  Facing me, her muscles began rolling under her skin like a thousand tennis balls, and her bones twisted and turned.  I shot up out of my chair and stared in horror.

“Fuck!  Fuck!  Oh shit!  Fuck!” I shouted as her body twisted and turned beyond the capabilities of the human flesh she wore.

Now to put this into perspective, I don’t gross out easily.  I think Texas Chainsaw Massacre is a comedy.  Pain and suffering doesn’t bother me, but this was brutal.  Watching her spend ten minutes contorting her body, changing small sections at a time as she converted was agonizing.  I can’t imagine how painful this must be, and I wondered how she didn’t pass out.  Finally she was done and a huge wolf stood before me panting with eyes a little glazed from the difficulty of the transition.  She was grey, with black tips on the edges of her coarse fur.  The same shrewd brown eyes looked back at me as I admired her.

It was a good conversion.  Excellent control and command over the details of the body.  Solid, well formed.  A bit bigger in the fore body than I would have done, but powerful and imposing none the less.   The wolf took a deep breath and began to transform back with the same agonizing slowness.  No, it actually took longer and it looked like some portions got stuck and had to be forced into the correct form.  I winced quite a few times.  This would clearly win a torture contest back home.  I made a mental note.

Candy stood naked before me and slowly sat down on the chaise trying not to look weakened.  She didn’t need to prove herself any further to me; I was impressed all to hell.

“Holy shit on a stick!” I shouted at her.  “Why the fuck did you take so long to do that?  You didn’t have to make it last that long to impress me.  You are one tough bitch, girlfriend.”

Candy looked at me puzzled.

“You’re not surprised that I’m a werewolf?  Like something out of a horror movie?  I doubt you’ve ever seen one of us before, since we need to keep it hidden to be in compliance with our existence contract.”

“Hell, yeah I’m surprised you’re a werewolf.  I thought that dead guy had some mutated form of Hypertrichosis, but I didn’t realize he could convert.  Can you only convert to the two forms?  And why did you take so long to change form?  Damn that must have hurt like a motherfucker!”

Candy stood up a bit wobbly and put on her clothes.

“We are only able to assume the two forms.  I don’t think it’s the same kind of form change that you can do.  It can take anywhere from ten to twenty minutes to do a full change.  It’s also very difficult to change back so quickly.”

When I convert, I change everything simultaneously.  It takes less than a second.  Basically, I hold my core personal energy, my spirit, along with any raw energy I have stored, explode out all the other molecules and structures, and then collapse them back in the form and order that I need.  There are times when I do a slow conversion or a modification.  Like when I want to scare the piss out of someone by having horns on my head.  It’s much more effective to “grow” them by extending them out my skull slowly.  Flash, bang, instant horns isn’t as scary.  It hurts to form them slowly like that, but it’s manageable.  Slowly converting my entire form over up to twenty minutes was something I’ve never wanted to do.

“It must suck when you’re attacked and it takes ten minutes to change your form.” I commiserated.

“If the wolf form is optimal, we try to prepare beforehand.  With today’s weapons technology, though, we mainly use our wolf form only for the joy of hunting and socializing with our pack.  We’re strong and we have some special skills in both of our forms.  If we’re really in a tight spot we can change and hold a partial form for a brief time to get out of danger.”

That explained the claws and elongated jaw on the dead guy.  I sat back down on the lounge.  Candy had earned my respect.  I’d admit guilt if a demon detected my energy signature at a crime, and as a werewolf, Candy’s nose was in the same category.  I was ready to pay my weregeld.  Just not too much.

“So, how much was the life of this psychotic troublemaker worth to your pack?” I asked.

Candy began to speak, then paused gesturing at me.

“Can you please put on some clothes?  Or at least a towel.”

I met her gaze then slowly reached up and pinched my nipples.  Candy turned bright red and looked up at the sky shaking her head.

“Fine.  It’s not money I am requesting, but a service.”

This was so fun, flustering her like this.  I was tempted to lean over and lick one of my nipples, but she did have a legitimate petition here and I needed to be serious.

“I can’t accept or decline until I know what sort of service you require.”

I’d expected a dollar figure, or a request to pay an inflated price for the row houses.  Judging from compensatory damage awards in lawsuits, humans put a dollar value on everything.  This service request was unusual and more in the nature of what a demon would have asked.

“What do you know about angels?” she asked keeping her eyes firmly above my neck.

I went cold.  What did she know about angels?  Humans thought of them as a vague manifestation of their deity.  They bought hideous, kitschy decorative figurines depicting pious winged figures, supposedly what the angels looked like.  I had no idea why the humans associated those benevolent statues with the creatures I’d heard about back home.

“Not much.  Few demons still around were alive during the wars.  Since the separation treaty took effect, no demon has ever survived an encounter with one.  We usually pop over here for some short time fun, then get the hell out of Dodge before they kill us.  They can sense us when we convert, although no one is really sure how much energy usage or how close they need to be for us to show up on their radar.  Once they lock in on our energy signature, it’s difficult to come back.  Pretty much game over if one is on your trail.”

Back home, we didn’t talk much about the angels or the wars.  I know we used to live together in Aaru, what the humans called heaven.  We’d always had strong philosophical differences though.  Angels are all about self control.  They hold to their spiritual form and only become corporeal when absolutely necessary.  When they are in physical form, they endure it by holding themselves apart from the form and denying themselves the experience of the flesh as much as possible.  They believe that physical manifestation sullies their purity and dims their capacity for enlightenment.  We on the other hand feel that experiencing everything we can in the physical realm, diving deep within the sensations of the flesh, is a necessity of life.  How can one possibly be whole without feeling, touching, knowing everything one can?

I knew that these differences set the stage for the war and eventual separation.  I suspected there was more to the war than philosophy, but either no one remembered or no one spoke of it.  It’s not like we could just walk up to an angel and discuss it.  The treaty completely separated our kind.  And if we met one over here, we were dead.  Not much time for an enlightening conversation.

Candy waited to make sure I was done, and then dusted off a lounge chair, sitting down and putting her elbows on her knees as she leaned forward toward me.

“By our count, there are about fifty angels in this realm at any given time.  I don’t know what a lot of the angels do, but there are groups that are enforcers.  There’s one in charge of Werewolves, and one is a liaison to the Vampires.”

Vampires.  I hadn’t seen one of those in six hundred years and I’d assumed they’d died out.  Candy continued.

“These enforcers catalog everyone in their group.  They ensure everyone acts within the parameters of the existence contract and kill anyone who violates the contract.  Basically, werewolves all exist at the whim of the angels.   This isn’t a paternal kind of relationship.”

“Wow, sucks to be you,” I told her cheerfully.  I couldn’t imagine having an angel breathing down my neck every second, waiting for one to pop out of nowhere and lop your head off because you forgot to put the cap on the toothpaste or something.

She ignored my comment.  “The angel in charge of enforcing the werewolves is named Althean.  A few years ago, he started killing werewolves, and we knew the kills weren’t justified under the contract.  Lately, he’s escalated.”

“So why is he killing you off?  Why now?” I asked suspiciously.  “If he’s just gone off the deep end, can’t you report him up the chain of command?  He’s got to have a boss.  They all have bosses.”

Candy looked uncomfortable.

“Some of the angels hold the opinion that we’re Nephilim.  I’m not sure how far up this goes.  It could be that Althean’s boss approves of his actions.”

“What’s Nephilim?” I asked.  It sounded like a type of cookie.

“The offspring of fallen angels and humans.  Back when humans were just starting to evolve, a group of angels began having sexual relations with them.  They had supposedly spawned a whole race of hybrid beings before the rest of the angels found out and came down on them with holy fury.  There were no werewolves prior to this event, so many angels figure that we were the product of this joining: the Nephilim.”

No way.  She had to be making this one up.  Angels hated being in the flesh.  They would never have lowered themselves to reproduce with humans.

“Others think we were just a random event of evolution,” she continued.  “If we’re Nephilim, then we’re condemned to extermination as a reminder of how even angels can go wrong.  If we’re a product of evolution, then we fall under the protections and privileges that the human race holds.”

Angels took forever to decide these kinds of things.  It was likely this guy was just some vigilante, but he could have supporters who agreed with him, who were likely to turn a blind eye to his actions.

“Wait,” I interjected.  “Is this Althean the angel we saw in the bar?”

Maybe the angel in the bar was looking for Candy and not me.  That would make my life so much better.

“No, based on my information, I suspect that the angel in the bar is one named Gregory.”

I let that sink in. I knew where this was going.

“So who is this Gregory angel?” I asked with a growing sense of doom.  Cue the scary music.

“He’s over all the enforcers and takes on anything serious that’s beyond the lesser angels.”  She looked at me sympathetically, “He’s the angel who takes out the demons.  If the others sense a demon presence they think they can’t kill, they defer to Gregory to handle it.  Gregory has killed pretty much every demon that has been killed in the last eight thousand years.  From what I’ve been told, he has a sword he uses to kill demons.  The sword sucks the power from them and reduces them to a pile of sand.”

I felt rather sick.

“What does any of this have to do with the service you are requesting?” Hopefully if we changed the subject I wouldn’t be dwelling on the ever increasing likelihood of my being turned into a pile of sand.

“I want you to kill Althean. “

I stared at her.  This was not within a mile of what I’d expected.  What an insane request.

“You’re fucking kidding me.  My eliminating an angel, which no one has done since the war, somehow equates to the life of a crazy vagrant?”

“It’s genocide.  He’s on a rampage to kill off our species.  If he’s not stopped, we’ll all die.”

“And that matters to me why?”  Did I look like the Lone Ranger or some kind of super hero?  Demon Zorro to the rescue?

Candy switched tactics.

“You’ve got Gregory on your trail right now.  He was there in the bar for you.  You know this.  You’re going to need to go home real soon.  Imagine going home with this feather in your cap.  What would this do to your position in the hierarchy?  There’s a reason the angels end up deferring to Gregory when it comes to demons.  None of them can handle more than the weakest among you.  You could take Althean out and go home a legend.”

Now, that was tempting.  It was also absolutely insane to even dream that I’d be strong enough to take out an angel.  Plus, I was hoping I could lay low and Gregory would go hunt down some other demon.  A huge battle with another angel wasn’t exactly laying low.

“We’d be blameless, and there wouldn’t be any retaliation on us.  That’s important because we have to live here.  You can go back and forth.  You can take the blame and the fame.  And the other angels would believe it was you who took out Althean and not us because they truly fear you.  That’s why you were banished.”

We weren’t really banished.  It was a stalemate with a division of realms.  Kind of like North Korea and South Korea.

“You’ll just get another angel assigned to you,” I told her.  “Maybe a worse one.  If this is their grand plan to exterminate your species, this will only delay that not prevent it.”

Candy looked pained.

“I hope that the other angels don’t care as long as we follow the rules.  If this is a segment of a larger campaign though, then killing Althean will buy us time.  Give some of us a chance to try and go underground or prepare to take as many of them out as we can until we’re dead.  I’m hoping the former.”

I snorted.  This whole thing was insane.

“What makes you think I could possibly take out an angel?”

Candy smiled grimly.  “You’ve got the talent and power to do this.”  She looked at me speculatively with those shrewd eyes.  “You’re smart.  Most demons could never be here this long posing as a human and remain undetected.  Clever and enterprising.  I think you’ve got great power, but you may be rusty since you haven’t used it in so long.”

She was good.  Flattery to butter me up, then subtle insults to manipulate me into doing what she wanted.  I was full of admiration.  And I was NOT rusty.

“Even if I could, that Gregory guy is nearby.  He would be on me like flies on shit.  He’d probably kill me before I could finish the job.  No deal.  Think of something else for weregeld.  Maybe I buy those canal properties at fair market value?”  Michelle would kill me for paying so much for those things.  Ugh.

Candy took a breath and looked at me cautiously.

“I’ve let every pack leader in North America know about you.  Your appearance, your financials, your smell signature, everything.  It just takes one call and the angels will have you.  They’ll kill you, disburse your assets, eliminate the humans you’ve marked as yours.”

I winced.  I normally don’t care about humans, but Wyatt. . .

“If you leave, we’ll let the angels know about you and wipe clean everything you’ve put together,” she continued.  “You’ll never be able to return, either.  They’ll be on the lookout for you, and we will too.  Doesn’t matter what form you take, we can smell you and turn you in.”

Fucking bitch.  I might only be an imp, but I’m still a demon.  I envisioned Candy in my basement with duct tape, her skin hanging in strips from an oozing body.  Of course, I’m sure every werewolf in the nation knew exactly where she was.  One werewolf I could take, more than five, probably not.

“He was there,” she added.  “At Bobby’s house.  The angel.  Not Althean, Gregory.  He’s closing in on you.  He sensed your energy usage, and he’s coming for you.  Any day now, he’ll be sniffing around your house.   You’ll come home and find him standing over your dead dog, waiting for you.”

I felt my heart pound.  I’d used a small amount of energy at the tenant’s house, plus what I’d done to heal Boomer, and the electricity at the werewolf house.  On their own, they might not have brought attention, but all together and with an angel close by. . .  I was so fucked.

Either way, I was dead.  One, I go after Althean and go out in a blaze of glory.  The other, I run and hide under rocks until this bastard, Gregory, finally hunts me down.  I was so tired of being just an imp, a lowly cockroach.

Candy leaned forward, her face sympathetic and friendly.

“We can cover for you.  Give you time to get away.  You can probably still remain here, too, if you keep your energy usage low.  We’ll offer you friendship with the werewolves. We’ll always cover for you and run interference between you and the angels.   Think.  You’ll have the status of taking out an angel, you’ll satisfy the weregeld, and you’ll have valuable allies that will be duty–bound to have your back.”

I thought furiously about how this might work.  I could make the kill with as little energy usage as possible.  If the werewolves stalled any other angels, and I held my energy tightly to myself, I’d probably have a few hours before they tracked me down even in the worst case scenario.  That would give me time to get to a gate and get out.

“You need to vow to protect Wyatt, too,” I told her.  “I’m under no illusions that I’d be able to stay after this.   I don’t want the angels taking their fury out on him.  I need to know that he’ll be safe.”

“Who is Wyatt?” Candy asked perplexed.

“My neighbor,” I said, not sure what to call him.  “You werewolves, each and every one of you, vow to protect him with your life, or it’s no deal.”

Candy didn’t hesitate.  “Deal.”

“If I do this, you and others need to be actively involved.  You’re not just going to point me at him and shoot like I’m a cruise missile.  I know you want to stay off the radar on this thing, but I need your knowledge and familiarity with this guy.  We would need to work together to review intelligence and plan an attack.  If I’m the muscle here, I’d need you to be the strategist and set up the actual event.”

Candy nodded in agreement and a look of relief began to dawn on her face.

“Let’s meet next week sometime for a planning session.  Now, if you don’t mind, I have some zoning documents I need to review before this evening.”

“Tonight.   We need to meet tonight.  I’m afraid we’ll miss an opportunity if we wait any longer to review details and strategize.”

That seemed pretty fast to pull all this together.  In fact, the whole thing seemed a bit fast and meticulously well planned.  Like a carefully thought out game of chess.  I began to suspect Candy had orchestrated this whole thing, vagrant guy and my dog and all.

I nodded in agreement.  “Okay, let’s meet at The Eastside Tavern tonight then.   It’s off Route 26, just a few miles east of here.   Bring everything you have and we’ll see what we come up with.”

Candy indicated that she would be there tonight and left promptly.

I put my head in my hands.  How the hell am I going to kill an angel?  I’m assuming demons could.  The wars had gone on for thousands of years and we’d managed to hold our own, so we must be able to take them out.  Still, they’d killed every single one of us they’d encountered since the treaty.  Not exactly good odds on my part.  Then there was the pesky problem of getting away even if I’d managed to kill the damned thing and survive.

And Wyatt.  Just when things were starting to get better between us, this had to happen.  I’d never see him again.  Even if I managed to sneak back over, it could be a hundred years or more.  He’d be dead of natural causes if an angel didn’t bring vengeance down on his head for knowingly associating with me before.  I needed to let him know about this, show him where everything was for when I left and what to do if the angels came after him.  He was just starting to come to terms with my being a demon, and now I needed to tell him about angels and werewolves.  Great.

“Sam, your stupid dog just bit me.  Do you think he’s rabid?  He did get bit by that bear or something.  Please tell me you remembered to get him his shots this year.”

I lifted my head and saw Wyatt coming around the corner of the house holding his hand.  Boomer was trailing behind him looking smug.  I jumped up and went to look at his hand.

“Crap, I’m so sorry.  I had someone here for a business meeting and I asked Boomer to guard against intruders.  He should have known that didn’t mean you.”

Actually, I wouldn’t have liked Wyatt to hear the conversation between Candy and me, but I wasn’t going to tell him that.  I looked at his hand.  Boomer hadn’t even broken the skin.  Even so, I looked over at the dog and sent a disciplinary burst of energy at him.  It was the kind of thing we did to naughty children or household members who got out of line.  Boomer yipped and looked at me with big hurt hound eyes.

“Bad dog.  No biting Wyatt.” I told him.

I looked up at Wyatt and realized that while I had been occupied with his wound and Boomer’s discipline he was staring at me with raised eyebrows.

Oh, damn.  I was naked.

“I was swimming in the pool and Candy just came by.” I trailed off unsure what to say.  “I didn’t put on any clothes because she’s a repressed tight ass and it was funny to freak her out.  She doesn’t swing that way.”

His eyes roved over me with interest and my breath caught.  I was still holding his hand.  And I was naked.

“I totally forgot why I came over,” he said in a rather distracted tone.

I sighed with regret.  I was meeting Candy tonight and had to prepare.  No time for sweaty heart–pounding sex right now.  Hopefully later.

“I gotta meet Candy later tonight about a business deal,” I told him, pulling away and throwing on my clothing.  “Come with me.  There’s something important I need to show you.”

We walked through the huge glass doors and past the kitchen into the living room.  I grabbed his hand and pressed it against a photo of an old farmhouse sending a jolt of energy through the pair of us.  I thought he would yelp, or at least flinch, but he just looked at me puzzled.

“This is my safe.  I’ve just keyed it to you so you can open it.  Go ahead and put your hand on the picture so I’m sure it works smoothly.”

Wyatt placed his palm on the picture and it dissolved into a blur before an open space appeared in the wall.

“If I’m missing more than two weeks, check the safe.  I’ll have instructions for you and power of attorneys along with directions on what to do with my assets.  I’ll also have a list of all my aliases and off shore accounts so you can safeguard them.  I’ll indicate some way in which I’ll contact you.”

“And why would you be missing more than two weeks?”  Wyatt asked.

“I’ll get to that in just a minute,” I replied.

I showed him how to close the safe and make the picture reappear then led him over to a large mirror surrounded by cabochons.  It looked very shabby chic.

“This is a communicator.  It’s sort of like Skype with an answering machine.  Each of the cabochons represents someone I know, or a member of my household.  The blue one here is a kind of ‘other’ indicator.  The white one here is me.  If you need to open the safe, take the mirror to your house.  I’ll light up the white one and try and contact you if I manage to jump a gate into home.  All you need to do is touch the cabochon and it will work.  If you touch the white one, it will try and contact me at home.  Don’t ever touch any of the other cabochons, even if they light up.”

“The red one is glowing” Wyatt pointed at it.

I touched it to ignore.

“That’s Dar, my foster brother.  He’s a pain in the ass and he calls me all the time.  I never call him back.”

“Why are you showing me this?  What’s wrong, Sam?” he asked.  He was starting to get angry.

“I’m trusting you to take care of things, to cover for me and make it so I can come back if the shit hits the fan and I need to run for it.”

“Sam, what are you into?  This is not just some real estate deal with Candy is it?  Are you in trouble?  Involved with the mafia or a gang?  If you trust me enough to ask me to do this for you, then you need to trust me enough to let me know what you’re involved in and what you’re up against.”

I planned on telling him everything.  He needed to know everything so he could be safe.

“There are angels here.  They are enemies of my kind.  They kill us on sight and have no mercy when it comes to demons.  I’ve been lying low for forty years, now, living as much as a human as I could to avoid detection, but that may have come to an end.”  I paused, wondering how much background he needed to know.

“Look, I kill zombies for a living, if you tell me an angel is after you, I’ll believe you.”

Wyatt seemed sincere, and concerned.  I didn’t realize killing zombies in a video game constituted making a living, but I could see that he was willing to suspend disbelief in this instance.

“Over two and a half million years ago, my people were in a very long war with the angels.  I don’t know what life was like before the wars, but there seem to have always been differences between us and fighting between our races.   In the end, there was a stalemate and we divided the realms between us.  We demons live in Hel.  The angels have the homeland, Aaru, and they also rule this world.”

“Is Aaru like heaven?” Wyatt asked.

“I don’t know,” I told him.  “The treaty forbids us from crossing into each other’s territory.  We take great joy in sneaking here to give the angels the finger before dashing back home, but no angels have ever tried to cross over to our world.  We have no way to get into Aaru, otherwise we’d be sneaking over and playing ring and run there too.  Anyway, if they catch us here, we’re dead.  No one has ever survived a fight with an angel.  When it gets too hot, we get out of the kitchen.  We cut and run.  It’s about to get really hot in my kitchen.  I may have to leave, and I may not be able to return.”

Wyatt looked grim.

“Does this have something to do with your meeting with Candy?”

I took a deep breath.  He wasn’t going to like this one bit.

“Candy is a werewolf and they are being exterminated by the angels.  She has enlisted my help to kill one.”

Wyatt looked up at the ceiling.  I think he was beseeching his god for something.

“You just said no one has ever survived a fight with an angel.  So isn’t this rather suicidal?”

“I’m special,” I replied.

“Special, like maybe stupid?  Or reckless beyond all belief?  Or with a death wish?”  Wyatt was beginning to sound angry.  He was right on a few of those points though.

“I don’t have much choice, Wyatt.  I killed one of them and now I owe the werewolves a service.”

“This isn’t service, this is suicide,” he interrupted.  “Tell them no.”

“I’ve been exposed.  They know who and what I am and have threatened to bring the angels to my door.  I can’t hide from them, they can identify me no matter what form I take.  I’ll never be able to return.   This way at least I’ll have a chance of staying, or coming back.”

Wyatt shook his head, unconvinced.  “No.  Tell them no.”

“If I do this, they’ll cover for me, they’ll run interference with the angels, they’ll make it so I actually have a chance to stay here.  Plus, they’ll protect you.  You’re in danger from the angels, too.”

“Just because we’re friends?” Wyatt asked.  “I thought angels were loving and forgiving.  They’d really hunt me down and kill me just for being friends with you?”

I didn’t want to let him know that I’d marked him.  When I’d almost Owned him, I’d left enough of my signature on him that he was clearly identifiable as mine.  He could have had a big fucking sign on his forehead and it would have been less noticeable.

“Angels are psychotic assholes,” I told him.  “They’ll kill everyone who has associated with me.”  Not true, but it might make him feel better.  Like he was in good company.

“Sam, how are you going to kill an angel and survive?  You can’t even stay on your horse.”

“I’ve been locked down pretty tight in this world, so you don’t realize the extent of my abilities.    Besides Candy is calculating beyond belief.  She’s an information warehouse, and she’s anal about details.  I think with her dotting the ‘I’s and me exploding stuff, we’ll make this work.”

Wyatt stared at me.  He was mad, and worried.

“I’m in on this.  I’m coming with you.”

“No fucking way.  Absolutely not.”

“I’m not staying back here like a swooning maiden, safe in my house, while you ride off and battle angels.  You’re my best friend.  No way you’re going to do this without me.”  He looked me straight in the eye.  “I’m not being your proxy unless you include me.”

Humans were fragile.  Soft and squishy.  He’d get caught in the crossfire, he’d be in danger.  Plus if an angel saw him with me, then they’d definitely connect the dots on our relationship.  I didn’t give a flying fuck if Candy got killed, but I couldn’t bear the thought of Wyatt dead.

“Sam, the past two years that I’ve known you have been the best in my life.  I should have abandoned my house and run screaming after Friday night, when you explained to me what you were and what kind of things you do to us humans.  I know you’ll probably eventually do that to me, too, and if I had any common sense I’d never see you again.  But, you are my best friend.  You make me feel alive, like I want to do crazy stuff.  I want to do crazy stuff with you.  I’m not leaving you to face this thing, friendless and alone.”

We stood silent for what seemed like hours.  This was beyond stupid, but I couldn’t say no to Wyatt.

“Okay, you’re in.”

Chapter Nine

I strolled into The Eastside Tavern and grabbed a quiet table out of the way.  Some people appeared to have never left the place.  Maybe they had a cot set up in the dry goods storage area for naps.  The guy with the Rip Van Winkle beard was propping his chair against the wall in a corner and I truly don’t think he moved since Friday night.  The pretty leggy woman was playing pool this time.  I guess there were regulars and there were super regulars here.

I figured Candy for a prompt kind of woman, so I had come a bit early to scope out the place and make sure I grabbed a private table.  That way no one would hear us discussing killing angels and think we needed guys in the padded van to come haul us away.  Wyatt was to come in a few moments after she arrived.  I wasn’t sure she’d come in if she saw me sitting with him, so he was back in the banquet area socializing with the staff.  As soon as I had plopped into a chair, a waitress sat a cold shot of vodka in front of me and beamed at me happily.

“My name is Kelly, and I’ll be taking care of you tonight.”

I looked at the waitress.  She had to have been over two hundred and fifty pounds with light blond hair in a pony tail and smooth glowing porcelain skin.  She was really pretty, and I thought it was unfortunate for her that fashion right now did not favor a generous build.  I wondered what “taking care of” encompassed.  Back home, that phrase would have meant she was mine to do whatever I wanted with for the evening, but here those things would be frowned upon.  Pity, because I found her very attractive.

She smiled at me expectantly, glancing alternately between my face and the vodka encouraging me to drink it up.  The older woman behind the bar was nodding and smiling too.   I felt like one of those celebrities in a foreign country that have to eat the raw pig’s testicles or they’d insult their host.   I wasn’t fond of the lemon vodka they’d brought me, but at least it was cold.   I raised it in a toast to the woman behind the bar and threw it down as fast as I could.  Ugh.  Nasty.

“Can I get a Bud Light?” I croaked resisting the urge to suck down my water.  I remembered asking for cold vodka before, but I can’t believe the bartender would have remembered.  She’d barely acknowledged my presence.  Of course, I had left with Wyatt, and he seemed to be a bit of a favorite son around here.  He must have called ahead for them to have had it chilled like this.  It was such a sweet, thoughtful thing to do; I was astounded.

“I’ll bring you a piece of cherry pie too.  It’s homemade,” the waitress said before hustling off.

Cherry pie and Bud Light?  Maybe she would bring a cup of coffee too and I could have a Twin Peaks déjà vu moment.  Where was Agent Cooper when you needed him?  Or the log lady.  Bet she could kick some angel ass.

My waitress was just putting down my beer and pie when Candy arrived.  She raised her eyebrows at the combo putting a large tote bag stuffed with papers on the seat beside her.

“Please bring my friend a slice of cherry pie and a cup of coffee black as midnight on a moonless night.” I told the waitress waving my fork majestically as if I were issuing a royal proclamation.  Candy shook her head no at the waitress and sent her away without ordering anything.

The werewolf didn’t appear to get the reference, which was a shame.  Wyatt might, but he’d been a bit young for Twin Peaks.  And speak of the devil, there he was in his worn Levis and t–shirt sliding in the chair beside me.

“Look, Wyatt,” I said excitedly.  “They have cherry pie.  You must have some with coffee black as midnight on a moonless night.”

Wyatt looked for a second like he thought I’d gone insane.

“I can call you Agent Cooper?” I prodded.  “We’ll discuss the Laura Palmer case?”

He finally smiled.  “Will the log lady be joining us?  She was my favorite.”

I squealed in delight and planted a kiss right on his lips almost knocking him backwards off his chair in my enthusiasm.  Sexy as hell, familiar with cult TV classics, and he arranged to have cold vodka for me.  Wyatt rocked.  Life would be just horrible without him.

Meanwhile, Candy was looking as if she’d stepped into another universe.

“What is he doing here?” she asked, regaining her composure.

“Wyatt will be joining us in our adventures,” I told her.  She opened her mouth to protest and I told her “my kill, my rules.”

That shut her mouth.  She glared at Wyatt as he stuffed his backpack under his chair.

“Fine.”  She dug in her bag, pulling out a stack of glossies and a little box–shaped magnifying glass.  “These are photos of the last twenty kills, with ascending order numbers, locations, and dates on them.  I didn’t include any of the earlier ones.  Althean’s kills from five years ago back were pretty routine.  Basically for offenses against the existence contract like attempting to breed outside our species, assuming wolf form in front of humans or outside the dates specified, not registering, living in a non–designated area without approval, congregating in groups larger than ten without special dispensation, etc.”

I was appalled.  Who’d agreed to this shitty existence contract?  No way would I have put up with that restrictive crap.

“Althean tended to execute in the traditional manner back then, too,” Candy continued.  “They’d have a tiny wing mark on their forehead as a warning and notice of the justice delivered.  As you can see by the photos, the kills have become bloody, and the victims are being genetically altered before death.”

If I’d been a werewolf, my ears would have perked up at that one.  I didn’t think angels could do that.  I didn’t think any but our kind could do that.

“The DNA markers that indicate loupism, or werewolf species, are removed and replaced with strictly human ones.  He is basically turning them human, either before or after killing them.”

“They still have the wing marks on their foreheads,” I noted.

Candy nodded.

“They mark the victims as deserving of death, of violating the contract in some way,” she said.  “By marking them, Althean is showing that he believes they truly should die.  That his actions are justified.”

Why would he turn them human, though?  What was the purpose in that?

If this were indeed a genocide, if this angel thought the whole werewolf species should be wiped out, then I doubted he’d turn them human before killing them.  Then he’d just be killing a human, plus he’d be removing them from his scope of control.  No, I was pretty sure that turning them human happened after their death.  But even then, why?  Were they such an abomination that even their dead bodies should not be allowed to litter the earth?  That all the markers of their species should be removed, to eventually wipe out all trace that they even existed?

I looked at the pictures as Wyatt peered over my arm.  They were professionally developed and I wondered if Candy had a photo finishing lab in her basement.  I envisioned her stopping in Walmart to pick the gory prints up and snickered.

Candy looked offended, no doubt thinking I found the crime scene photos funny.  I didn’t care.

“Okay, so what do these people all have in common?  They are mostly female, but no one under twenty years old to date it seems.  They are from all over the country.  Could they have committed the same offense?” I asked.

Candy shook her head.  “I can’t see that they have anything in common beyond their species.”

I frowned.  This angel couldn’t be just randomly roving around the country killing werewolves.  If he were human, I’d suspect the killing locations coordinated with business travel.  Maybe we could access the angel’s travel itinerary for the next few weeks.

“Any ideas?” I asked Wyatt.

He reached into the backpack under his chair and pulled out one of those tablet computers.  I’d seen them in the stores and they looked very cool, but I wasn’t sure what I’d do with one.  Wyatt swept his fingers over the screen and there was an amazing blur of boxes, shapes and colors.  He tapped at the screen, and then waved his fingers around some more.  Like Merlin.  Without the hat.

“Okay,” he said turning the tablet so we could all see it.  “I’ve plotted the last twenty years of werewolf kills against this map and loaded the details into a statistical program.  I know twenty years is way outside our window, but a big sample is critical when trending.  The bigger the data set, the more accurate the predictions are.”

I stared at him.  What the fuck?  How did my lawn–mowing, eye–candy, neighbor turn into a math geek?

The map was a mess of colored dots, more concentrated in some areas than others.  I couldn’t make sense of it at all.  It reminded me of those ink blots tests.  Was it a butterfly?  Maybe, a polka dotted phallus?  Candy glanced at the map, and then glared at Wyatt.

“Did you hack into my computer and get this?”

Wyatt looked smug.

“Your smart phone communicates with your network, no doubt to synchronize your appointment schedule.  I just pulled the network IP address, impersonated your cell phone to get a toe in, and voila!”

Whoa.  Wyatt did more than kill zombies in his spare time.

“I have passwords, and firewalls!  I paid a lot of money to an expert for security from this kind of breach,” Candy said, more angry at her security dude than Wyatt.

“Yeah, it looks like Barrett’s work,” Wyatt commented.  “He talks a good line, but he sucks.  If his dad wasn’t connected he wouldn’t get any work at all.  I know one company who hired him because they wanted to get in good with his dad, then promptly replaced the whole system.  Go with Edmonds Smythe next time.  I can still get through, but it will take me a lot more than ten seconds.”

“I might go with you, next time,” she said to Wyatt.

I admired her ability to take a hit to her pride and move on.  And Wyatt was proving to be very useful.  Useful beyond moral support and hopefully good sex.

“We have restrictions around where we can live, mainly to keep us from forming large groups and becoming a threat,” Candy said, returning her attention to the map.  “In cities, we’re allowed a greater density.  We need to be especially careful in urban areas to avoid detection and a violation of the existence contract.  In wide open spaces, we’d be more likely to formulate rebellion and go undetected since we wouldn’t need to restrict ourselves so much.”

Clearly, the angels liked the werewolves to be confined to the cities, outside their preferred habitat.  So they must have been more worried about organized action than public safety.  If the angels had been concerned about protecting humans, they would have rounded up all the werewolves and stuck them in some remote area.  Like a werewolf concentration camp.  Interesting.

“Does the map of the kills reflect the overall distribution of werewolves?” Wyatt asked.

Candy looked again and nodded.

“It seems to.  An equal percentage of the population in each area, but of course, we’d need to run numbers just to make sure.”

Wyatt turned the tablet back to face him, ran his fingers over it as we watched with baited breath.  It took a few moments.  I ate my pie and drank beer while he worked his magic.  Finally he turned the tablet around.  TaDa!  The map had been replaced by a spreadsheet showing locations and numbers in descending order.

“Actually, there’s a ten percent greater incidence of killing in the smaller cities and rural areas and a seventy percent greater incidence in North America.”

Candy frowned at the tablet.  “You would have needed to know the address of every werewolf for that.  That information is encrypted on a virtual server.  Even I don’t have full access.”

Wyatt nodded.  I was beyond being shocked by any of this.  Wyatt was clearly not what he seemed, either.

“Yes, I know.  Now if we plot just the kills with the genetic alteration, we see that at this point they are all in North America.  Connect them in their order of occurrence and you do begin to see a pattern.  If I run a regression analysis and plot that on our map, we can see a prediction of future hits somewhere along this line.  Then, I’ll just run a second regression on the timeline pattern and it will tell us where in this predictive line he is likely to be by certain dates.  If we select where we’re interested, I can try and narrow it down with some statistical probability.”

I looked at Candy to see if she was understanding any of that.  Nope.  We’d both been staring at Wyatt as if he’d suddenly began speaking in a strange alien language.  I, for one, was turned on as hell.  Wyatt was proving to be rather smart for a human.  Who knew?

“Why would he kill in this pattern?” Candy asked.

I shrugged.  “Angels are really weird about patterns and things weighting out to a neutral state.  Who knows why they do these things.”

“This accounts for location and timeline,” Wyatt continued, “but we still need motive and any other commonality in the victims to better predict his next hit.”

“Tell us, oh mighty Oz,” I said.  “Who will the angel kill next and where?  And can I have a heart too, if it’s not too much trouble.”

He shot me an annoyed glance, then peered at the screen.

“With what we’ve got so far, I’m betting in the next five to ten days we’ll see a hit among this cluster of forty werewolves.  If we combine them into household groups, we’ve got twenty eight households we need to look at.”

“We need to narrow that down,” I said, looking at Candy.

It wasn’t just the numbers that were an issue, either.  Even if we got some indication that there was a kill in progress, we wouldn’t get there in time to catch him.  We’d need to be pretty confident on a target, then do some kind of stake out.  The prospect of sitting outside a house for five to ten days was frightening.  Torture would be preferable.  I’d be bored beyond belief.  I’d be lucky to last a few hours before I went stark raving mad.   I wished we could just track the guy down and kill him in a sneak attack.

“I’ll dig around and see what else I can do to get a profile on the victims,” Candy said sorting through the pictures.  “That’s the York/Lancaster area, so at least we don’t have to go flying halfway across the country to test our hypothesis.”

Candy gathered up her pictures, casting another dark look at Wyatt and his tablet, then told me she’d call me in the morning.  After she left, Wyatt snuck a bite of my cherry pie and made approving noises while I mulled things over.

“You’re a whole hell of a lot more useful than Candy ,” I told him with admiration.  “You’ve been holding back on me.  I thought all you did was kill zombies.”

Wyatt shrugged.  “You never asked, never really seemed interested in any of the computer stuff I do, so I didn’t bother.”

I peered at him to see if he was hurt, or angry.  He seemed rather cheerful, eating my pie and relaxing back in his chair.

“It’s probably the most boring thing I’ve ever heard in my life,” I confessed.  “But I’m glad you know all that stuff.  It’ll probably keep me from getting killed.  Thank you for coming.”

I meant it.  I was glad Wyatt was here.  He might get hurt, but everything was a lot more fun when he was around.

Wyatt smiled and saluted me with his fork.

“You are welcome, Sam.  I’d do anything to help you out.”

Wyatt polished off the rest of the pie.

“Why would an angel suddenly decide to go on a killing spree?” I asked, half to myself.  “To begin a genocide?  I’m pretty sure they didn’t even really want us exterminated during the war.  They just wanted us to abide by some crazy list of rules.  If we’d complied, we would have been in the same spot as the werewolves, but I can’t see them offing us just for the heck of it.”

“I can’t see you or any of your kind complying with those types of rules,” Wyatt said, pushing the empty plate away.

“Oh, no.  Totally against our nature.  They were insane even to demand it.  If there hadn’t been the treaty and the division of the realms, the wars would have only stopped with the extermination of one or both of our races.”

I went back to pondering this particular angel.  “The genetic alteration thing bothers me, too.  That’s not something angels do.  Plus, the bloodiness of the kills doesn’t seem in keeping with them either.”

“So, maybe he’s not an angel supremacist trying to rid the world of werewolves and preserve the master race.  Maybe something happened to him that sent him off the edge of what angels view as acceptable.  Maybe he’s got something making him crazy, turning him un–angel.  Or uber angel.”

Or rogue angel, I thought.

Chapter Ten

It was about four in the morning when my ringing phone woke me up.

“He’s hit again.  York.  Time of death between midnight and three–thirty that we can tell.”

Candy, I thought rubbing sleep and gunk from my eyes.

“Two victims this time.  A husband and wife.  I’ve asked the local pack to secure the scene until we get up there to look at it.  They’ve already done their sniffing around, but your skills may be able to find something beyond our ability.”

“Are you up there now?  Do I meet you, or do we ride together?” I asked, still groggy.

“I’ll head up there now.  If you can meet me up there as soon as you can, I’d like you to check everything while it’s still relatively fresh.  Besides, the local guys really do need to start cleanup soon, before neighbors notice anything.”

York was about a two hour drive.  I took down the address, writing it on my pillowcase since I can never seem to find a pad of paper when I need one.  Then I quickly called Wyatt and threw on some clean clothes.  A shower would have to wait.  Wyatt was just coming up the drive when I emerged from my seldom used front door.  He raised his eyebrows a bit at the pillow case I was carrying, but didn’t comment.

I wasn’t a morning person, but this was the kind of morning to make me want to change my habits.  The normal nighttime din of insects had quieted, replaced by early birdsong.  It was still fully dark, but there was an expectation of light, an anticipation hovering on the eastern horizon.  Everything seemed to be suspended, teetering right on the edge of daybreak.  On a razor’s edge of becoming.  Even Boomer, standing at the corner of the house watching us, seemed to be in transition.  As if he were two different beings, one day and one night, on the verge of transformation.

We drove north, taking back roads to Route 15, with Wyatt sleepily navigating through his cell phone GPS.  The sun came up with orange and red over the little farmhouses and fields.  It was pretty much just us, the early morning commuters, and the cement truck drivers from the plant, although there were signs the dairy farmers had been up earlier.  Huge milking barns, long and flat, were lit up brightly before the first rays reached up over the horizon.

We’d made a quick stop at a 7–11 for some coffee and Wyatt grumbled.  He was grumpy and the beauty of the morning was lost on him.  Evidently, zombie killing last night hadn’t gone well, and he’d not had much sleep.  He complained repeatedly that he was tired, hungry and hated 7–11 coffee.  I was ready to dump his coffee over his head if he didn’t shut up about it.  I may be a vodka snob, but I’m not a coffee snob.  And I don’t bitch and moan constantly when I don’t get my preferred vodka.  Well, maybe just a little.  When I got tired of listening to him complain, I pointedly turned on the radio.  I had thought about finding some soft rock just to annoy him further, but instead put on blue collar comedy.  Wyatt was more fun when he was in a better mood.

The sun was up and Thurmont was stirring with the beginnings of their country rush hour as we passed through toward the highway.  Wyatt saw a Sheetz and insisted on stopping, pointedly dumping his previous coffee into the bushes as he walked in.  I bought another coffee, too, just so I could compare them.  I couldn’t tell the difference.  The both tasted like cheap generic coffee prepared hours ago and slowly burning on the bottom of the pot ever since.

This area of Maryland was really beautiful.  Green covered mountains flanked the highway, separated from the road by flat acres of fields.  Signs indicating directions for various national parks, orchards, and historic attractions didn’t detract from the stunning morning view.  Route 15 was a scenic route north of Thurmont.  Mountains all along the horizon were the backdrop for miles of forests and picturesque farms.  The occasional fruit orchard, with the requisite roadside stand, and its manicured, geometrically arranged trees dotted our view.

The coffee seemed to be rousing Wyatt from his sleepy state because just over the Pennsylvania line he looked in surprise at his phone GPS and at the highway marker.

“Why are we going this way to York?  Why didn’t we go 70 up to 83?  It would have been much shorter.”

“Rush hour up 70 into Baltimore?  And 83?  That’s even worse.  That road sucks when it’s not rush hour.  I’d rather take the back roads and risk getting behind a tractor or some slow poke.”

Wyatt fussed over his GPS, not convinced.

“No, Sam, this is really taking us out of our way.  We could have gone through Westminster up 27, then through Hanover on 94 if you wanted to take the back roads. We would have gotten there much quicker.”

“94 goes smack through downtown Hanover.  There are a ton of lights, truck traffic that takes forever each time they stop to try to get back up to speed, and there are two railroad crossings.  Two.  There is a stupid train taking fucking forever every time I go through there.”  There was an Utz factory outlet there, though.  I had a terrible weakness for Grandma Utz potato chips.  They’d be closed this early in the morning, though.

“Even so, we’d save a ton of time going 94.  Hanover would put us so much closer to York than this roundabout route.”

“I’m not really comfortable going through Hanover, right now,” I said.

Wyatt glared at me in suspicion.  “You weren’t the one who burned down the Hot and Spicy Burger, were you?  I really liked that place.  Was it an accident, or did they somehow get on your naughty list?  Maybe they didn’t put enough salsa on your burger?”

“I did not burn down the Hot and Spicy Burger,” I protested.  “I’ve never even been there and I don’t just go around randomly setting fire to places.  At least not on purpose,” I added in the spirit of truthfulness.

I really didn’t feel like explaining that I’d set loose a couple of those huge holiday inflatable lawn decorations this past Christmas and bounced them down 94 at rush hour.  There were a lot of people that probably still remembered me.  Especially the ones who’d wrecked their cars.   It was so funny, though.  Big inflatable Santa flying into the road and cars swerving everywhere.  I’ve totally got to do that again, sometime.  Maybe Halloween.

Wyatt looked unconvinced, but didn’t pursue the topic further.  He continued to pore over his phone, looking up as I exited the highway.

“You’re joking with me, Sam.  Route 30?  You’re going to haul down Route 30 from 15 to York?  That’s forty five minutes on a good day.  It’s two lanes, cuts through every tiny town this side of the state line, and will be filled with tractors and hay wagons.  What are you thinking of?”

“Do you want to drive?  You’re so full of knowledge, Mr. GPS, maybe you’d like to drive?” I exploded at him.

Wyatt looked at the interior of my Corvette with something akin to lust in his eyes.

“Yes, I do want to drive,” he said.

“Well, you’re not.” I told him.  No way Wyatt was driving my precious car.  No one drove my Corvette but me.  Only a select few were even allowed in the passenger seat.

We meandered our way down 30 to York with Wyatt complaining under his breath the whole way.  I kept turning up the radio volume, but it never seemed to sufficiently drown out his complaints.

I did need his navigation skills once we reached the York city limits, and Wyatt quickly guided me through the outskirts of town to a series of new housing developments.  We went past all the gorgeous new homes toward the back, where an older section with fully grown trees hid.

The houses were built in the seventies; row upon row of split level ranches and bungalows filled the streets.  They were all variations on an identical theme, with their reversed layout and different colored siding.  We parked a couple blocks down so we didn’t draw attention to the crime scene.  Nothing like an expensive grey Corvette in the driveway to make the neighbors take notice and give everything away.  Not that I was the master of stealth.  I insisted on driving around the neighborhood nearly five times before I found a place I felt reasonably safe in leaving my car.  Wyatt was ready to strangle me.  The two hour car ride early in the morning obviously hadn’t done much for his patience.

The house looked pretty much like all the other houses.  A split level ranch with brick on the lower, partially underground level, and white siding on the rest.  There was a car port off to the side of the house with a compact sedan parked in it.  The house had been loved.  The shutters and door were shiny with fresh green paint, and well–maintained begonias hung invitingly in baskets at the edge of the small roof covering the entryway.  Carefully edged and mulched beds with newly planted, tiny boxwoods lined the path to the door.  The mailbox by the edge of the driveway was cleverly shaped like a windmill and looked recently installed.

Candy met us at the side door, under the carport, her face grim.

“What on earth took you so long?” she asked.

Wyatt gave me a pointed look, but for once remained silent.

We followed her through a small pantry and into the kitchen and dining room area on the upper level of the house.  The kitchen had a skillet soaking in the sink, and fresh coffee in the pot.  The smell was heavenly.  I wondered if Candy had made it when she got here.  Thoughtful, but I didn’t think you were supposed to make yourself at home in the kitchens of crime scenes.

“It’s set to brew automatically at six in the morning,” Candy said, noticing my glance.  “Looks like all was calm at dinner, and they would have filled the coffee maker and set it right before going to bed, I assume.”

The dining room was undisturbed with fresh flowers at the center of the gleaming oak table, and car keys casually tossed into a dish on the matching oak sideboard.  We walked past the stairs leading to the lower floor and the front door and headed toward the bedrooms.

“They were killed downstairs, but I want you to see the bedrooms first.” Candy noted in a strained voice.

There were three bedrooms.  One had been converted into an office and the other appeared to be a child’s bedroom.  A baby’s bedroom so immaculate and organized it looked like Candy herself had staged it.  The crib had elephant themed sheets and bumper pad, and a parade of elephants hung from the mobile above it.  Wooden elephant cutouts in bright colors danced along one wall.  A glider rocker sat against the other with a bookshelf beside it.  Stuffed animals were artfully arranged in the crib and along the shelves next to scores of books.

“I thought you said there were two victims,” I asked Candy.  “What happened to the baby?”

“I didn’t know until I got here,” Candy said, struggling to keep her voice neutral.  “The female was pregnant.  Very pregnant.  So, really, there were three victims.”

My kind breed a lot.  It’s not uncommon to have over a thousand offspring.  Of course, a huge percentage of those never make it past infancy, let alone into adulthood.  We don’t have any agony over the mortality rate.  We don’t raise our children or have any kind of familial bond with them.  We just form them, and hand them over into a kind of group home for their upbringing.  There is no lengthy pregnancy, and once you hand them over you never bother to find out whether they survive, what they turn out to be like, nothing like that at all.  We just don’t really do the children thing.

At home, there was no particular taboo against killing young, or killing a parent who was in the process of forming an unborn child.  This was definitely a terrible crime to angels, though.  Did he know she was pregnant?  Did he care?  Genocide was one thing, but killing a baby, even an unborn one?  How could he have done such a thing, violated the precious code the angels live by and get away with it?  We get cut down for far less by them.

Wyatt and Candy appeared to be giving the room a moment of silence, so I went across the hall to the master bedroom.  The queen–sized bed had the comforter turned down, and one side slightly rumpled, with the sheets aside.  Someone had gone to bed briefly, and then gotten up.  I was guessing the female.

“Does it look like she hurried out here?” I asked Candy as she and Wyatt came into the room.  “Do you think she heard something going on in the basement and ran to check?”

Candy went over to the bed and looked at it carefully.  She pointed to the bedside table where a set of reading glasses and a thick pregnancy guide lay.

“It doesn’t look like she raced out of here in any hurry,” she said.  “Everything looks carefully placed.  Glasses on top of the book.  Book marked at a spot and placed evenly on the table.   If she hurried, I’d expect to see the sheets pulled from the bed a bit and dangling on the edge, and the book tossed aside.”

I thought about this as we went downstairs.  Had her husband been quietly dead before she went down?  Had she surprised the killer and he had no choice but to kill her too?  Or had the killer waited for both of them to be together before he made his move?

I expected downstairs to be a bloodbath and I wasn’t disappointed.  The room itself is what you would expect to see.  Couch.  Two comfy chairs.  Coffee table.  TV.  There was also a small desk with a laptop on it.

The guy was sprawled on the floor by the laptop.  He looked like a human.  A human with his head twisted backward and his torso sliced open from sternum to pelvis.  The guy didn’t have a shirt on, and his sweatpants were sliced at the drawstring waist where the cut extended.  The blood appeared to be localized in a pool around him.  Not sprayed all over the walls or on the ceiling.  I walked carefully around to look at his face.  His head was turned at an abnormal degree, the neck clearly broken.  Blood had seeped out his nose and mouth.  His expression looked placid.  He had a pale set of angel wings on his temple, like a birthmark.

“Looks to me like he may have been killed before he was even aware there was someone in the room,” I told Candy, wanting her opinion on the matter.

She nodded.  “If an angel showed up unannounced in his house, he’d have been partially transformed.  It would have been an immediate, instinctual thing.  He was clearly dead before he had time to realize the angel was here.”

“Maybe he thought it was a friendly visit?  If an angel knocked on your door, would you invite him in and serve him tea?” I asked Candy.  “Would you automatically think you were in danger?  Especially if you hadn’t done anything wrong?”

Candy shook her head.  “If he’d knocked on the front door, the kitchen and dining area would show signs of late hospitality.  He would have put a shirt on out of respect.  And she wouldn’t look like that.”  Candy pointed to the figure crumpled against the front wall of the room.

Wow, I thought walking over to the female.  This had been a struggle.  There was blood sprayed in arcs all around her and over the sofa.  A huge smear of blood started high up on the wall, almost at the ceiling, and dragged down to the floor.  I couldn’t see much of her without touching her, but the heap of pajama clad flesh was torn and burned all over.  Claws curled from massive hands, inexplicably at the end of delicate wrists.  I saw a pretty white gold chain bracelet with an initialed heart charm and a tiny baby shoe attached.

I turned to Candy.  “If it’s okay, I need to move the bodies and better examine them.”

She nodded, looking at the female werewolf with glassy eyes.  Her lips twitched even as she clamped her teeth into them to hold them still.  I looked at her and did the math.  She looked to be mid fifties.  She’d clearly had at least one child, probably more from what I saw of her body the other day.  Her kids would be the age of this young couple.  Maybe she was expecting a grandchild.  I don’t know why her distress bothered me, but it did.

Wanting to give Candy a moment to pull herself together, I asked her to go upstairs and get me a towel.  I would probably need one anyway to wipe the blood off myself.  She headed up, passing Wyatt on the way as he came down.

“Wow,” he said surveying the scene.  My thoughts exactly.  “I haven’t had a chance to look at the computer upstairs, yet.  I thought I’d come down here first,” he told me.

I nodded over at the laptop.  “There’s one down here, too.  I’m thinking the guy was on it when he was killed.”

He looked at the body blocking access to the small desk.  “As soon as you clear that aside, I’ll take a look at the laptop.”

Okay, game time.  I removed my clothes, but unlike Candy, just flung them over a chair in a relatively clean corner.  Candy came down with a towel and skidded to a halt at the bottom of the stairs.

“Why are you naked?”

“I only have the one set of clothes and I don’t want to be walking around in blood–soaked clothes all day.” Or get it all over my Corvette’s seats.  “What did you think?”

Candy had the grace to look embarrassed.  “Sorry,” she muttered.

I thought I’d start with the guy first.  I went over to him and removed his sweatpants and boxers.  His genitals were intact.  The cut ended a good three inches above the pelvic bone.  It didn’t look like it was done for torture or need to access the organs, which were all there.  Why had the angel slit him down the middle like this?  The neck breaking action had clearly happened first, and had caused the werewolf’s death.  Maybe there had been an interruption before the angel could do what he intended with the organs?

I ran my fingers through the body and sent out feathers of energy to explore.    There was no energy in it beyond the normal energy that all matter carried.  I could feel the DNA signature of the werewolf with its odd mutation.  All the other kills had been altered and turned basically human.  Why had this one been left werewolf?  The angel must have been interrupted before he could finish.

I couldn’t feel anything of the angel until I ran my fingers along the burnt edges of the skin.  There.  There was an energy signature with a faint personal energy note.  This hadn’t been a weapon, or claws or teeth.  The cut had been made by a burning energy, but it wasn’t just used to cut the flesh, it was used to explore the victim.  Once something is dead, we usually don’t mess much with it, so this finding was perplexing.  Why would the angel want to explore the werewolf after his life essence left?  Why didn’t he just do the DNA conversion and hit the road?  Was this part of the process he needed to do for the DNA conversion?

I gripped the victim’s head on either side, sending feathers into the brain.  No one was home, but the brain was intact and free of any angelic energy signature.  The angel hadn’t been looking for memories.  I searched through the circuitry of the connectors in the brain, checking to see if I could access any remnant of the guy’s last thoughts.  I’m not very good with brains, so I wasn’t sure I could gain anything by this or not.  I could only find a relaxed sense of comfort.  Well, at least he’d died in peace.

Reaching up a finger, I grazed the wing marks on his temple and the energy signature poured into me.  Gotcha.  This was strong.  Very strong.  I’d recognize him.  I’d have a good chance of sensing him if he was anywhere in a mile or two radius from me and used his energy.  Adrenaline flooded me.  Fuck, I loved a good hunt.  This was the best feeling ever.  Better than sex even.

I rolled the body over, away from the desk so Wyatt could reach the laptop.  There was nothing at all on his backside.  And I checked it very thoroughly just to annoy Candy.

“It was an angel, not an alien,” she told me.  “I don’t think anal probes were involved.”

“Best to check,” I told her cheerfully, my mind furiously working the angel’s energy signature and locking it in to my memory.

“I’m done,” I told Wyatt as I moved to the female, carefully wiping my hands on the towel Candy gave me.  Wyatt leaned over the blood soaked carpet, and carefully picked up the laptop, stretching the cord to a clean spot.

I looked at the female and wondered where to begin.  I lay her face down first.  Peeling off her shirt, I noticed her backside was surprisingly clean of cuts and burns.  She didn’t run, didn’t turn her back on him, I thought with admiration.  There was a significant hole in the back of her head though, with a great volume of blood streaked down her hair and soaking her shirt back.

I stuck my finger in the hole and realized that it was about the size of my index figure in diameter and jagged as if something had been shoved in and dragged upward and out.  I looked up the wall, up the blood smear to the round splat near the ceiling.  Too high.  Grabbing the chair from the desk, I dragged it over and stretched as far as I could.  There was a huge nail protruding from the wall.  A hefty ten penny nail, which must have originally held some type of heavy artwork.  It must have been in the wall pretty tight as it hadn’t been removed, and had been painted over.  Now it was red with blood.  Okay, he was strong enough to pick her up and pitch her high up against the wall where she smacked her skull on the nail and slide down in a trail of blood.

Hopping off the chair, I rolled her over to see the front.  Now, this was where the action was.  Her hands were massive claws, and her snout extended slightly to accommodate strong pointed teeth the size of my thumbs.  Her lips curled up in a snarl and her eyes, even in death, were fierce.  She had a burn–edged slice across her right cheek and nose.  Her neck and legs were covered in the same burned slices.  The huge bulge of her belly was untouched.  Interesting.  It was as if the angel didn’t want to target the area where the baby was.  I examined the wounds.  They were not terribly deep, but one on her leg had severed her femoral artery.  Game over, girlfriend.

Looking at the blood on her claws, I ran my finger over them.  I’d never had an angel genetic signature before, since normally I’d be dead if I ever got that close to one.  I was kind of surprised to get one from the claws.  I’d expected that they’d fought from a distance and she’d not been able to actually cut him.   I caught my breath as I processed the unusually long DNA chain.  It was the same as the one I carried.  Outside of markers for personal characteristics, we had the same DNA.  I’d expected them to be vaguely similar.  Our races had formed about the same time, and we had some overlap in skills and abilities, but I hadn’t expected this nearly carbon copy.  How ironic, given our past.   I looked up at Candy.  Wyatt was furiously typing away on the laptop in a corner of the room.

“I’m thinking the angel came in and surprised the male while his back was turned breaking his neck.  I’m conjecturing, but I think he placed the angel mark on the male’s forehead, then proceeded to slice the cut in his abdomen with his energy.  I’m assuming it’s part of that genetic modification he is doing.  He didn’t get that far before he was surprised by the female.  The victims don’t have the genetic alteration, so the angel left in a hurry before he could complete the job.”

Candy nodded and I turned to face the pregnant body on the floor.

“She interrupted the angel, who shot her at a distance, taking some care not to cut her where the baby was.”  I waved at the splatter of blood on the walls and couch.    “Those cuts were rather superficial.  I think he probably didn’t know how to subdue her and get away without causing her and the baby’s death.  She approached him and actually got her claws on him.  He was injured, but I don’t know how badly, and he’s probably healed himself by now.  When she clawed him, he sliced her legs, then grabbed her and threw her against the wall. “

I walked over and pointed my finger at the line of blood soaked carpet.  “He hit her femoral artery, and she bled profusely.  It flew across the room as he threw her against the wall.”  I pointed to the wall, near the ceiling.  “She impacted with her head against a large nail, up there, and slid down the wall.  But, it was the cut to her leg that killed her.  She couldn’t lose much blood with a fetus, and she’d lost too much by the time she hit the wall.”

Candy nodded. “That’s what the werewolves who were here earlier thought, too.”

“I don’t think he intended to kill her,” I said.  “I think he meant to kill the male, and head out without her knowing.  Not that that makes him a saint,” I added hastily.  “He’s killed other women by your records, just not any children or pregnant women, which follows their code somewhat.  I don’t know what peace of mind it will give you, but I honestly don’t think he meant to kill either her or her baby.”

Candy looked thoughtful.  “Is there anything else here we need to see?  Do you have enough to maybe track and find Althean?”

“I’ve got his energy signature, so I think I’m done here,” I said slowly, looking at the wing marks on the female’s temple.

As an afterthought I ran my finger over them.  It would be the same as on the guy since I already had the angel’s energy signature.  Shocked at what I felt, I jumped about a foot across the room and toppled over on my ass with enough speed to make Candy and Wyatt jump, too.

“There was a second angel,” I said in amazement.

Candy stared at me while Wyatt looked off in the distance toward the bookcase with a slight frown on his face.

“The energy signature on this wing mark is completely different from the one on the guy.  Two angels were here,” I insisted.

“Is the blood from the first angel or the second?” Candy said, her brows knitted in concentration.  “Could one angel have killed the guy, left, then another came here, did the weird abdomen cut, then was surprised and killed the female?”

“I don’t know,” I replied slowly.  “I have the DNA signature off the blood on the claws of the female, but that’s different from energy signatures.  I can’t tell whether the blood DNA belongs to the first or second angel.”  I was so frustrated.  I thought I had it all, and here was that big old monkey wrench.

“Let’s just watch the video,” Wyatt said from over by the bookshelves.  He was holding a small round device.  “It’s a security camera.  I have these at my house.  This one is active right now and feeding to the computer up in the office.”

Jackpot!

Chapter Eleven

Up the stairs we went, with Candy carrying my clothing and trying several times to encourage me to put them back on.  Just to irritate her, I ignored her motions and continued to walk around buck naked.

Wyatt quickly overcame the passwords on the upstairs computer and we watched six grainy black and white boxes of video displaying boring images of people walking about, eating, watching TV.  The majority of the recording time was just empty blank rooms.  Wyatt sectioned out and expanded the downstairs camera, but the resolution was horrible blown up.  He reduced it to a more clear size and zipped through the time code stamp on the lower corner of the image.  At nine in the evening, the female werewolf clicked off the TV, kissed the male who was on the laptop and said some indecipherable words to him before heading up the stairs.

“The audio on these cameras is horrible, so I don’t think we’re going to know what they are saying,” Wyatt said.

Wyatt fast forwarded slowly until a few minutes after ten, when the male werewolf looked like he was ready to get up.  He stood and stretched a bit, then sat down to do a few more things on the laptop.

“Based on the laptop record, he was just doing some random surfing.  News site, clicked on a few links, nothing noteworthy,” Wyatt pointed out.

Hmm, no illicit porn surfing, snuff videos, or werewolf revolutionary front chat rooms.  I didn’t see where this guy could possibly have violated the admittedly strict existence contract.  He was squeaky clean, from what I could tell.

A dark shape appeared quickly in the room.  “Whoa,” Wyatt said, freezing the screen and backing it up a frame at a time.

At ten twelve PM, a dark shape showed at the edge of the stairs, quickly, and silently, approached the werewolf from the rear, and snapped his neck with a smooth, clean motion.  He had to have been amazingly strong to have done that, even with the element of surprise on his side.  The werewolf fell back and sideways out of the chair as his body attempted to follow the movement of his head.  We couldn’t see the angel’s face clearly from the poor quality of the picture and the angle of the camera, but it didn’t matter to me.  I had his energy signature; I didn’t need to know what he looked like.

The angel paused, kneeling for some time beside the werewolf before bending down and placing his hand on the temple.  A blur appeared around his hand and he withdrew it to stare at the body again.

“What is taking the stupid shit so long?” I muttered.  “Does he want to get caught or something?  I would have been halfway to Baltimore by now.”

Finally, he reached down with a finger and a blaze of light traced the cut in the body’s midsection.  A scream bellowed out of the computer and we all jumped with hearts racing.  The whole death had been silent, and I, for one, had forgotten that there was a soundtrack, no matter how shitty.  The female werewolf stood at the bottom of the stairs.

Wyatt was forced to move frame by frame at this point to keep everything from being a blur of speed in real time.  Crap, these people were fast, fast.  The female had screamed, and simultaneously her claws and snout shot out as the angel whirled around, energy flaring.  He lashed at her with energy bursts and moved to the side as if trying to push her away from the stairs.  She held her location blocking the stairs, but advanced toward him and managed to rake him twice.  Once across the face with her right, and a downward strike from his right shoulder with her left.

It was remarkable she’d been able to advance at all with the energy bursts he was tossing around.  Reeling from the claw marks, the angel brought energy in a steady stream, a blade shape up from his left, slicing the deep fatal cut into her right thigh.  Dissolving the blade, he grabbed the front of her shirt and flung her up against the wall as he dashed from the room and up the stairs.  The rest of the video showed her frame by frame sliding down the wall to rest in a crumpled heap of spreading blood.  Wyatt paused the video.

“One angel killed them both,” he said.

“Yes, but he ran out before she had hit the wall.  I wonder if he even knew he’d killed her?” I mused.  “And where is the second angel.  There is a second angel.”  I insisted.

Wyatt fast forwarded the video and for a few speeded up seconds we saw the blood pool expand across the carpet, then a whole lot of nothing for hours.  Finally, as the time clock showed around one in the morning, a blurred figure appeared.

“Whoa, there he is!” I shouted.  As if I was the only one who noticed.

Wyatt backed up the video and we saw the angel descend the stairs to stop at the bottom and scan the room.  He was tall and built like a bull.  It looked to my eyes to be the same angel as in The Wine Room.

“Do they all look alike?  Because I’m thinking that is the one from the bar earlier this week.” I asked Candy.

Wyatt paused the video and looked up.  “What do you mean ‘the one from the bar earlier this week’?  You told me you had an angel after you, but you didn’t tell me you had seen one up close and personal.”

“No, they don’t all look alike, although they have similarities,” Candy explained.  She turned to Wyatt.  “That’s Gregory,” she said pointing to the screen.  “He’s the angel that kills any demons who cross into this world.  We saw him last Friday at The Wine Room.”

Wyatt glared at me.  He was pissed that I’d neglected to tell him that particular detail when I’d let him know that angels were after me.  I felt guilty and it was a weird feeling.  I knew what guilt felt like.  The humans I owned had all felt guilt many times in their lives, and I had all their memories and feelings stored within me.  I didn’t like feeling guilty, myself.  I’d really been wearing this human form too long and leaning too heavily on human memories.  Why would I tell him?  It’s not like he could do anything to help me out.  He’d just worry and do some stupid human macho thing that would get him killed.  I didn’t know what to say.

Wyatt stared long enough for me to feel even more uncomfortable, then turned around and resumed the video.  Gregory walked over to the male victim and looked at him carefully without touching him.  He shook his head, but it was hard to read his expression from the poor quality of the tape.  He walked over to the female and glanced up at the smear on the wall.  Then he bent down over the female.

“Slow it down,” I told Wyatt, leaning in.  “Frame by frame.”

The angel examined her wounds and ran a hand over her rounded belly, less than an inch from the surface. Checking the baby for life?  In the slow motion of the frame by frame I saw him reach his other hand to her temple and a flash of light as he left the wing mark.

“Wait,” I shouted to Wyatt.  “Back it up one more frame.”  There.  Was there a flash of light from his other hand too?  I darted from the room and charged down the stairs to the bodies.  Pressing my hand against the female’s belly, I searched and searched and found.  There.  An energy signature.  A mark of angels wings on the temple of the fetus’ head.

Wyatt and Candy reached the downstairs just as I stood up.  “He marked the baby,” I told them, and I was feeling pretty outraged about it.  “He put the angel’s wings on the baby’s head.  And on the female’s.  What the fuck?  The mark is supposed to be a sign of guilt.  He’s covering it up.  Althean fucked up and killed an innocent female and an unborn child, and Gregory covered it up by marking them as if they were guilty of a crime.  How could an unborn child ever be guilty of a crime?  It’s against their creed.”

“They are all innocent,” Candy said indignantly.  “Hundreds of kills in the past five years and we can’t tell they’ve done anything wrong.”

“Yes, but they can always twist the contract, find some tiny little detail somewhere to justify it.  Nothing justifies this,” I gestured to the pregnant female.  “Is Gregory in on it, too?  Or is he cleaning up Althean’s mess and hoping to catch him and set him right before the other angels discover his misdeeds and come down on his head as the boss? Because with this, it’s going to be a very short time before Althean finds himself in deep angel doo–doo.”

We reviewed the rest of the video, but found nothing else beyond long stretches of no activity punctuated by the local werewolves and their investigative efforts, then us arriving.  Wyatt took the laptop thinking he might find something in there that would have caused this couple to be a target, or even be on the angel’s radar.

“Do you still have the information on your predictions?”  I asked Wyatt.  “That repression analysis you did?”

“Regression analysis.  I’ll add in this data and we should be able to narrow things down further.  He’s definitely moving faster.  If we can identify one or two targets, we’ll need to think about how we’re going to handle it.  Probably some kind of stake out, since alarms and such won’t give us enough time to arrive all the way from Maryland and catch him in the act.”

Stake out.  The thought depressed me.

We drove to a nearby breakfast diner so Wyatt could run his registration analysis and we could all have Moons Over My Hammy with some much needed coffee.

Candy and I were arguing over my supposedly excessive ketchup use on the hash browns, when Wyatt interrupted us by shoving his tablet in our faces.

“There,” Wyatt said pointing at the map.  “These three places are very close together and all within the modified predictive line.  I’m worried about the timeline though.  My model shows two to three days, but I don’t have enough recent data points, and it could be as soon as tomorrow.”

“Gettysburg,” Candy said looking at the map.  “Let’s head there now, grab the closest hotel room to these three likely spots, and then hit the outlets for a couple changes of clothes and toiletries.  We’ll reconnaissance the spots today, well before we think the hit will be, then be ready tonight and tomorrow.  We’ll just pull this straight through.  We really need to catch him this week, before his trajectory takes him further away from home and we have to deal with travel.”

“Cool, we can go down Route 30,” I told her.  “It goes straight into Gettysburg.”

Wyatt looked at me with disgust.  “Not Route 30, again.  We just crawled down there, and now we have to go back?”

“It is the quickest way to Gettysburg,” Candy told him.

So back down Route 30 we went.  Traffic wasn’t quite as slow, but it was steady and crowded through all the tiny little towns.  As we got closer in to Gettysburg, the small houses in various stages of neglect got closer together and became more interspersed with an eclectic array of businesses.  There were used car lots, thrift shops, a sheet metal manufacturer, tile wholesaler, and, oddly, a gourmet tobacco store.

The modern houses gave way to restored Victorian homes as we entered the city limits, then majestic historic mansions and row houses as we entered downtown Gettysburg.  The historic knickknack shops, coffee houses, inns and restaurants enchanted me.  Crowds of people peering at brochures choked the streets and sidewalks.  At my insistence, we searched the downtown inns only to find that none had any vacancies.  A helpful coffee house employee informed us that this was the height of their tourist season and we probably wouldn’t find anything this close to the battlefield.  He recommended we head back north out of town, closer to the highway, where some privately owned motels may have vacancies.

Hours later, we were tired and grumpy from the endless stream of ‘no vacancy’ signs when we finally found a place.  It was fairly close to the houses we needed to investigate, but was by no means our first pick of sleeping quarters.

Our home away from home was one of those two story local owned motels popular fifty years ago.  The white paint was patched in not–quite matching colors all over the cement block walls.  I hadn’t realized white came in so many shades.  The doors and trim were a thick red, as if twenty layers of glossy paint had been stacked on top of each other over the decades.  Chips along the door and window frames revealed the trim had at times been green, blue, and a lovely shade of baby poop yellow.  Judging from the frequency that cars came and left from the parking lot, the motel mostly catered to a rent–by–the–hour crowd.

The guy at the front desk took one look at hot young Wyatt in the company of two middle aged women and made some pretty lurid assumptions based on his expression.  He took a bit of convincing that we were indeed planning to stay at least the night, if not several days.  Candy begged and badgered, but couldn’t get him to give us a ground floor room.  I wondered if they were reserved for the hour rentals.  People could make quick getaways if needed, maybe out a back window.  Plus, ground floor would be easier for the frequent maid service needed with hourly rentals.  That is, if they bothered to clean between rentals.  Ick.

It had become overcast as we left York.  A kind of hot humidity filled the air as it always does in mid August and I doubted whether the threatened rain would cool things off.  The old air conditioning units whirred and hummed away, spewing hot air at us as we climbed the cement stairs and headed down the outside hallway toward our room.  Ours was the one with the big pool of air conditioning water spilling across the walk and dripping down onto the parking lot below.  I imagined the cold dirty water dropping down on some unsuspecting cheating person as they went in to meet up for an afternoon delight.  The inside wasn’t terrible, but I could tell by Candy’s face that this was a huge sacrifice in comfort on her part.  Two double beds with cheap floral bedspreads were crammed in the room with just enough space to squeeze by them and the fiberboard dresser placed against the opposite wall.  An old TV squatted on top of the dresser, and the beds shared a painted plywood bedside table with a phone and a cheap alarm clock.  Laminated and firmly taped to the bedside table was a sheet indicating various charges for phone calls, and pay movies.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Wyatt said as he walked over to the TV.  I thought he was referring to the age, poor quality, and limited channels of the unit.  He reached up and grabbed the remote off the top and I saw it had been drilled and outfitted with a ring which was connected by a long metal chain to an identical ring on the TV.  I laughed.  All that trouble to safeguard a ten dollar universal remote.  If we really wanted to steal it, a good set of tin snips, heck probably a decent pocket knife, could have freed it from the chain.  Or we could have just grabbed the TV too.

“What, no mini bar?  No room service?” I asked, delighted.  I was enchanted by the place.  Sleazy sex downstairs, tacky theft prevention.  I wondered if the bed vibrated.  Yes!  There was a coin operated box on the side.  I dug around for a quarter and threw myself on the bed to enjoy the ride.  Better than the kiddy rides outside Walmart.

Candy was not so amused.  She looked as though she was about ready to grab some Clorox wipes and go to town.  The expression on her face as I set the bed to shaking was priceless.  This was going to be the most fun hunt ever.  More fun even then catching that sorcerer for the elves a few centuries back.

Candy pointed to the bed closest to the door.  The one I wasn’t lying on.

“This is my bed.  I don’t want to see you sleeping in it, I don’t want you having sex in it with him or anyone, or even by yourself.  I don’t want anything involving bodily fluids going on in this bed.  In fact, I don’t even want you to sit on it.  Especially not naked.  You too,” she added as an afterthought pointing at Wyatt.

“What if I put a plastic bag down first?” I asked playfully.  “I can spray some disinfectant on it afterward to kill the germs.”

Candy glared at me.  I guess that was a no.

There were some logistical negotiations regarding the shopping expedition.  It was silly for us all to go out to buy toothbrushes and cheap jeans, but Candy was afraid to let me shop for her and Wyatt needed incomprehensible stuff at an electronics store.  I think he was a little worried about me shopping for him too.  He should have been.  I purchased more on entertainment value than fashion sense.  With me in charge, Candy was liable to end up in a French maid outfit and Wyatt in a bondage harness.

Finally, Candy took down our sizes and preferences and agreed to do the clothing and necessity shopping.  She was immersed in one of her lists when I decided that I just had to do something this afternoon or I’d explode.

“Go with Candy,” I told Wyatt.  “There’s got to be an electronics store at the outlets.  I’m going to go canvass one of our three potential sites.”

“It’s starting to rain,” Candy noted.  “Why don’t you wait until I get a change of clothes for you?”

“I’m really fidgety.  I can’t hang out here for hours and watch network TV or porn.”  I had to get out of that hotel room and shake the wiggles out or I’d be liable to make poor decisions later.  “The one site is only three miles from here and it’s not raining hard.  I think I’m going to jog.”

“Cool, I can take your car then,” Wyatt said before the words left my mouth.

“Nope.  Nobody drives my car.” Like nobody sits on Candy’s bed, I thought.

“It will be faster if we don’t have to ride together.  I swear I’ll be careful.”

“No.”

“Sam, I’ve known you for two years.  You can trust me to take good care of it.  I know how much it means to you.”

“No.”

“You trust me with the key to your safe, to take care of all your affairs if needed, but you won’t let me drive your car?”

“No.  It’s my car.”

“So, if you have to flee back to your home land, am I allowed to drive it then?  Or do I have to let it sit and rot wherever you left it last?  You’d rather some redneck with plumber’s butt hoist your car onto a flat bed or drag it down the road on a hook to the impound lot than allow me to drive it?”

I thought for a moment.  “Well, maybe then,” I said, grudgingly.  “But not now.  You can’t drive it now.  Or in the foreseeable future.”

Wyatt glared at me.  This was clearly an issue he would continue to address.  I realized that I’d probably eventually have to let him drive my car sometime or he’d harp on it forever.  Not now though.  Maybe after we’d had sex.

The pair left to run their errands and I was alone in the no–tell motel room.  I’d looked at the map and directions on Wyatt’s tablet, and he’d set it up on my cell phone so I could use the GPS feature to get there and back if I took a detour.  I sat for a moment to prepare myself and bring back up the angel’s DNA and energy signature.  It was like waving a dirty sock in front of a Bloodhound.  I focused and a great anticipation grabbed me.  I hoped the angel marked his victims prior to the kill.  Scouted out their homes, watched them to see their habits, planned his moves.  I had so much on him, if he so much as coughed on a twig I’d notice.

I locked the door, with an actual key no less, and headed out.  Thankfully the light rain had stopped, although the humidity would have me just as soaked in thirty minutes.  I jogged down the busy four lane commercial route trying to look like I was just out for some exercise.  Six blocks, then a left.  Two more blocks then a right.  The tightly packed houses started to spread apart with more sizable yards, then separated by fields of corn or soybean.  A mile down and I turned onto a winding hilly country road that didn’t seem wide enough for two modern cars to pass.  Heck, two Suburbans would have to four wheel it, especially with no shoulder on the road.  Little clusters of three or four modern houses broke the expanses of crops, hay fields, and cattle pasture.  I listened carefully for cars.  They’d never be able to see me with the hills and curves in the road until they were almost on me.  Jumping out of the way into a muddy ditch or barbed wire would have been my only option on a few stretches.

I quickly realized that running in blue jeans was a horrible idea.  They clung to me in the wet heat and the seams were rubbing and chafing.  Thankfully I’d worn a supportive bra and a pair of old running shoes, or the situation would have been dire.  Still, I was seriously contemplating taking the damned jeans off and running in my underwear.  The road was pretty deserted this time of day.  I considered it, but decided I’d rather suffer than draw attention to myself when I was on a hunt.  That’s all I needed was some country boy trying to get lucky with streaker girl.

I was only a hundred yards from the house when the sky opened up and sheets of rain poured down on me.  Fuck, could this get any worse?  The jeans were like two hundred pounds of wet sandpaper at this point, and my running shoes squelched water with every stride.  This was hell.  Not that medieval painting of horned dudes gnawing on limbs and fucking asses.  Wet jeans were far worse than chewed up limbs and a sore rectum.  I knew this for a fact.

I looked up at the house through the haze of grey rain and wet hair.  It was set back from the road down a long driveway.  Two story, colonial style with shutters on the windows and vinyl siding.  No trees, no deck or patio, no front porch, no landscaping bushes, no cover at all.  Just a straight shot until you reached the house where there was a small detached garage and a prefab shed.  Couldn’t anybody have planted any trees?  Or a nice stone fence?  Or a privet hedge?

I pretended to tie my shoe and thought for a second.  That’s when I saw it.  There was a drainage ditch running along the driveway about two feet out.  It was about two feet wide and eighteen inches deep.  This was going to suck big time.  Staying bent over, I slithered into the ditch.  The downpour was not kind to me.  The ditch wasn’t full enough of water to splash my way up, but it was wet enough to create a good two inches of mud at the bottom.  Where was that rock hard Maryland red clay when you needed it?  Did it just stop as you crossed the Pennsylvania border?

I did my best imitation of an army crawl through that muddy ditch.  I got to say that, although crawling about twenty yards through mud and rain was physically exerting and dirty business, it wasn’t anywhere near as painful as jogging in soaking wet jeans.  By the time I reached the end of the ditch at the side of the garage, I was unrecognizable.  I couldn’t even tell the color of my pants or shirt under the brown sludge.  I carefully looked up out of the ditch and didn’t see anyone around the house or garage.  There were no cars or trucks anywhere, and this guy supposedly lived alone.  He was probably at work in a nice warm dry office with all the good people of the world.  I was the only fool out here, crawling through the mud in a downpour.

The roof stuck slightly out from the side of the two–car garage and I plastered my sludge–covered ass against the wall, gaining a bit of a reprieve from the rain.  Not like I could get any wetter.  Wiping my muddy hands on my equally muddy pants proved ineffectual, so I tried wiping them on the side of the garage instead.  It didn’t help.

I wasn’t having any luck sensing Althean, or even Gregory.  With Gregory, I only had a dim energy signature.  It would be a huge long shot to pick anything up from him, but Althean I should have been able to sense.  So either this place wasn’t a target in the immediate future, or he didn’t do planning or reconnaissance whatsoever before moving in for the kill.  I didn’t think he was quite that insane, since he’d managed to get away with this so far and a lack of planning will get you caught pretty fast.  Still, I thought it might be best to get a closer look in case he was trickier than I thought.  I checked around the shed area first and found nothing but an old riding mower and some lawn tools.  The backyard revealed that a neighbor’s cat occasionally came over to prowl and pee on the sand of the horseshoe pits.  That had to piss a werewolf off to no end.

I looped around between the garage and the house.  There was simply no cover at all around this place.  It looked like a divine hand had plopped a house and outbuildings smack down in the middle of a mowed hay field.  If the angel came here, he’d need to be ballsy enough to stride right up the driveway in full view.  There had to be an easier target.  One with less risk.  I wanted to be thorough before I ruled this place out though.  Since no one was home, I walked around the house peering in windows where I could.  It was a typical house.  Decent furniture in a living room, a pile of mail on the dining room table, comfortable looking sofa and a wood stove in the TV room.  The yard sloped a bit and the kitchen windows in the back of the house were a too high for me to see through.  I hooked my hands on the sill and carefully pushed my weight up to stand on an outdoor faucet.  The kitchen had a couple of dishes on the counter, a coffee cup on the breakfast table, newspapers piled on a chair.

I managed to ease off the faucet without slipping, but before I could congratulate myself, my other foot sank deep and firmly into sucking mud and I went down on my rear.  Well, it wasn’t like I could get any more muddy.  That was when I heard the familiar click of the safety on a gun.  I sat very still.

“Keep your hands where I can see them and stand up slowly.”

That was truly easier said than done.  Like a game of Twister, I rotated at the waist and onto my hands and knees.  The mud retained its firm hold on my shoe and that foot was stuck at an odd angle.  I looked up and through my dripping hair I saw a man.  A man holding a shotgun.  The gun looked like the one Wyatt had back in his gun safe.  The guy was in his early thirties, lean and muscled with tan work boots, and a sleeveless shirt advertising a high school sports team.  The brim of his baseball cap shaded his face from my view, but I could see a well trimmed short beard decorating his jawline.

“My foot is stuck.” I told him.

“Well, pull it out, but keep your hands on the ground,” he said unsympathetically.

I braced my weight on my hands and other foot and pulled.  And twisted.  Finally I tried rocking back and forth and the foot slowly came free.  I stood, careful to keep my hands where shotgun guy could see them.  He looked me over.

“Who are you and why are you prowling around my house?”  The rain had slowed thankfully and he no longer had to shout to be heard above the racket.

“Samantha Martin.  I was out for a jog and was just trying to get some shelter from the rain until it stopped.”  I so wanted to push my wet and muddy hair out of my face, but I really didn’t want to get shot.  Especially at this range.

“In jeans?  And getting out of the rain involves dragging yourself to the house in a muddy ditch rather than walking up the driveway like a normal person?  And instead of standing under the garage roof, you sneak around the buildings and look in my windows?”  Suspicious kind of guy.  He looked ready to shoot first and finish with the questions later.  Actually, he looked rather scared.  Strange for him to be scared, him a fit werewolf with a gun and me a soaking wet middle aged woman with no visible weapon.  There was a good reason for him to be scared, but he wasn’t supposed to know about it.

“Is this not the first time you’ve had someone prowling around your house recently?”

The guy looked at me a moment.  “Hold still.”

I held very still while he reached down, grabbed the hose nozzle and proceeded to spray me down.  It was pretty humiliating to stand there with my hands in the air while some guy with a shotgun blasted me with water.  It was uncomfortable too.  The water was icy cold and it stung with the force of a fire hose.

“Turn around slowly,” he told me.

I complied and had the further humiliation of having my ass sprayed off.

I turned around to face him again while he looked.  At least the blast of water had pushed my hair back out of my face.  I did my best to look harmless.  It was easier than usual since I was soaking wet.

“There were some murders up in York late yesterday night,” he said slowly.  “They are part of a series of murders, so I’m a bit careful.”

There is no way he should have known about that couple.  It wasn’t common knowledge, and there hadn’t even been enough time for the gossip mill to get going.  I wondered if he’d been part of the local cleanup crew who discovered the bodies.  The tape had been too grainy to easily recognize faces, and I still couldn’t see this guy clearly with the brim of his cap so low.

“Do you have reason to believe you may be a target?” I asked trying to give him a significant look.  One of us was just going to have to come out and say it soon because all this dancing around was not good for my patience.

“Are you an angel?”  There, shotgun guy did it for me.  I liked him more and more.

There were all sorts of witty comebacks and innuendos I really wanted to make to a question like that, but I decided to keep with the straight talk program.

“No, I’m the one who’s going to kill the angel.”

He pushed the brim of the cap up and looked at me in astonishment.  Okay, I didn’t exactly look impressive right at that moment, but his disbelief was a bit insulting.

“You’re the demon?”

So not only did this guy know about the murders, and the angel, but he knew I’d been contracted to save their asses.  This was a guy I wanted to talk to.

“Have you had anyone nosing around your place but me?  Any reason to suspect you might be a target?  We think someone in the area might be, but if you could help us pin it down then we might be able to kill this thing.”

He looked undecided about whether to lower the shotgun or not.  “How do I know you’re not an angel?”

Again, I had to bite my tongue.  Oh, this was such an opportunity for smart comments.  Instead I shrugged.  “What do I need to do to prove it to you?  I could find the cat that’s been peeing in your horseshoe pit and dismember it with my bare hands.  Or we could have wild muddy sex here in your yard.  I can’t see an angel doing that.”

Shotgun guy’s lips twitched.  “You’re not of my species.  That would be against the rules.”

I grinned.  “I’m all about breaking the rules.”

He grinned back.  “Me too actually, but I’ll decline your offer for now.”  He lowered the shotgun and stuck out his hand.  “I’m Craig Stottlemeyer.”

Craig was my new best friend.  He invited me in, allowed me to drip mud and water all over his kitchen floor, wrapped me in a huge soft towel and gave me a hot mug of tea.  I was happy to see his place wasn’t pristine.  He had a stack of dirty dishes in the sink and piles of papers and old mail scattered around.  My tea mug advertised some temporary labor agency and the handle had been crazy glued back on at some point.  After meeting Candy and seeing that house in York, I was beginning to think all werewolves were OCD neat freaks.  What a relief.

Craig was also easy to look at.  And look I did as soon as he took the hat off.  His neat brown beard matched his ultra–short clippered hair.  He had high cheekbones in a thin face accented with an equally sharp nose.  The severity of his features was softened by a generous splash of freckles.  His eyes twinkled, too.  I had no doubt he could dispatch anything that threatened his person or his home, but he looked like he’d do it with good humor and a sparkling smile.  He was a cute guy to be a bachelor.  I assumed that werewolves had difficulty finding suitable partners since they had to restrict themselves to their own species.  In the cities it might be easier, but I could imagine it was slim pickings out here.

We sat at his kitchen table and talked.  Craig was well informed of the danger he and other local werewolves were in.  From what he’d gathered, the angel liked to strike in people’s dwellings when they were alone, which usually equated to night time.  There had been a couple of instances when the werewolf target worked a night shift, or was home during the day and they had been killed at that time.  Craig was usually at work during the day, but he’d taken off the next few days to prepare a defense.  He had hid his cars down the road at a neighbor’s and snuck back quietly staying in a deer blind a good two acres away in the tree line at the edge of his property.  There, he ate beef jerky and kept an eye on his house with binoculars.  It must have really sucked with the heat and the rain we’d just had.  That was really roughing it.

“I figured the freak would sneak around first and plan his attack.  I’ve got a good nose, and I’m a good hunter so I can stay alert in a deer blind for two days with binoculars glued to my eyes.  I haven’t seen anyone but you since I began at six this morning.  I came straight here after we left the Randolph’s house in York.  They wanted me to help with cleanup, but I used work as an excuse.  I’ll be in a good bit of trouble with my pack leader when they find out, but protecting myself is more important than cleaning blood off a carpet.”

I agreed.  “You got a map?  There are some other places around here that are potential targets and I wondered if I pointed out there location and gave you their names you could tell me anything you knew about them and their properties.  Anything.  The more information the better.”

Craig got out an old fashioned map of Gettysburg and circled in red all the werewolf residences he knew.  Having some local knowledge was priceless.  I dotted the ones Wyatt had indicated were in his predictive line.

“These are the houses he may target, according to our analysis.”

Craig noted his place, then traced a finger over.  “This is the Smythe place.  They’re in Hawaii for two weeks.  They just left Monday.”

Lucky them.

“This one is Robinson.  He’s a long distance trucker.  He’s expected back tomorrow night or the day after tomorrow.  Took a truckload of appliances out to a regional warehouse in Iowa.”

Could be Robinson then.  That would buy us some time.  Or it could be Craig.

“That leaves you,” I told him.  I felt like I was on one of those dramas where the surgeon tells a man he has an inoperable brain tumor.  You have a malignant angel.  It will kill you in three days or less.

Craig raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips as if considering his funeral options.  “Or, it could be Mrs. Staley.”  He dotted the map in a spot between his place and Robinson’s.

I looked at the dot.  “According to the master database there isn’t a werewolf living there.”

Craig gave me a significant look.  Ah.  Ms. Staley was off the grid.  “If she’s been able to avoid registration and/or death, then how do you know about her?  How does anyone know about her?” I asked.

I watched him take a sip of his tea and look worriedly out the kitchen window.  “Sometimes you fake a death, or don’t record a birth.  It’s easy to get human identities and the angel that is in charge of the werewolves doesn’t pay much attention to the humans.  They are really stupid about most technology, too.  It’s very difficult though.  You can’t live as a werewolf.  You can’t socialize with them, hunt with them, you can’t even think of letting your wolf out during the moon.  It’s a life cut off from your culture, your people, even a part of yourself.  You live as a human.  You can’t mate with a human because it goes against millennia of teaching and culture, but you can’t mate with a registered wolf and not blow your cover.  There are no records of you as a werewolf.  Even the local wolves don’t know who you are in case one is tortured or there is a snitch.  There are only a few hundred in the world who live like this, but it’s important to the freedom and future of our species to have a handful off the radar, just in case.

“Ms. Staley does my taxes.  She lives alone.  Never mated, never had kids.  She’s in her mid–sixties.  She hasn’t changed form in almost twenty years.  If she hadn’t told me in a fit of loneliness one day I would have never known.  She doesn’t even smell like a wolf anymore.”

Craig looked at me, his eyes no longer twinkling.  “That’s a horrible way to live your life.  Of course, I don’t know if ours is much better tiptoeing around, minding our P’s and Q’s and hoping our friends don’t find our body in the kitchen one day with angel wings on our forehead.”

I agreed, but I didn’t see how my killing one angel was going to help their case in the long run.  I didn’t get how the humans got to run amok, breeding like rabbits, taxing the natural resources and driving themselves closer and closer to extinction with their folly, but others like the werewolves were hammered with impossible rules and unnatural restrictions.   Maybe just to strike out once would be enough.  They’d have the satisfaction of knowing they didn’t go gently into that good night.

I shouldn’t have cared.  If the angels wanted to make life miserable for this species, drive them into extinction, why should I care?  It wouldn’t make any difference to me.  The whole thing bothered me, though.  Angels were such controlling assholes.  What gave them the right to target a species like this?  The werewolves were so outclassed, too.   If all of them united they’d never stand a chance against even a couple of angels.  Bullies.  And the thing with the baby.  Hypocrites.  Even if Althean accidentally killed the woman and the baby, to mark them as guilty, to cover it up was deplorable.  Fuck, I hated angels.

I asked Craig if he’d mind driving me back to the motel.  I was still damp and muddy in spite of the hosing off, and my jeans were beginning to dry into the stiffness of plywood.  Even though the rain had stopped, I didn’t relish a jog or even a walk back.  My legs would have been chewed through to blood and bones by the time I reached the vacancy sign.  Craig looked a little surprised as if he expected me to sprout leathery wings and fly back.  I could do that, but I was pretty sure I’d be chopped out of the sky by an angel with a sword before I reached my destination.  We walked over to the neighbor’s house and he motioned for me to get into a little Toyota pick–up.  I’d pegged him for a Chevy or Ford man myself.  The Toyota was trashed inside with dirt on the seats, balled up fast food bags on the floor, and a box of shotgun shells spilling out of the cup holder.  At least I didn’t worry about my muddy ass staining his upholstery.  I was more worried about week old barbeque sauce staining my muddy ass.

Craig turned to me even before we pulled out of the driveway.

“So, what do you do?  Do you throw lightning, or shoot laser beams out your eyes or something?”

I didn’t blame him one bit.  I hardly looked like a bringer of death, and the most impressive thing I’d done so far was get my foot stuck in the mud outside his window.  Heck, I even had to ask him for a lift.  Badass me.

I shrugged.  “I can do a lot of things.”

It was a good question, though.  What could I do?  I didn’t know what it was going to take to kill this angel.  I didn’t know what he was going to throw at me, or what he was susceptible to.  What if nothing I had worked?  What if he ended up being vulnerable to something stupid like aluminum beer cans?  Deep down inside, I had a secret fantasy of Owning him.  It would be epic to go home and parade around Owning an angel.  That was a total fantasy though, and I knew better.  Just concentrate on killing him before he killed me.  I was thinking that, when I confronted this angel, I should probably start with the basics in terms of my skills and work from there.

Electricity and fire in varying intensities were pretty much gifts at birth.  Caretakers had to be fast and proactive around the infants they guarded since babies let loose bursts of energy without warning or provocation.  There was just no control at that age, and many would cook themselves, seriously injure their caregivers or accidently kill a foster sibling.  Even the Low managed to master electricity and fire to some degree, although they often couldn’t do anything complicated.  I’d always been skilled at electricity in all its strengths and forms.  I was good at persuading elementals to service too, not that I was aware of any elementals on this realm.  My greatest skill, though, was that I could shuffle the periodic table around like a dealer in Vegas.  I wondered what a bolt of lightning would do to an angel.  Could I use conversion on him?  Turn bone to liquid?  Harden joints and shatter them?  I had thought I might have to fall back on just heaving raw energy at him.  Very crude, but when you don’t know your enemy it’s difficult to be flashy.

Craig didn’t look wowed at my vague answer, but he kept silent the rest of the ride.  We exchanged cell phone numbers in the hotel parking lot and agreed to call each other if any new developments emerged.

Chapter Twelve

Candy and Wyatt were back before I was.  I had to stand outside muddy and wet while Candy carefully laid towels from the door to the bathroom.  I wondered if we had any towels left for showers.  There was a good possibility they might not bring us anymore.  This wasn’t exactly the Hyatt.

“Take off your shoes and socks,” she instructed, “and walk across the towels to the bathroom. There you can shower and dry off.  Leave your clothes in the sink.  I’ve already put a clean set in there for you.”

“Why don’t I just take off my clothes here?” I asked.  I’d drip less mud if the clothes stayed on the outside of our room.

“No.  I don’t need to see anymore of your body, and the other patrons do not need to see your naked backside standing on the balcony here.  Just try not to get anything on the carpet.”

I obeyed walking the tightrope of towels.  Wyatt had wires and plastic things strewn all over the bed (not Candy’s bed), and barely grunted a hello.  I wondered if he was still mad about not getting to drive my Corvette.

Nothing feels better than a hot shower after you’ve been wet and muddy for a few hours.  Well, except for the parts of my inner legs rubbed into red raw chunks.  Those stung like a motherfucker when I peeled off the pants and the water hit them.  Hopefully I could stealthily fix the skin before I had to put clothing on.

Even though it was humid and sticky out, being rained on somehow makes you feel cold and damp.  I got in with my clothes on figuring I could kill two birds with one stone and get them rinsed of their mud layer.  After the water ran clean, I peeled them gently off and plopped the sodden mess in the sink.  Candy was considerate enough to have bought shampoo, conditioner, soap, and even some razors.  I hadn’t even thought of that since most hotels I stayed at had decent supplies in their bathrooms.  Of course this one didn’t.  So their guests didn’t take showers after their hour long rendezvous?  Or just rinsed off?  Or perhaps they brought their own little clean up bag with them, like I do to the gym.  I let the water steam over me thinking about the similarities of Zumba at the gym and sweaty mattress aerobics on the first floor.

My warm feelings toward Candy faded when I saw the clothes she had bought me.  A pack of cheap cotton underwear.  Okay, no problem.  It’s not like I needed slut panties for the next two days.  Inexpensive jeans.  Okay, although I resented that she bought me curvy/relaxed fit.  The sports bra was Okay.  The shirt was just revolting though.  It looked like it should have come with a Mennonite cap and a long skirt.  It was long sleeved.  Perfect for these ninety degree days we were having.  It was pink with little white gingham checks all over it.  It buttoned up to a little peter pan collar with picot lace around the edge.  The sleeve cuffs were edged in the same picot lace.  I put it on and looked in the mirror.  There was no fucking way I was even leaving the bathroom in this shirt.  I walked out in my bra with the shirt in my hand hoping to see if I could slice enough of it off with my utility knife to tolerate wearing it until I washed and dried the muddy clothing.

Wyatt snickered as I walked out and Candy handed him a folded bill.

“I bet her a twenty that you wouldn’t even wear it out of the bathroom.  She thought you’d slice it up and wear it frayed just to piss her off.”

“You’d have won if I’d brought my multi–tool into the bathroom with me.” I told Candy as I tossed her the shirt.  “I’ll just do the bra thing until my clothes get through the washer and dryer.”

“No need,” Wyatt said grinning.  “I bought you a present.”

He handed me a bag.  It was glossy pink with an antiqued gold banner and a crest on it.  Candy nodded approvingly seeing the designer logo.

I pulled out the t–shirt and unfolded it admiring the bold black and red colors.  “Look,” I said turning it around and displaying it across my chest.  “I’m ‘Juicy’”

Wyatt’s grin threatened to engulf his whole face and Candy choked a bit.

“It’s Juicy Couture,” she said, dismayed.  “It’s a designer brand name.”

“Yes, but I’m ‘Juicy’,” I told her.  “Do you think I’m ‘Juicy’, Wyatt?” I turned to him all innocent.

“I certainly hope so.”

“See, it says right here that I’m ‘Juicy’, so it must be true,” I said.  “Wyatt, you’ll need to have one that says ‘Crunchy’.  I think that you’re probably ‘Crunchy’.  And Candy can have ‘Chewy’.  Or possibly ‘Tough and Stringy’, if they have that one.”

“Can I have ‘Hard’?” Wyatt teased.  “Maybe “Huge and Hard.”

I looked at the portion of his anatomy in question.  “From this angle, I’d support that.  Although I still like ‘Crunchy’.  I’m very fond of ‘Crunchy’.”

Candy shook her head in exasperation and neatly folded the shirt I had thrown at her before tossing me a pack of plain white t–shirts she bought for me to wear.

“What did you find on your prowl?” she asked, deftly changing the subject.

I brought them up to speed on my pleasant visit with Craig Stottlemyer, although I left out the part on the off–the–grid werewolf.

“So nothing at his house.  The one house is out since they are gone for weeks.  We’ve got some time with this Robinson guy.  We could check out his place tonight, get some sleep, and start surveillance tomorrow before he gets back.” Candy said, putting the hideous shirt in a drawer.

Wyatt and I agreed.  I threw on a white tee so I didn’t get rain and mud all over my new Juicy shirt.  Wyatt called shotgun as we piled into Candy’s car and headed out.

Robinson had a little one story house that looked like it was delivered on a flatbed.  His garage was three times the size of his house, no doubt to accommodate his semi when he was home.  The big garage was empty but for a monster–sized Ford 350.  This must be where his money went.  It had chrome all over, a custom painted Pittsburgh Steelers logo covering the back window, and pink rubber testicles hanging from the trailer hitch.  Sheesh.  The guy drove a big rig, had a huge truck, I was guessing his dick was the size of my pinky.  Since he wasn’t home, I covered the ground outside his home in a grid pattern twenty feet out from his walls.  Nothing.  By the time I was done, I was starved.

“Do you think Althean got freaked out over killing a pregnant woman and is going to hold back for a while?” I asked, stuffing down a burger and fries at a local diner.  “Maybe Gregory caught up with him and has pummeled his ass into submission?”

Candy shrugged.  “I don’t think he can hold back for long.  From the video we saw I think he’s snapped and gone crazy.  He was pacing all over the place, and didn’t act like he was rational and in control of his actions.  Still, if we don’t see anything in the next two or three days, then we’ll have to rethink our strategy.  It could be that Gregory has caught up to him and stopped him, but I’m not convinced of Gregory’s intentions.  It could be that he supports Althean and would only want him to be more stealthy in his kills.”

Three days.  Shit.  I had horses and Boomer, and a zoning hearing.  Normally, Wyatt would make sure my animals were okay, but he was here with me.  My neighbors weren’t on a friendly basis with me, so I called Michelle.

“You read those zoning documents yet?” she asked.

“No, and I’m probably going to miss the hearing.  Can you sit in for me?” I asked in my nicest voice.  “I’m out of state for a couple days, and I wondered if you’d please go by my place and check on my horses and dog.  The horses are in the field, so you won’t need to do more than toss a bale of hay at them.  Just dump some food in Boomer’s bowl.  It’s in the barn by the tack room.”

“Sam, I’m a black girl raised in the heart of Baltimore.  I’m not getting anywhere near those crazy animals of yours.  Where is Wyatt?”  She paused and I heard her gasp in excitement.  “Oooo, are you both on a romantic trip?  You’ve got to tell me what he’s like in the sack.  I’ll get Darleen to check your farm for you.  You just enjoy yourself and call me the minute you’re back in town.”

“Wait,” I said before she hung up.  Who the fuck was Darleen?  “Is Darleen your fat friend?  The one with the curly hair who sings when she’s drunk?”

“She was raised on a dairy farm.  Cows are the same as horses, so you can trust her.”

Crap, I hoped she wasn’t going to try and milk my horses.  Especially since they were all geldings.  I wondered if I should burst her bubble about my ‘romantic’ getaway with Wyatt.  I was pretty focused on my hunt, and I’d hate to disappoint her with no lurid stories when I returned.

“We’re actually up here with Candy on some business.  Just wanted you to know that,” I said looking at Wyatt and Candy.  Maybe I should have waited and had this conversation in private.

Michelle was silent a moment.  I squirmed.  I might be bad to the bone, but I didn’t want Michelle to get pissed at me.  She was the best property manager I’d ever had.

“I didn’t think Candy was licensed to sell outside Maryland,” she said in a very scary calm voice.  “And I’m certainly not licensed to manage out of state properties.”

“It’s a real long shot, Michelle,” I said soothingly.  “If I buy anything you can open a Pennsylvania office and hire someone already licensed here to manage under you.  You’re the best, and I’m not about to deal with anyone else.  If you would cover for me while I’m gone, I’d really appreciate it.  I’ll call you the moment I’m back and let you know how things stand so you can get the jump on things.”  How cryptic was that?  I hated stroking egos.  It’s not a skill I grew up with.

Michelle seemed reassured and chatted on, gossiping about local politics and prominent business owners in town.  Finally, she announced she had to go as she had a date with some guy named Javier.

Candy rolled her eyes as I put my phone back.  “That girl could be a powerhouse if she ever learned to focus.”

“She’s young.  She’s bright.  She seizes opportunities and takes calculated risks; she’s got a great future.  I don’t entrust my business concerns to anyone but the best.” I replied.  Don’t criticize my people.

We headed back to our motel room.  Wyatt took a shower while I ran my laundry down for a quick run in the washer.  I left it spinning, thinking I’d throw it in the dryer in the morning, and popped back in the room just as Candy was finishing a phone call of her own.

“I love you and I’ll see you soon.  Call you tomorrow.”

“Your husband?” I asked as she hung up.

“No, my son.  I’ve been divorced for seven years now, and we really don’t speak any longer.  I did see my ex–husband at my son’s wedding last year, though.”

Wow, I must have caught her in a sentimental mood to reveal this kind of personal information to me.  I was even more shocked when she dug in her purse and pulled out a vinyl album of pictures.

“Here’s my son and his wife at their wedding.  The bridesmaid here is my daughter.  She just graduated college this spring and is working up in New York.  My son and his wife are in Philly.”

She continued to flip through the album.  Her kids were attractive, smiling, happy.  A lovely family.  She even had a shot of the whole wedding party with her husband and his new wife.

“What happened with your marriage?”  I asked.  Was that a polite thing to ask?  Humans asked questions and showed interest in each other’s lives, but I never knew where to draw the line.

Candy shrugged.  “We were married fairly young.  It’s not always easy to find a mate, so if you’re attracted to someone in your area and they’re available, you tend to jump on it and rush into commitment.  As we both grew older, I became stronger, more involved in business and in werewolf politics.  Especially after the kids grew up.  I think he just wanted a mate who wasn’t so dominant, who was less of a mover and shaker, less ambitious.  We don’t talk, but we’re not hostile toward each other.  These things happen.  I know his new wife.  We’re not a huge community, so you tend to know everyone, especially if you deal in politics.  She’s very nice.  They seem happy.”

Her voice was pragmatic, calm and reasonable.  She didn’t mourn his loss, but I think she mourned the loss of something.  Maybe intimacy?  Maybe companionship?

“You never found another mate?  Never remarried?”  She was on a roll, so I thought I’d ask.

Candy shook her head sadly.  “There aren’t a huge amount of us, and with our existence contract we’re limited in where we can make our home.  Even if I wanted to marry someone in, say Richmond, I’d need to petition to move there to be with him, or he’d need to petition to move to my city.  Plus, I’m very involved in my business and in politics.  It’s hard to find time for long distance dating.”

She showed me additional pictures of rounded babies and skinny adolescents.  Her kids when they were young.  They looked human.  Kids with baseball bats, kids jumping in pools, kids making silly faces at the cameras.  It was clear that parenting had been one of the most important parts of her life.  I wondered how easy it was to move from one phase of your life to another?  Candy was successful, but was she happy?  Did she long for those days with a husband and her young children again, for a past her?

“I’m hoping for grandchildren eventually,” she sighed.  “Werewolves live slightly longer than humans.  Our average life expectancy is just over one hundred years, and we have a long window of fertility.  We need it, because we don’t seem to get pregnant easily and we don’t always carry a child to term.  I was so blessed to have two healthy children, but our numbers are dwindling because our fertility is low.  Over the last five hundred years, it’s declined dramatically.”

“You need some hybrid vigor,” I told her.  “Cross breed with humans.  They are fertile like rabbits, and have a high live birth rate.  You could interbreed with the hybrids then and strengthen your species.”

Candy shook her head.  “It’s forbidden in our existence contract.  No breeding with the humans.  No sex with the humans at all.  It’s been that way for thousands of years and it’s gotten to the point where we feel repulsed at the very idea.  It’s just ingrained in our culture.”

There was something about that pronouncement that lit a spark in my memory.  What was it with angels and cross species breeding with humans?  They seemed to freak at the thought.

“Wait,” Candy said suddenly, a strange look on her face.  “Didn’t Wyatt say there was a higher incidence of kills among females?  I’d noticed that a few of the early kills had admitted to fertility treatment.  I didn’t think anything at the time because that’s a real grey area in our contract.  But now I’m wondering if Althean is targeting the more fertile among us.  Can angels discern that sort of thing?  It would really hasten our extinction if he picked his victims based on their ability to produce offspring.”

“I don’t know if angels can do that or not,” I said.  “Either way, killing an already pregnant woman and her unborn baby is not allowable for them.  I could see killing the father, assuming he’s the fertile one, and coming back to kill the mother after she gives birth, but not while she’s pregnant.”

“Do you think it could help us identify who the potential victims are?” she asked.

I shrugged.  “I can’t sense someone’s fertility.  I don’t think it’s going to help us catch him.”

I left Candy and scrolled through the TV stations.  Candy had ruled out any porn while she was in the room, so I ended up watching NCIS reruns.  Wyatt finished his obscenely long shower and emerged from the steam with sweat pants and nothing on top.  The guy had the best chest ever.  Slim, but cut and muscular, with arms Popeye would give his eye teeth for.  I stared like a starving orphan.  This was going to be the most torturous night of my life.  Wyatt pulled the bedspread and top sheet down to the bottom of the bed and tossed himself on it holding the remote–on–a–chain.  Damn, that was just sexy.

I was not allowed to change into my pajamas in the room and was banished to the bathroom to disrobe and brush my teeth.  Candy had outdone herself on the nighttime wear selection.  Normally I just slept in the nude.  Tonight I would be sleeping in flannel shorts and a Tinkerbell t–shirt that could easily have contained three longshoremen.  Yep, it was that big.

As I walked out of the bathroom, Wyatt caught sight of me and made a choking noise.  I pivoted around to show him the entire glory of the Tinkerbell shirt that came well past my knees.  I didn’t know why I bothered with the flannel shorts since you couldn’t tell I had them on under the tent of the shirt.

“Come on, baby, you know you want me,” I told Wyatt while posing seductively.  I could have been three hundred pounds in this thing and you wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference.

“Sorry, Sam, my libido vanished at the sight of that hideous nightwear,” he laughed.

I plopped down on the bed next to him and watched Candy take her toothbrush into the bathroom.

“Do you think we have time for a quickie while she brushes her teeth?” I asked Wyatt.

“I heard that,” Candy said over the sound of running water.

“That’s a no, then.” Wyatt seemed genuinely regretful.  I wondered if he was still scared of me.  I wondered if we’d ever have sex.  Hopefully soon before he got old and less attractive.  Humans have such short lives, and are not very appealing in the early or late stages of them.  Wyatt was very appealing now, spread out on the bed before me like a prime rib buffet.  I just wanted to rub my hands up his naked chest.  And my mouth.  Heck all of me, like a cat against a chair leg.  Full of sexual frustration from my imagining, I turned on my side with my back facing him and squeezed my eyes shut trying to sleep.

Candy came out and the lights and TV went off as the others settled in.  In spite of Wyatt’s claims that he never slept, he dozed right off.  I could hear Candy snoring softly too.  Just me, awake and horny with my head full of thoughts.  How was I going to kill this angel?  I didn’t know much about them, and Candy only knew a bit more than me.  I wasn’t sure how to face off something that was at very least my equal and probably much more powerful than me.  I’d killed a few of my own kind, but those were accidents.  In spite of the propaganda painting us as evil murderous beings, we really didn’t battle or assassinate each other on a regular basis.    Yeah, there was the occasional feud, but it was over pretty fast.  Life was hazardous enough.  We’re a pretty hardy species, luckily, so it would take a wallop of power to bring one of us down when we were in defensive mode.  I’d just have to assume the same with the angel and maybe double it just to be safe.  Overkill.  When it just has to be dead.

About a half hour into my musings, Wyatt rolled over and grabbed me pulling me across the bed to him, squashing my back up against his chest and wrapping his arm and leg around me.  I think they call it ‘spooning’.  I froze and didn’t know what to do.  I’d never slept with anybody.  We just don’t do this sort of thing.  It was like being in a straightjacket; one that breathes on you and wraps your legs up too.  The whole thing was both uncomfortable and a turn–on.  I was starting to get kind of hot having Wyatt wrapped around me like a blanket, and feeling him pressed against me like this wasn’t helping me fall asleep either.

It was a long night.  I’d doze off, then move into a more comfortable spot only to have Wyatt grab me and jerk me in tighter.  Plus I didn’t realize that male humans had erections off and on all night long.  How the hell was I supposed to sleep with a boner pressed against my ass, reminding me of the enjoyable things I could be doing?  It was fucking torture and I woke up to my cell phone beeping, sleep deprived and in a hideous mood.

It took me a few moments to extricate myself from Wyatt’s grasp.  I thought I’d have to gnaw my limbs off at one point.  Of course, my struggles woke him up too.

“What?” he asked groggily as I climbed over him to grab my cell phone off the bedside table.  I made sure I smashed my boobs into his face on the way as payback for a night of dick on my ass. I looked at the phone.  Craig.  His text from a few seconds ago said “he’s here now.”  I vaulted from the bed jabbing a knee in Wyatt’s stomach and knocking the lamp on top of Candy’s head.  I had my keys and was out the door before either of them could say a word.

My Corvette screamed along the roads to Craig’s house taking up the entire road as I shot around the narrow curves.  It was too early for traffic, but I narrowly missed a tractor and a fox.  A squirrel wasn’t as lucky, and I was relieved to see it flopping around in death throes behind my car as I sped off.  At least it hadn’t gotten hung up in my undercarriage.   At the last moment I realized that I could hardly go rocketing up Craig’s driveway smashing into the angel like something from Mad Max.  I whipped into the neighbor’s driveway, and dashed through their back yard toward the tree line that extended to Craig’s deer blind.  If they were up, I’m sure the neighbor’s were startled to see an expensive sports car spinning out gravel in their driveway followed by a half naked woman darting across their back yard.  Not something you see every day over your morning coffee.

My feet were scratched and bruised by the time I reached Craig’s deer blind.  “Where is he?” I asked breathlessly.

Craig stared at me in amazement.  I looked the ruthless killer in my nightshirt with a toddler sized Tinkerbell on the front, bloody bare feet, and bed head.   At least my morning breath was fear inducing.

“He’s gone.  He was only here a few moments around the side of the house.  I didn’t get a really good look at him, so I can’t describe him.  He just appeared out of nowhere around the side of the garage, walked over to the house, stayed there for a few minutes, then walked back and disappeared.”

“Maybe he crawled up the ditch by the driveway like I did?” I suggested.  Stupid idea.  I couldn’t picture a powerful angel scooting on his belly through the mud.  Although it would be really funny to watch one do that.  Really funny.

“No, he didn’t look rumpled or dirty.  Plus, I can see the ditch from here, that’s how I saw you coming to the house.”

Another testament to my incompetence.  This guy probably thought I was a total boob.  I was beginning to think I was a total boob.

We walked down toward the house and Craig showed me where the angel came from and where he went to.  By then, Candy and Wyatt had arrived, pulling in the driveway like civilized folk.  They were dressed, and Candy had even combed her hair, although she had forgone the make–up in her haste.

“We missed him, he was only here a moment.” I told them as they walked over to us.

Craig put his hands on either side of a window, then straightened up and walked back toward the garage.  “That’s exactly what I saw him do.  It probably only was three minutes and he was gone.”

I looked carefully at the garage and along the path the angel took.  Nothing.  I looked at the house and at the window.  No smudges, no marks, no energy signature, no DNA markers.  I stared at the window in despair, and noticed a slight distortion.  It was like the window had rippled under heat and a dull prism reflected back.  Why would he have applied heat to the window?  It didn’t appear to be enough to break or even weaken the glass.  Was heat a byproduct of his presence?  If so, why didn’t his energy signature appear to me, and why wasn’t the siding where he placed his hands warped or melted even slightly?

I’d done all I could do with my human senses, so I put a hand up and sent a tentative trickle of exploratory energy to the window making sure I anchored it firmly in myself so even the smallest of information would come through.  The second my energy touched the window, I felt an explosion slamming me to the ground.  Pain seared me, and all I saw was white.  White, pain, and a screeching noise like roofing nails on a chalkboard.  Was I dead?  Was I dying?  Or maybe blind and deaf.  I wasn’t even sure I was still at Craig’s house.  Definitely not dead since the pain was still excruciating.  Pain. Pain.  I couldn’t seem to find my way out of the sound, light and pain.

Finally the white dimmed a bit, and the sound began to recede.  I realized someone was holding me and stroking my hair.  “Sam, Sam.”  Wyatt murmured in my ear as he rocked me like a human child with a boo–boo.  I appreciated his calmness since I was pretty sure whatever injury I’d suffered it hadn’t been pretty.  Things began to swim into focus around me, and I concentrated to identify where the pain was to cut it off.

Oh my.  My left hand was melted up past the wrist.  I removed my personal energy from the flesh, leaving it just a blob of melted fat, bone and tendon.  It was as if a wax sculpture had been put too close to a blowtorch.  It was pretty dramatic, but it no longer hurt now that I’d isolated it.  I must have instinctively shut off my probe or whatever melted my arm would have continued and shot right through me.  It would have killed me.

My kind tends to tear ourselves up pretty regularly, what with rough sex and our risky lifestyle.  The key is to make sure the flesh has only minimal feeling and that your personal energy is safely away from the areas being ripped or torn, or chewed.  Most accidental deaths happened from someone having their personal energy out and about during an unexpected trauma.  My personal energy had been extended out and firmly rooted deep to my core.  I was very lucky.  This could have easily been the death of me.

Wyatt still stroked my hair and I heard Candy and Craig in hushed voices to the side.

“It’s going to kill her with one blow.  This isn’t going to work.  Is there some other demon you know?  Maybe a better one?”

Great.  I was going to be sacked in favor of a ‘better’ demon.  One with red skin, a pointy tail, horns, and a goatee no doubt.  They wanted scary?  I’d show them scary.  I struggled to my feet, pushed back the pounding headache which was fifty percent from lack of coffee, and staggered to the garage.  The three followed me.  Wyatt at least looked worried.

There was no hatchet to be had in the garage.  What self respecting Pennsylvania country boy doesn’t chop his own wood?  Even better though, I found a hack saw.  I smacked my left arm up on a workbench, sending bits of melted flesh flying.  Giving myself an inch past the melted part, I started to saw my arm off.  It wasn’t easy since I hadn’t clamped it down first.  I had to give myself enough feeling to hold the arm in place, but not enough that it would be agonizing.  Still, I made it nice and slow, making sure to stick it in the bone a bit so I had to wiggle the saw blade loose.  Bone is usually spongy and hard to cut through without power tools, but whatever melted my hand had made the bone more brittle than usual and somewhat easier to cut.  Craig made retching noises; Candy stared with her mouth clamped shut; and Wyatt looked everywhere but my arm.  Sorry, Wyatt.  I hadn’t really wanted him to see this kind of thing.  Guess we were back to square one, again.  No sex for me.

After I had separated my arm from the rest of my body, I made sure to let it spurt blood a bit over the workbench.  I left the melted arm there too.  Let Craig clean it up himself, asshole.

Time for a new arm.  Like I said before, I could convert myself a new arm in an instant.  Wham, new arm.  It’s not very impressive though to just make an arm appear supposedly out of thin air in a flash of light.  I looked at my stump and slowly converted matter around me into a new arm.  Bone first, nerves and veins snaking down out of the stump, muscles that grow outward and flesh crawling like a tan plague over the surface.  It hurt like a bitch, but it looked horrifying.

“Okay,” I said, wiggling my new fingers experimentally in the air.  “Let’s go back and take a look at that window again, shall we?”

“Don’t touch it, Sam,” Wyatt implored.  “I can’t take all this again before breakfast.”

I approached the house and held my energy tight to myself as I looked at the window.  I could see it now clear as day.  That’s when I realized it wasn’t just the window.  Whatever coated the window, coated the entire house.  It was so clear and obvious, I wasn’t sure why I couldn’t see it before.  I assumed it wasn’t made for human eyes, and it was not something I’d ever see done at home.  I looked carefully at the dull rainbow of colors and heard the faint scratching noise.  It made a pattern.  A pattern I recognized from long ago.  Far back in my memories of visits, here.

“It’s a hex,” I said, half to myself.

“A hex?”  Candy looked all over the house and obviously saw nothing.  “Like the ones the Pennsylvania Dutch put on the side of their barns?”

I shrugged.  “Kind of.  The ones around here on the barns are pretty artwork, but they usually don’t make any sense from a symbolic point of view, and the makers don’t have any power to charge them and create actual wards of protection.  They probably had some superstitious meaning a few centuries ago, but they’ve lost that now.  This hex, you probably can’t see at all with your eyes.  I couldn’t see it at first, either, since it’s based on color, pattern, and sound, subtle work that we don’t use back home.  This one is based on the same ancient symbolic nature that the pretty barn decorations use now.  It’s a kind of ward to protect and guard the occupants of the house.”

I motioned with my hand.  “There are a series of circles covering the house.  They symbolize eternity and tell me that this protection is meant to last forever.  Inside are both five and eight pointed stars which carry the protection against evil.  Within them is a tulip which is for trust and faith.  The symbols add up to an eternal protection from evil that is based on faith.  Faith extended from the angel, which is a significant gift.”  I looked at Craig.  “You should feel honored to be gifted this.  It’s well crafted, and powerful.  The main color of the hex is white, which is the energy that powers it.  The white is huge.  When I touched it, that’s all I could see.  It practically blinded me.  The power behind this is just immense.  There are other colors, too.  Blue to reinforce the protection, black to bind the hex together as a whole, and a set of reddish purple angel wings like an artist’s signature.  The wings stamp it as a divine gift.  So any idiot who tries to break it knows whose hammer is about to drive him into the ground.”

I silently admired the hex a moment.  It was just amazing.  I couldn’t believe the amount of skill that had gone into creating it, let alone the immense power behind it.  What angel could possibly have power to just toss into a hex like this?  This angel was way out of my league.  Way out of any demon’s league.  The crafting, the level of detail and intricacy of the thing was awe inspiring.  I could feel the power humming from it.  The whole thing stirred something deep within me.  Something beyond admiration.    I shook my head trying to clear it of the fascination I felt contemplating this magnificent work of art and its equally magnificent creator.

“In short, it’s a protective hex,” I told the others.  “It guards against supposedly evil spirits, which is why it practically fried me into the ground.  I’ve seen witches do this in the past, but it’s not been as powerful and doesn’t really do much to keep me out.  Those are mainly to keep bad intentioned humans out and as good luck charms.  Plus, theirs are visual since the makers are at least mostly human and the protection extends against evil humans who would need to see the warning.”

“Why would Althean put a protective hex on the house of a man he was about to kill?” Candy asked, bewildered.  “Why bother to protect him against evil spirits when he’s planning to kill him in the next day or two?  Does he want to make sure no one else gets him first?”

“I’m pretty sure this hex would work against angels as well as my kind and many others.  The way it’s formulated and how it’s activated would keep any angel except the one who placed it from touching the house, and that extends directly to the owner inside or within a certain range outside the house.”  I turned to Craig.  “You could be anywhere within a thirty foot radius, and be totally safe from evil intent against your person, and be safe within your house even if there is no active evil intent.  I can stand here and talk to you, but I can’t enter your house.  And if I decided to do you harm close to your house, the hex would extend out to me.  Best of all, Althean won’t be able to touch you or enter your house, because it’s Gregory who placed this hex.”

TaDa!  I’d freaked them out with my arm sawing, and now I’d wowed them with my folkloric knowledge.  Better not be any more talk of finding someone “better” or I’d have to start chewing limbs and fucking asses.

“Gregory?” Candy looked lost.  “Why would he do this?  If this is such a powerful and significant gift, then what has Craig done to deserve such protection?”

“I think it’s less about Craig personally, and more about trapping Althean,” I said.  “Gregory knows he’s got a problem on his hands.  An escalating problem.  And he’s in charge of these enforcing angels.  He’s the top dog.  It reflects badly on him to have Althean running amok, wiping out innocents.  He’s got to get him now before there’s notice from his higher–ups, or perhaps before you all feel there’s nothing left to lose and there’s a werewolf rebellion.  Think, we’ve got a couple in Hawaii for two weeks.  That leaves Craig and Robinson.  He can’t be two places at once to catch his naughty boy, so he’s safeguarded one, essentially herding Althean toward Robinson.  And Robinson isn’t due back until late tonight or tomorrow which gives him some time to plan and set a trap.”

“So what do we do now?” Wyatt asked.

“I’d propose we do the same.  Watch Robinson’s to see what Gregory does, then be there when Althean makes his move.”

Hopefully, Gregory wouldn’t be there, otherwise there would be no move for me to make.  No way I was going up against that angel.  If he showed up, I’d leave him to deal with Althean.  If this hex was any indication, he had enough power to kill me with the flick of a pinky.  I was going to make sure I stayed out of the range of that pinky.  Even if that meant abandoning Wyatt along with Candy and her weregeld and racing for the nearest gate.

Chapter Thirteen

Wyatt and Candy headed over to Robinson’s house to watch for angel activity, while I drove back to the motel to put on some clothing.  Blood and bits of my flesh had splattered on the Tinkerbell shirt.  I felt it was a good look for her, and Wyatt commented that I looked like I’d been to a Disney themed Gwar concert.  Cool idea, but I wanted to get into something less tent like.  Plus I was tasked with bringing coffee and donuts.

I didn’t want to wear my new Juicy shirt and get it blood covered in some battle.  Plus, my street cred was fragile enough without my prancing around proclaiming my juiciness.  Thankfully, no one had stolen my t–shirt and jeans from the motel washer.  I threw Tinkerbell in the washer, equally confident that no one would steal her either, and proceeded to wait for my choice of clothing to dry.  I took my time, grabbing a shower and drying my hair.  Remembering the wet hair hanging in my face yesterday, I pulled it into my usual pony tail.  Hopefully that would keep it contained and out of my eyes.  I walked naked to get my clothes out of the dryer since Candy wasn’t there to yell at me, and then headed for coffee and donuts.  I really didn’t need to get there too early.  Robinson wasn’t home, so we weren’t expecting any action from Althean.  He probably wouldn’t even try to scout it out until later in the day.  Plus, I really wanted to avoid my own personal nemesis, Gregory, who might come to set his own trap and sense me nearby in the process.

The whole stake out thing was boring to the nth degree, sitting there, eating donuts and drinking coffee until I was ready to squirm out of my skin from the sugar and caffeine high.  We sat for hours, crouched in the hedgerows, waiting for anything to show up.  I played games on my cell phone until the battery was almost dead, then took twigs and leaves and made a series of obstacles for increasingly frustrated and anxious ants.

Finally, just as I was ready to call and have pizza delivered, someone walked up the driveway.  Wahoo!  Action time!  We couldn’t see clearly who it was, so I inched along the hedgerow and slowly crawled up behind him pulling my energy up.  It was Craig.  What a letdown.  He was lucky that he heard me with his superior hearing and turned around before I blasted him into bits.  I was so disappointed that I almost blasted him anyway.  Anything would be more entertaining than another few hours pestering ants behind a bush.

Craig was shaking, his eyes big with fear.  And that’s saying a lot for a werewolf if Candy were anything to compare by.  “An angel came by my house again.  I don’t care if there’s a hex, I’m not staying there.”

“Was it the same angel as before, or a different one?” I asked as Candy and Wyatt came from their cover behind a huge forsythia.

“I don’t know.  They all look the same to me.  It might have been the same one, or it could have been the killer.  I’m not staying there.  I’d feel more safe with a demon who saws her own arm off.”

I wasn’t sure that was a compliment.  I turned to the others.  Candy was frowning at Craig in disapproval.  Wyatt looked relieved.  I couldn’t stand hours, possibly all night, of this stake out business.  I would go insane if this stretched on with nothing to do but sit and wait.

“Look, I can’t take much more of this hovering around with nothing to do,” I told the three of them.  “I’m an action kind of girl.  And I want a beer.  I’m going to break into this guy’s house and find some booze, and maybe some reading material, anything to entertain me until I can kill something.”

I walked over to the door and jimmied the lock in my own special way as Candy argued with Craig regarding his safety choices.  Wyatt watched them for a moment then followed me in.

Robinson’s tiny box of a house had a small living room, an eat–in kitchen, and a ridiculously narrow hallway leading to two tiny bedrooms.  I availed myself of the bathroom and was happy to snag a few naked girl magazines.  Too bad there weren’t any guy ones, but I was thinking that maybe werewolves were strictly heterosexual.  I wasn’t, so I’d be happy enough with the girly ones.  I also saw some car magazines and a People.  I grabbed them too thinking Candy might appreciate some reading material herself.

I was bored and feeling nosy, so I looked through the guy’s bedroom.  Lots of flannel, and belts with a variety of heavy, picturesque belt buckles.  I’ll bet this guy had an axe in his garage.  Whole lot of condoms in the underwear drawer with the tighty whities.  I checked the expiration date on them.  A few were pretty old.  I opened one up for the heck of it and it was a bit dried out.  Very careless of him.  I wondered who Robinson was getting it on with?  He was pretty restricted in his sexual partners with the existence contract.  And with the state of those condoms, he’d not just be violating the sex part, but the breeding part also if he were fucking humans.  I glanced again at the girly mags and wondered if jacking off to photos of human women would violate the contract.  Stupid angels.

The kitchen revealed that Robinson didn’t eat much.  Or maybe he wasn’t home enough to bother with stocking up on groceries.  There were some cans of tuna, white beans, and stewed tomatoes along with an almost empty bag of stale chips.  Jackpot in the fridge though.  It was full of beer.  Coors Light, but hey I wasn’t going to be picky about stolen beer.  It wasn’t really stealing anyway.  I was going to save the guy’s ass, so he owed me some beer.  I glanced out the window and saw Candy still arguing with Craig.  She waved her finger at him, then walked out of view.  I could imagine the conversation now: “Don’t you walk away from me, young man.”

Wyatt popped open two beers, handed me one and took one back to the bathroom, snagging a magazine out of my hands.  There are some things he evidently didn’t want to do out in an open field.  I hopped up on the counter and sat there drinking my beer.  I’d wait for Wyatt, grab a six–pack, or maybe a twelve–pack, and we’d head back to our comfortable spot behind the bushes.

I’d finished my beer, started on a second and was beginning to wonder what the hell was taking Wyatt so long.  I’m a get it done kinda girl.  Maybe he was at a particularly engrossing part of the magazine and just needed to finish the article.  Right.  I hopped down from the counter and was about to head over when a boom shook the house practically knocking me off my feet.  What the fuck? Did a truck just come through the living room wall or what?  I ran to the front of the house, which was all of five steps, and saw a blur of light.  The front door was split and sideways on its hinges,   Candy lay in a bloody heap by the door.  The light emanated from an angel, who had a limp Craig in the air as he shot some kind of energy through him.  Craig looked a lot like a colander at that moment.  I pulled up my raw energy and sent a blast at the angel.  It would fry Craig too, but he was probably dead anyway.

Craig dropped to the floor as the angel flew back from the blast, smashing through drywall and wall joists into the master bedroom.  He narrowly missed Wyatt, who ran down the hall towards us.

“Help Candy,” I shouted at him, more to get him safely out of the way than any real concern over the werewolf.  I jumped through the considerable hole in the wall and flung another burst of energy at where I thought the angel might have landed.  I was a few feet off and blew a hole in the floor as he scrambled for cover behind the bed.  I went to dive across the bed at him and just missed having my head blown off by whatever the fuck it was he was throwing around.  I rolled away just in time and smacked him with a pillow on the way.  Take that, you bastard.  He looked confused for a moment, which bought me enough time to roll safely off the bed and avoid another blast.  The bedroom was full of holes by this time and drywall dust filled the air.

Lying on the ground, I grabbed the metal frame of the bed and ran a good sized charge of electricity through it, hoping that if he was touching it, he’d at least be stunned.  The mattress smoked, but as I scooted around the corner, the angel was alert and waiting.  He threw more of the white stuff at me and I tried to duck out of the way.  It hit my left hand and I was shocked to see that it blew my hand right off.

“You fucking bastard!  I just regenerated that hand!” I shouted at him as he dashed out the door and back to the living room.

I hurtled after him heaving two more chunks of energy toward him from my right hand and my left stump.  One hit, knocking him through the wall and into the kitchen.  I saw him slam his back against the island counter, cracking a chunk of the plywood and linoleum off as he slid to the floor.  He scrambled to his feet, diving around behind the island.  What the fuck would kill this thing?  He threw a few more wild blasts at me from behind the island, and out of desperation I blowtorched the whole lot.  Maybe fire would do the trick.

Nope.  The bastard stood up and tried to make a run for the back door.  I wasn’t having any of that, so I hit him again with a blast of raw energy and flung him into the fridge.  By now, the middle part of the kitchen was on fire, there were holes blown through most of the house, and the fridge door was hanging off its hinges.  None of the beer fell out, though.  I took it as a positive omen.

He threw more white stuff at me as he struggled to get up from the floor, but it was weaker and his concentration and aim seemed to be going.  Maybe I was slowly wearing him down.   I took a moment to regenerate my hand while easily ducking his blast.  I hate having a stump where my fingers should be.

I saw the angel dive down and guessed that he was going to make a break for the door again.  I ran for it and beat him there, blocking the door with my body.  That’s when he made his fatal mistake.  He met my eyes square on.  I locked him in place and held him there.  It wasn’t easy.  He still had a lot of power, and he knew his life depended on getting away.  He squirmed like a bug pinned to a board, unable to break my gaze as I slowly moved across the burning kitchen toward him.  Damn, he was strong, I thought as he kept pace with me, backward through the kitchen and into the living room, past Wyatt and a bloody but alert Candy.  Finally, his back hit the front wall of the living room where he kicked and thrashed, his eyes wide with terror.

“I’m not going to just kill you,” I told him calmly.  “I’m going to Own you so I can keep you with me forever.  I’ll peel the skin from you one strip at a time.  I’ll reach up your ass and pull your insides slowly out, gnawing on them and ripping them with my claws.  I’ll dislocate every joint in your body one at a time.  I’ll take your bones and heat them, burning bits of you with your own flesh, and just when you think you’re dead, I’ll bring you back and do it all over again.”

I was beyond excited.  I had him.  He was weakening and I was so strong.  Mine.  I’d be the only one of my kind to Own an angel.  I reached him and began to send the mix of raw and personal energy into his body to force him to yield.  Oh, this would be so sweet.  The raw energy surged within me, and I reached out with the feathers of my personal energy to follow their blazed trail and take what I wanted.   I felt him build one last bit of strength within himself to fend me off and smiled as I reached out to touch. . . the wall.  He was gone.  Gone.  Where the fuck could he have gone? I had him.  He was locked in place.  No fucking way.  Not again.

I shrieked in rage and hit the wall with my fist.  That wasn’t helping, so I turned around and grabbed the nearest thing, which happened to be Craig’s dead body.  With a blast of energy, I ripped his arm off at the shoulder and began smashing it against the wall with all of my might.

“Son of a bitch!” I screamed.  “Damn mother–fucking cock–sucking son of a bitch!”

I continued to scream curses and smash Craig’s arm against the wall with both hands, sending bits of flesh and blood flying around the room and smearing red all over the walls.  I kept at it until the arm was a mush of pulp in my hands.  Breathing heavy from the adrenaline and the exertion, I realized that I hadn’t heard a sound since I’d begun my tirade.  I turned my head and saw Candy and Wyatt standing well away from me to the side, staring in horror at something behind me.  Turning all the way, I saw a different angel, huge, dark and fearsome, framed by the burning kitchen behind him.  I choked a bit and my heart felt like it hit the floor.

Chapter Fourteen

The first angel had been tall and thin with blond curls and androgynous features in an oddly stone–like face.  I’d not gotten a good look at Gregory from my brief glimpse in the Wine Bar.  Not much beyond his height and dark red curls.  I could see why the patrons had mistaken him for an actor.  He was over six feet and built like a champion weightlifter.  His crossed arms and chest looked ready to burst out of the navy polo shirt.  His legs were snug in the acid washed jeans.  I wondered what angel wore polo shirts and jeans?  Where was the flowing white robe thingie?

His tanned features were clearly masculine in the odd marble–textured face, almost harsh in their angles with a sharp nose and squared jaw.  Dark chestnut curls fell around his ears and one dropped on his forehead.  The whole effect would have been terribly sexy had it not been for his eyes.  They were black.  Black as midnight on a moonless night.  They looked at me with a mixture of disgust and hatred.  I was so scared that I had to consciously keep my energy at the surface ready for defense.  I very much wanted to hide.  Maybe if I stood really still, he wouldn’t see me.  Wouldn’t see me here, all bloody, in a wrecked house, holding a mangled arm.

“You cockroach,” the angel said, his voice oozing cold fury.  He actually hissed a bit when he said it, like a snake.  I seriously thought I was going to piss my pants.  “I spend my time and energy establishing protection for this man, and you lure him over here and get him killed.  What a waste.”  He shook his head at Craig’s body, minus the one arm.

“My carefully laid trap, completely ruined by your impulsiveness.  How many more will die now?  And you have the gall to think you can Own one of us?  The arrogance to think you can Own an angel?  You miserable, lowly cockroach. I’ll squash you like the vermin you are.”

He pulled a sword seemingly out of nowhere.  A long blade that glowed with a milky iridescence.  He grasped it with two hands, and I noticed the guards curved up from the hilt were shining gold angel wings. Was this the sword he used to chop up my kind and reduce us to a pile of sand?  Probably.  I doubted it was for dicing tomatoes.  Either way, I really didn’t want to find out what it felt like against my neck.

In desperation, I dropped the pulpy arm and yanked every bit of raw energy I had to the surface hoping I’d at least cause him some pain before he took me out.  Even if the sword sucked up most of the energy, maybe there would be enough to knock him sideways and give me a few minutes to try a desperate attempt at escape.

As Gregory took a step toward me there was a deafening roar and the angel shook his head in astonishment.  There was Wyatt, his huge grey pistol pointing at the angel.  Wyatt, with a combination of fear and resolve on his face, had shot him.  With his big grey pistol, he’d had shot an angel point blank in the head.  I was torn between admiration at the balls it took to shoot an angel, and a surge of appreciation that Wyatt cared enough to go head to head with one to protect me.

Sadly, a fifty caliber bullet doesn’t seem to do much to an angel.  Gregory frowned, the sword disappeared, and he shot one hand out to grab Wyatt’s wrist and knock the gun to the ground.  The other hand went to Wyatt’s throat.

It was a perfect opportunity.  Over the decades I had managed to store an immense amount of raw energy.  I could have shot it in a stream at Gregory and possibly killed him in a massive blast.  It would have killed Wyatt too, but that sort of thing never bothered me before.  Demons are not sentimental, and as much as I liked Wyatt, my own personal well being should always come before anyone else’s.  I shouldn’t have thought twice.  It should have just been an automatic defensive action.  Instead, I dropped the energy back within me and launched myself physically at Gregory.  He clearly wasn’t expecting it.  I knocked him to the ground away from Wyatt who slumped beside us clutching his throat.  My stupidity continued as I straddled Gregory’s huge chest, grabbed his curls with my hands and whacked his head repeatedly on the ground.

“Pick on someone your own size, asshole,” I shouted at him.  “Leave him alone.  He’s just a human, you fucking bully.”  Brilliant.  I was so dead.

The angel looked at me with shocked surprise.  Yep, I’ll bet he never had a crazed demon sit on him and bash his head on the floor before.  He reached up, pinned my arms against the sides of my chest and easily tossed me across the floor like a bowling ball.  I slid before coming to an abrupt stop against the wall decorated with Craig’s blood.

Before I could get my head to function clearly, he had my arms pinned against my chest again and had lifted me up against the wall with my feet dangling, eye to eye with him.  It wasn’t very dignified, and I really didn’t want to look in those dark eyes.  I kept trying to pull my energy up, but he was doing something to me.  It felt like my energy had a slippery silicon coating on it and I couldn’t grab it.  I tried and tried, and it slipped away.  He just held me there, silent and staring as I struggled, willing me to look at him.  I kept my gaze determinedly fixed at his chin and kept trying to pull up some energy.  Somehow I managed to grab a small handful and threw it at him.  It was a tiny amount, the same that we use to discipline naughty children or disobedient servants, hardly likely to do more than piss him off further.  It was the equivalent of smacking him on the nose with a rolled up newspaper.  Bad doggie!

He didn’t even budge.  Just held me and stared at me until I finally stopped trying to grab my energy and reluctantly looked up at him under my eyelashes.  We remained there, looking into each other’s eyes while I clenched my jaw to keep from shaking.  I wished he’d say something.  Something dramatic about what pain and torture he was going to inflict on me or what a horrible nasty cockroach of a being I was.  Anything.  Anything to distract me from wondering what I was seeing in those black eyes.

“Are you afraid of me, cockroach?” he asked.  His voice was deep and oddly seductive.  I was far more afraid than turned on, though these two states weren’t mutually exclusive for a demon.  He didn’t seem to want a response.  I didn’t need to nod.  He knew I was scared shitless.

“You should be afraid.  You may have been a match for a weakling like Althean, but you are no threat to me at all.  You would do no more harm to me than an annoying fly buzzing around my head.  I fought in the wars, I was present at the banishment of your kind, I’ve killed every demon who has faced me since the division of the realms.  Far more powerful demons than you have fallen quickly and easily to my sword.  Your death would be nothing to me.  It would take me no effort at all to end your life, and reduce you to a pile of dirt.”

He paused a moment and I could feel him exploring me with his power.  It burned as it channeled through my flesh and probed my personal energy.  I probably couldn’t have blocked him out, but I was surprised that I didn’t even try.  I just let him poke me and turn me over like an interesting rock he was examining.

“You are just an imp, a baby imp,” he commented, his tone filled with curiosity.  His examination of me lost its rough edge and took on a note of wonderment.  Nervously I guarded my stash of raw energy from him and tried to keep his probing closer to the surface.  Pinning me against the wall with one hand, he released my shoulder with the other and put his fingers against my temple.  I shook a little wondering if I was about to have angel wings imprinted on my forehead prior to my demise.

“A baby.  Simple, and unskilled.  Lucky perhaps, but not so powerful after all.”  He suddenly no longer had that hissing sound in his voice and I hoped that was a good thing.  I didn’t think it was a good moment to argue that at nine hundred and thirty six human years I was well beyond the age of majority, so I kept my mouth shut.

“I have more pressing matters to attend to than sending you to your grave at this moment, and I think you might prove to be of some use to me,” he said.

He gave that a few moments to sink in, then abruptly let go dropping me to the ground.  I hadn’t expected it, and my legs weren’t exactly strong at that moment, so I crashed into a heap.  The angel turned to the others.  He looked at Wyatt in disgust.

“Her stench, her mark covers you like a dog she owns.”  He shook his head.  “You have free will to do as you choose, but what poor choices you make.  Stupid human.”

He then walked to Candy who stood steady and calm, streaked with blood, her hands and face back to their human form.  “You make deals with demons to solve your problems rather than ask other angels for assistance?  You have truly lost your way.”

She raised her eyebrows and I admired her fortitude.  “When have you or your kind ever given us cause to trust you?  We have seen none of you, only Althean.  Didn’t you pay attention at all to what he was doing?  Surely you saw his actions, yet you ignored us.”

Gregory glared at her.  “You should have come to me, or to another angel.  Why would you suffer in silence like this?  Why would you turn to a demon to help you?  We are also bound to work within the terms of your contract, you should have brought this to someone’s attention.”

“How do we know you don’t feel the same?”  Candy asked.  “We know many think we are Nephilim.  How are we supposed to know who to trust?  Any of you could feel the same way.  Do you blame us for seeking help elsewhere?  We rightly assumed that you sanctioned his actions.”

I held my breath waiting for Gregory to whip out that sword and proceed to smackdown.  Instead, he nodded slowly.

“The Council hasn’t decided yet on whether you are Nephilim, and I will not act without their decision,” he said, avoiding giving his own personal opinion on the matter.

“We will right this thing,” he went on to assure her.  “There have been too many innocents killed, and although I deplore your actions, I can see they were made in desperation.”

Gregory flicked a hand at the flaming kitchen and the fire died.  Instantly.  There wasn’t even a smoldering coal left.  I was willing to bet if I put my hand on the charred island it would be cool.  I could do that, but I wouldn’t have thought to be so thorough about it.  Slowly, he turned and looked at the wreckage of the house.

“Samuel Robinson won’t be pleased with the state of his dwelling, little cockroach,” he said reproachfully.

Common wisdom says that when you’re faced with a being that can kill you three times before breakfast, you should hold your tongue and not aggravate him.  So I told him that his friend Goldilocks had done just as much damage as I had.  Then I made matters worse by suggesting Robinson use Craig’s house since he wouldn’t be needing it any more.  Candy and Wyatt looked appalled.  Gregory frowned.

“It’s a much nicer house, he should be thrilled.  Plus it’s got that amazing hex on it.  You did a bang up job on that hex.  Melted my hand up past the wrist. “   Yep, I’d lowered myself to shameless flattery.  Next I’d be groveling before him and licking his boots.  It didn’t do any good.  The angel shook his head and actually turned his back on me.

“Unfortunately, the next area will be Waynesboro where there’s a sizable werewolf population,” he said to Candy and Wyatt.  He was ignoring me.  Because I was a cockroach.  And not even a fully grown one.  A baby cockroach with no skills or power whatsoever and not worthy of the slightest notice.

“It will be difficult to drive him into the direction I want with the short time window we have, so I will be using your help,” he continued.

He was clearly going to be some time telling Wyatt and Candy what they were going to do for him, so this cockroach decided to see what beer in the fridge was salvageable and if any magazines remained unburned.  The beer was less cold that I preferred, but the broken fridge door had blocked the hottest part of the fire from the inside of the refrigerator.  I pulled out fourteen of the coldest beers and found a dented roasting pan to carry them with.  The magazines were burned beyond recognition, but before I mourned them I remembered that Wyatt had taken one into the bathroom with him.  I walked into the living room, past the lecture in progress and down the hallway to retrieve the magazine.  I hoped it was a good one.  Again I passed by the others without notice, grabbed the roasting pan full of beer and headed out the backdoor with my stash.

I went all the way down the driveway and around to the spot where we had hidden our cars, then crammed my goodies in the miniscule Corvette trunk, snatching a beer for the road.  I chuckled taking a swig of the beer.  Evidently, all you needed to do to escape an angel was to get him blathering on about something and just walk right out the door.  I wondered if I could make it to the gate near Columbia Mall before he finished talking. I took another swig of the beer, slamming the trunk shut and spinning around to get in and go and smacked my face right into a chest.  A really big, hard chest wearing a polo shirt.  I choked a little and beer came out my nose and onto the polo shirt.  Gregory stood there patiently while I coughed, showering him with beer and snot.

“Shit.  Could you not sneak up on a girl like that?” I sputtered, finally able to take a decent breath.

“I think I will need to keep you within my sight at all times, cockroach,” he said with a hint of irritation in his voice.  “I haven’t postponed your execution just to have you run amok burning buildings and desecrating corpses.  I have some tasks for you to accomplish before I kill you.”

Really motivating speech, I thought, as he took my arm and hauled me back to Robinson’s house.  I nearly fell, twisting around to lock my car as he pulled me along.

Back in the charred kitchen, a lively discussion broke out about the driving arrangements needed to get back to the motel.  Gregory wouldn’t let me go anywhere without him.  I wasn’t driving him in my car, and I wasn’t letting Wyatt drive my Vette, so we could all go in Candy’s car together.  With the driving logistics still unresolved, we began to argue over whether we should spend the night in the motel and head up to Waynesboro fresh, or head up now and hope they even had a motel in Waynesboro where we could shack up.  Wyatt had very specific views on what routes we should take to get there.  I announced that I had clothes in the washer still, and that I was hungry and wanted pizza.  Wyatt offered to pick up pizza in my car, and I told him no.  He was not driving my car.  That was when Gregory made a frustrated noise, ripped my keys out of my hand and tossed them at Wyatt while grabbing me in a bear hug.  Suddenly, we were in front of our motel door.  Everything spun around me and I was grateful that Gregory still was holding me against him or I would have pitched right over the railing into the parking lot below.

I’d been through gates many times before.  I wasn’t as talented as Charon, who actually hired himself out to those not skilled enough to find or cross gates on their own, but I could do it solo, and could even manage some of the wild and Elf gates.  We didn’t make gates.  Elves could create some limited ones, but all the big stable gates were created by the angels.  Some wild, natural gates existed, but angels were really the masters of this skill.   I’d never done any inter–realm gates.  I didn’t think we even had any, back home.  Plus, this was fast.  Super fast and disorienting.  It took me a while to feel steady, my vertigo probably made worse by my thinking this angel could crush me like a beer can and fling me over the railing before I could take a breath.

“Are you a Succubus?” Gregory asked, his deep voice rumbling at me through his chest.  It was oddly soothing, that sound.  I had a strange, tiny urge to do whatever he asked, but quickly shook it off.  “You entrance men and women, cleaving them to you as slaves to satisfy your every desire?  At first I thought you were just a young trickster imp, but you seem to have this skill.”

I snorted.  Slaves to satisfy my every desire?  Sounded like a great plan to me.

“Oh yeah.  The worst Succubus in all of eternity, that’s me.  I’ve been pursuing that male human for two years now — two years, and I’m not even to second base with him.  If I were a Succubus, my sisters would have had me killed six centuries ago for ineptitude.”

Back home I knew several Succubi and Incubi.  There weren’t a lot of them, thankfully, because they made quite a stir even among our kind.  They didn’t have a great amount of power, but what they had was very specialized into sexual desire.  Popping over here and enthralling humans was a favorite activity.  With barely one foot across the gate they’d have a stream of humans of both genders lined up around the blocks to do whatever they wanted.  Even back home they were popular choices for households.  They had some influence over our own kind and made good negotiators.  Good sexual partners too, although they couldn’t withstand some of the really crazy stuff.

How on earth could he possibly think I was a Succubus, though?  Even my own kind weren’t overly interested in me.  He’d surely encountered Succubi before.  Was it possible that he was in some weird way attracted to me and was attributing it to an innate power or skill of mine?  I clearly had no such skill, so any attraction he felt would be freely generated from himself.  I chucked at the prospect that an angel might have the hots for me.  Now that would be funny.

“What level are you then?  How many legions do you command?” Gregory rumbled like thunder and velvet against me.

“That’s none of your business.” I told him, feeling slightly dismayed with myself for not giving him the answers he wanted.  I wondered if he was some kind of angel Succubus.  Attractive weird human form aside, he did stir something within me.  All that power, and a sort of remote coldness.  Like he’d been petrified, and the fire inside him was only a spark, buried deep and waiting to burst into renewal.  I wondered if he’d ever been unfrozen.  What would he be like with the fire breaking through?  Intriguing thought, but no way was he getting my name.

American GIs might recite name, rank, and serial number upon capture, but no fucking way I was going to.  Names had power, and the fewer of mine anyone knew the better.  My level or current place in the hierarchy would allow him to better know my talents, power level, and possibly even discover one or more of my names.  Nope.

Besides, I was beginning to think he knew as little about us as we did about them.  He was old enough to have fought in the wars, but so much had changed since then.  We no longer had legions.  No sense in having a standing army when you haven’t had a war in over two million years.  Plus, we don’t have the temperament for that amount of organization.  Need had overcome our inclinations during the war, and we’d also had an Iblis, one of us powerful enough to lead and keep a large organizational structure from breaking down.  The Iblis kept us operating as a whole toward one goal.  That was a remarkable thing for our kind.  We hadn’t had an Iblis for a very long time.  Even the oldest among us didn’t have that level of influence.  Or really care to.

Gregory sighed and released his hold on me.  “Fine,” he said, making it clear that we’d revisit this topic again in the future.  “Go ahead and open the door then.”

I looked at him blankly.  “You took my keys and gave them to Wyatt.”

He rolled his eyes.  “Are you that much of a cockroach?  Do you need keys to open a door?”

Oh.  Yeah, that’s right. Well I had been acting as a human for forty years after all.  I reached over and snaked in the energy to click the lock.

We went in, and I began to gather together our belongings, careful to separate Candy’s toiletries as she would have wanted.  I didn’t need two of my traveling party gunning for me.  Gregory looked around for a bit, reading the laminated rate sheet and examining the chained remote with bewilderment.

“Why is this plastic rectangle chained to the television set?  Is the zinc plated chain somehow integral to its operation?”

“It’s a remote control for operating the TV and it uses low level infrared signals.”  I glanced at the remote while stuffing socks into a plastic bag.  “The chain is to deter theft.”

Gregory frowned and snapped the chain off the remote, breaking a chunk of the plastic off the end with the ring.  “How does this deter theft?  Any human with a pocket knife could break this.”

I shrugged, agreeing with him and resolving to steal the remote just to annoy the management.  Candy would probably get charged for it on her credit card, but she was likely to anyway since the angel had broken part of it off.

“If you think that’s perplexing, look at this.”  I stuck a quarter in the bed and sent it to vibrating.  Sure enough, the angel looked astounded.

“It’s supposed to enhance a sexual experience,” I told him.

“Does it actually work?” he asked in amazement, watching the bags bounce their way across the bedspread.

I shrugged.  “Not that I can tell.  It is a lot of fun though, and it totally freaks Candy out.  Maybe if you were in the act of penetration it might enhance the orgasm.  I haven’t had sexual intercourse on the bed, so I can’t really speak from experience.”

Gregory shook his head in disbelief at the bed, and then walked around to see if there were any other unexpected human gadgets to examine.  I sat on the bed and let it bounce me around a bit so I felt like I actually got my quarter’s worth.  It was a short ride.

Done perusing the room, Gregory watched me continue packing with his arms crossed in front of him.  I felt like a prisoner.  I guess I kind of was.   After a few moments, he announced he was going down to check us out.  “Stay here,” he said ominously.

As soon as he walked out the door, I shoved the remote in a bag and proceeded to dig through Wyatt’s things.  There.  The little toddler gun.  I quickly stashed it in my rear waistband pulling the shirt over it.  It was tiny, and it’s not like Gregory would strip search me or even suspect I’d be packing a human firearm.

I’d put all of our belongings into separate shopping bags when I remembered my laundry.  The shirt was still damp in the washer, so I threw it in the dryer hoping a few moments on high heat would finish the job.  My mind worked furiously.  Screw Candy and this whole werewolf thing.  I needed to get away from this angel as soon as possible or I’d be dead.  Who knows how long he’d find me useful, and eventually this job would be over and he’d finish what he started at Robinson’s house.  He was fast, he could gate all over the place in less than a second.  I’d have to get away from him without using any energy so he couldn’t track me and then head to a gate he wouldn’t think to intercept me at.  He couldn’t guard them all.  The one at Columbia Mall might be too far, and I was really scared to use that wild gate in Sharpsburg, although it was the absolute closest.  Wild gates could rip you apart, and sometimes they had buffer zones where a traveler could get lost and trapped.  Sometimes they spit you out somewhere unexpected.  Like across the universe unexpected.  Not that I knew this from experience.  Obviously.

Forty years I’d been here undetected.  I was used to living as a human.  I’d watch for a chance to get away, then go underground and head for the gate in Philly or maybe the one near Wichita.    I mulled my options wondering if he ever slept when I felt myself grabbed by the shoulder and flung against the cement wall of the motel.  I hit hard on my left shoulder.  Ow.

“What the fuck is your problem?” I snarled, fixing the dislocated shoulder.  Gregory loomed over me with menace.  What the hell did I do now?  Was it against some angel law to dry your clothes?

“I told you to stay in the room,” he hissed at me.

“No,” I argued, because that is clearly the thing to do when faced with an enraged angel.  “You told me to stay here.  I am here.  At the motel.  Drying my shirt so we can leave.”  Idiot.

He was hovering over me and breathing heavy, like he’d run around the building a few times, although  I think it was more trying to control himself and keep from killing me.  I helped him by continuing to sit on the dirty floor looking up at him.  I really wanted to get up and punch him, but my minimal self preservation had finally kicked in.

Grabbing at my arm with the fixed shoulder, he hauled me to my feet and held me a few inches off the ground.  “I won’t lose you,” he muttered half to himself.  “You will not slip through my grasp.  You will not escape me.”

I could see him struggle to gain control when, almost as if with a will of its own, he hissed, “Mine.”

It was quiet, but the word pulsed with power.  Certain words are more than just words.  Certain words can carry the strength of all creation.  This was one.  I used it when I Owned a being, I used it when I claimed territory, when I created a household bond.  I had never used it with such power behind it, though.  I felt it slam into me and wondered what he’d meant.  In what way had he claimed me?

He managed to finally get control of himself and took a big breath.  “I really don’t want to have to bind you to me.  It would hurt a lot and be very unpleasant.”

I appreciated his concern for my comfort.

“No,” he said, seemingly reading my thoughts.  “It would hurt me a lot, and be very unpleasant for me.  Pain to you would only bring me great joy.”

Well, then.  “Look, this was all a misunderstanding.  See?  I’m right here, drying my clothes.  I didn’t run away.  I didn’t try to escape your clutches.  If you let me go, I’ll just pull the shirt out of the dryer and we’ll be on our way.  Candy and Wyatt should be here any moment and we can head out.  You’re really scary, and I’m going to do whatever you say.”  Okay, maybe the last bit was over the top, but I really wanted him to relax and give me enough slack on the leash to slip my collar and bolt.

He looked suspicious, but he did let go of my arm.  I grabbed the shirt, and with an angel trailing behind me I went to the hotel room and gathered our things.  We went down to the lobby to wait for Candy and Wyatt.  What was taking them so long?  Did they stop for pizza?  Did Wyatt take off on a joy ride with my car?  I fretted over the safety of my car.  Wyatt might be my best friend, but I’d kill him if he dented my precious car.

We remained in the lobby, air thick with tension, surrounded by the shopping bags.  Gregory sat in the little plastic chair placidly ignoring the young girl at the front desk.  Probably the owner’s daughter, I thought watching her stare enraptured at the angel.  I could have stripped naked and done a pole dance with the gumball machine and she wouldn’t have broken her gaze.  Maybe if she jumped him in an adoring frenzy I’d be able to make a quick getaway.

Candy and Wyatt pulled up and I inspected my car thoroughly for damage.  Wyatt looked me over for damage, too.

“Are you okay, Sam?” he whispered.  “What can I do to help?  You’ve got to get away from him.”

No shit, Sherlock.  I had no idea what he could do to help, but I was formulating a plan.

“Just hang tight with Candy,” I told him.  “Don’t antagonize him.  I don’t want him to kill you.”

I was treated to the joy of watching Gregory cram himself into my passenger seat.  Corvettes may be sports cars, but they are American sports cars, made for big oversized Americans.  Still Gregory took up more than his allocated share of space.  I’m assuming he had to buy two seats when he flew commercial.  I took the lead and we headed out of town with Gregory silent and brooding beside me.  Out of the corner of my eye I could see him staring at me with hostility.   Was he still pissed about the dryer episode?  Or just pissed in general about my existence?

Gregory’s leg was encroaching on the stick shift and I kept grabbing it instead of the shifting lever.  It happened a lot, and I swear I was not doing it on purpose.  It was like grabbing a block of cement.  Still, I couldn’t help but be a bit turned on.

I wondered if I could snake my hand up further and get in a quick grope before he removed my arm from my body.  I wondered what angel genitals felt like.  Did they even have genitals?  Maybe they were anatomically like Ken dolls.  I hadn’t noticed any bulges, even while I was pressed against him through the gate, but I didn’t think I was his idea of a potential sexual partner.  The thought of sex with me probably left him cold and flaccid.  Actually, the thought of sex with me probably hadn’t even crossed his mind.  Angels probably did it in some ethereal way that didn’t involve genitals.  Some kind of sterile, esoteric sexual experience. I imagine it was horribly boring.  Maybe I could convince him to do it the human way.  Or the demon way.  I fantasized for a moment about a threesome with the angel and Wyatt.  Like that would ever happen.  This was not a good train of thought for me to be having.

“How did you manage to survive Wyatt shooting you in the head?  That would probably have killed me, but you hardly moved.  You didn’t even bleed.”   I was curious, and I really needed to get my mind out of the gutter.

He gave me a disgusted look.  “You are too imbedded in your physical form, almost like a human.  If you hold yourself apart more, these things couldn’t affect you.  Of course, I wouldn’t expect a demon to have the self discipline to do that sort of thing.”

Jerk.  “Ah, so that’s why your form sucks so bad, then.  I thought maybe you just weren’t skilled enough to create and hold a decent physical form.  I wouldn’t expect an angel to have the aptitude for that sort of thing.”

He glared.  “For someone so close to death, you are surprisingly insubordinate.”

Yikes.  I needed a distraction before I got myself even further into trouble, so I turned on the radio.  It may sound weird, but I’m a sucker for 1970’s–era love songs, so that’s what I put on.  I bopped along to Temptation Eyes, then heard familiar opening notes.

“Oh, I love this one,” I announced.

Samantha Martin, the human Samantha Martin had a nice set of pipes.  She was in church choir when she was young, and was a darned good amateur singer before I Owned her.  If they’d have had American Idol back then, she would have at least made it on the show.  I Owned an opera singer too, but that skill didn’t come up much.  I sing whenever I get a chance.  In the shower, in the car, karaoke in bars.  Sometimes I just sing randomly because it freaks people out.  So it was nothing for me to perform car karaoke right now.  Even with an angry, pouty, potentially violent angel sitting beside me.

“When it all goes crazy and the thrill is gone…”

It was “Just Remember I love You” by Firefall. I loved this song. Mushy, sentimental, perfect for serenading an angel. I grinned at Gregory and he looked back at me, a combination of amazement and anxiety on his face.  He looked like I’d just sprouted two heads and scales.  Of course, that he’d probably seen before.

I continued to sing, belting out the chorus before turning my eyes back to the road.  Gregory scooted a little away from me, a look of near terror on his face.  It’s not like he could scoot far, though.  He was supersized and my car was too small for distance.

The station was really on a roll.  I continued to serenade him with “Band of Gold” and “Don’t Pull Your Love Out On Me Baby” but turned the channel when they played “Jackie Blue”.  I never liked that song.

“I had you pegged for a Slayer fan, cockroach,” he commented in a strangled voice, as if the whole experience was more than he could handle.

“Slayer?  I can’t understand a damned word they are singing.  It’s all ‘bwaa, rhaa, whaa, grrr, grrr, grr’.  What the fuck does that mean?  I’d rather listen to harpies wail than that shit.”

He nodded his head in agreement and I’d swear I saw his lips twitch.  No way he could actually be amused.  At least I’d managed to put him in a less hostile mood with my unusual music tastes.  Good thing as we pulled out of town and onto Route 15 south.  I glanced at Wyatt and Candy behind me in the rear view and put the pedal to the metal.  In a roar, I had dusted them.

The highway was two lanes each way with a decent shoulder all the way into Montgomery County, Maryland.  This time of day the cars were evenly spaced with a good bit of commercial truck travel along the route.  I weaved in and out of traffic, honking rudely, darting around cars, cutting off the semis and passing on the shoulder.  Today, I wished that I’d bought the red model Corvette instead.

I was glad Gregory didn’t know anything about roads, or he would have wondered why I didn’t take the shorter way down 116.  Wyatt was probably in Candy’s car looking at his GPS and bitching and moaning about the extra distance of my chosen route.  Route 116  was shorter, much prettier, and there was not much traffic.  This way would take us on the busy highway back tracking down into Maryland, then through Emmitsburg to loop back into Pennsylvania on Route 16.  I looked over at the angel to see if his improved mood had survived our increase in speed.

“Shouldn’t you keep your eyes on the road?” Gregory asked me. He didn’t look pissed.  He probably thought I was trying to shake him up with my crazy driving.  I wondered if he had ever been in a car before.   Probably not, if he could gate everywhere.  I doubted he’d ever driven, either.  That would make him an auto virgin.  I laughed out loud at the idea.

“You know, you can’t kill me by wrecking your car,” he commented in that bored voice.  “You’ll just destroy your vehicle.  I won’t suffer more than a scratch.  Won’t slow me down at all.  You’re not going to get away from me so you might as well drive like a normal person.”  He actually leaned his head back and closed his eyes, as if my erratic driving methods were putting him to sleep.

I continued to drive like a possessed maniac.  Stupidly, it took nearly five miles before I saw the flashing lights behind me.  Good thing as we were almost at the Maryland border.  I kept driving a bit, weaving aggressively but trying to keep the speed down so I didn’t lose the state trooper struggling to keep up.   Finally, I pulled over into an old abandoned gas station, spinning out dramatically with a rooster tail of gravel dust.

“Looks like I’m going to get a ticket,” I said.  Gregory frowned at me with narrowed, suspicious dark eyes.  “I was speeding, you know.  Happens to me all the time.  It will only take a minute and we’ll be on our way.”

The Pennsylvania state police car behind us was a big white sedan.  A huge Crown Victoria with the trooper badging all over and the light rack on top.  It was a stupid car.  If I were a state trooper, I’d make them get me a Ferrari.

The guy behind the wheel took his time getting out.  I wondered what in the hell was taking him so long.  Did he have to fill out fifteen pages of reports before he even got out of his car?  Finally, he opened the door and slid out.  He was a young guy.  Thin and fit in his grey shirt and dark grey pants.  He wore short sleeves in the heat, and the shirt had black fringed thingies on the shoulders.  He had a hat on with a chin strap, and I could tell his hair was a short buzz cut underneath.  I couldn’t really see if he was cute or not, but he had a good body, and looked damned sweet in that uniform.

The cop walked up carefully from the rear of the car, flicking the leather strap on his pistol holster for easy access.  He also had a baton, and some pepper spray handy and ready.  The baton wasn’t a big deal, but I hoped he didn’t spray me with the pepper spray.  I hate that shit.  I unwound the window before he got there, and just as he leaned in, I pulled out my mean and threw it at him while simultaneously pulling the pistol from my waistband and laying it on my lap.  I put every bit of menace I had into my voice and announced that he was a fucking pig and I was going to knock him on his ass.

It had the desired effect.  The cop leapt back from the car and pointed his pistol at my head screaming “Out of the car!  Out of the car and keep your hands where I can see them.”  I looked curiously at his gun, but didn’t recognize it.  I was hardly the expert from seeing Wyatt’s small collection, but thought maybe I could recognize the caliber.  The trooper waved his gun at me, again indicating that I needed to get out right now.  Or presumably he would shoot me.

I smiled smugly at Gregory and he glared back at me in open hatred.  Carefully, I opened the car door, letting the gun drop to the floor of the car while keeping my hands raised.  Gregory got out too, and I realized he was doing something to try and soothe the officer and me.  He was talking to the police guy in a low calm rumble and I swear I actually saw the deep blue wash over us both.  It pulled and tugged on me with warm persistence, and I wanted to leave the cop alone and get back in the car.  I wanted to rub myself on Gregory like a cat and have him look at me approvingly.  Fuck no, I didn’t want to do any of that shit.  No fucking way.  I shrugged off the urge and glared at the officer again.  The cop looked confused and began to lower his gun.

“You fucking pig,” I snarled at him, trying to regain control of the situation.  “I’ve killed cops before and I’ll kill you too.  I’ll blow your fucking head off.”  I took a few steps toward him.

Gregory redoubled his efforts and the air was thick and sweet with blue.  I saw the officer shake a bit, sweat rolling down his forehead.  The poor guy would be in therapy for years from this.  Fuck, I’d probably be in therapy for years from this.  The urge to kneel down at the angel’s feet and wrap myself around him was nearly overwhelming.

The cop was slipping from my grasp though and I knew I needed to go all out.  I walked up to the officer and slugged him right in the jaw.  Not hard enough to knock him out, but enough to override all the calming blue shit.  It worked.  The guy grabbed me and slammed me face first against my car, yanking my arms behind me to cuff me.  In a few moments, I’d be on my way to the police station.  I could kill the cop, ditch his car, and be on my way to a gate while Gregory cooled his heels at some local station waiting for me to make bail.

The angel kept pressing his calming influence to no avail.  The cuffs were on, and I was halfway to the police car, when Gregory threw up his hands, reached out and grabbed the cop.  I felt him let me go and turned to see the angel whispering in his ear.  In an instant he had slumped and Gregory held him upright, moving to put him back in his car.  I quickly broke the cuffs, and bolted.  Plan B.

I like to run.  I’m not fast off the block, but I can go forever and keep a strong steady pace.  The angel was a huge hulk of muscle.  I hoped he wouldn’t be able to keep up and I’d somehow lose him.  He couldn’t find me to gate to me if I kept my energy to myself.

Unfortunately, I only made it about twenty feet before he tackled me from behind.  I smacked into the gravel and slid across it with his considerable weight on top, scraping a good layer of skin off my face and body, and knocking the breath out of me.  For good measure, he flipped me over on my back and punched me in my stomach.

Looking up at him, gasping for breath, I realized that he’d totally lost control.  His face was white and solid looking without pores in the skin, and blackness filled the entirety of his eyes.  His teeth were no longer human, but sharp pointed little spikes, like piranha teeth.  He actually glowed.  Seriously glowed.  He was so bright it burned my eyes.  There was nothing in him but rage.   Not a speck of feeling I could appeal to.  Nothing but fury and hate.  I grabbed my energy and prepared to empty the whole lot at him.  It would probably blow a chunk out of the lower half of the state, but I might as well kill him along with myself.  Better than me dying alone.

His eyes widened with the realization of what I was about to do, and he smacked me hard across the face before I could even begin to form the blast.  The blow knocked my head sideways and caused my grasp to slip a little.  Enough of a slip for him to coat that silicone stuff over my energy again.

“Oh no you don’t, cockroach,” he hissed at me through those pointy teeth.  “Hold still,” he commanded, grabbing my arms by the wrists and thrusting them up above my head.

Oh, sure.  ‘Hold still while I kill you.’  Like that was going to happen.  I wasn’t sure if he was going to execute me straight away or beat the crap out of me first, but I figured it was going to be excruciating either way.  I wasn’t going down without a fight.  I thrashed around with all my strength to see if I could budge him loose from on top of me.  I even tried to knee him in the groin, assuming that would do anything.  Wrenching one hand loose I flung a handful of gravel and dirt into his face.  He shook his head and grabbed, unsuccessfully trying to secure my loose hand while at the same time attempting to pin my legs down with his.  I bucked like a wild bull and smacked him with the little bits of energy that I could form.  It was all I could manage to break free from the slippery shell he held in place around my energy.

After a few minutes of this, he hissed in frustration, grabbed me roughly around my waist and flung me over his shoulder.  My breath whooshed out as my diaphragm smashed against his shoulder and my head bounced on the concrete of his back.  While I frantically tried to recover, he began striding off toward the abandoned gas station and my car.  Gasping little breaths, I squirmed, kicked and hit and scratched with all my might.  Unaffected, he continued on, tightening his grip painfully around my waist to make sure I didn’t manage to wiggle free.  Wyatt and Candy were far behind us, not that they could intervene at this point.  My mind worked furiously trying to find some way to break his hold, to get enough energy to knock him aside, to do anything, for surely I was going to die real soon.  I’d tire physically, and without the use of my energy he had all the advantage.

Suddenly, he shrugged me off his shoulder and slammed my back against the cement block side of the building.  My head spun again and I felt the warmth of blood sliding down the back of my skull and onto my neck.  Without allowing me even a second to move, he pressed himself against me, crushing me between his body and the gritty, pebbled concrete wall.  I felt the stone embed itself into the torn flesh of my head and ground my teeth with the pain.  At this rate, I’d be a shredded bloody mess by the time he finished me off.

Slowly and carefully he transferred my wrists to one hand, yanking them above my head and pinning them to the wall.  With his other hand, he maneuvered my hips, straddling me and pinching my legs between his own.  Within seconds, I was held immobile between him and the building.  The only thing still free was my head, so I tried to head butt him and bite whatever part of his face came within range.  He was a good foot taller than me, so the best I could do was a light tap on his chest with my forehead before he grabbed my jaw with his free hand and held my head still.  At least he didn’t have a third hand to whip out his sword.  Of course, he could always bring that item out after I was a bloody mess on the ground.

He held me in place and looked at me a moment, hissing with those pointy teeth, his eyes still huge, black, and horrifying.  I hurt.  I knew my face was a mass of road rash, could feel the blood trickle from my cheeks and down the back of my head in a slow drip.  My arms were extended up at their limit with the joints straining uncomfortably in their sockets.  My chest was heaving against his with tiny short breaths, and sharp chunks of concrete dug painfully into my back with the pressure of his body against mine.  I was at the point of panic.  I was trapped, and there was no way out.  My mind helpfully imagined all the ways he could dispatch me in this position.  He could rip my arms from their shoulder sockets, crush my jaw, dislocate my pelvis, pulverize my bones and organs against the side of the building, and then shred my flesh with his pointy teeth before finishing me off with the sword.  That’s how I would do it.

He took a breath, then he wrenched my head to the side facing my left arm, and I saw him out of the corner of my eye as he bent his head down.  I felt an odd sense of disappointment that I wouldn’t get to see him rip me to bits.  Anticipating popping joints and tearing flesh, I took a quick breath and tensed.  The feeling that came was like a thousand hot needles as he bit down on me, right on the soft underside of my arm, just in front of my armpit.  My shoulders ached, but stayed in joint.  This was going to take forever if he was going to concentrate primarily on chewing me up.  My faint hopes for a quick death vanished, and I felt him bite down harder.

A burning sensation shot down into my chest and a mixture of vibrations shook me.  Was there some poison in his bite?  Was it that white stuff that Althean had shot at me?  Would my insides dissolve like my hand had?  It burned clear through my flesh and into my personal energy, branching out and searing tiny pathways.  “This is it,” I thought, my mind blurring from the agony tearing through me.

Then unexpectedly, underneath the pain, a far more enjoyable heat surged through me.  Pleasure and pain are not mutually exclusive to my kind, and sex frequently involves what humans would consider abuse.  Even so, I didn’t believe the angel intended to kill me in an act of rough sex. The warmth flooded me and the burning pathways in my personal energy filled with an electric glow.  Reddish purple soared through my being.  ‘Mine’ I thought silently as I floated in the stream of color.  It was a faint and fleeting thought, without intent or power; almost like an echo from someone else.  Strange.

I didn’t think revealing my strange state of sexual arousal would do my current situation any good, but I couldn’t help the quick gasp and relaxation of my body as tension fell away and I ceased trying to struggle.  Well, at least I’d be easier to kill now.  And death would be a hell of a lot more fun.

The angel paused for a second, then pushed himself harder against me ensuring I was held fast and continued with the hot needles in my arm.  The pain was quickly changing over to pleasure and I wanted to give in to the incredible sensation.  Dissolving in a huge wet orgasm at the point of death seemed like an undignified way to go out so I tried to think of things like zoning hearings, taxes, when my next oil change was due.  Anything but the red purple waves singing through me.  Shit, I hope he killed me soon, this was taking fucking forever and I was running out of boring things to think of.

Floating in the pleasure, I was halfheartedly daydreaming about useless kitchen utensils when I felt a pull deep within me.  Like strings had been embedded throughout my body and the angel was trying to draw them out.  At first it didn’t hurt, then the strings stopped moving and Gregory began to yank, pulling with increasing irritation and frustration.  Finally, there was an agonizing pressure, like he was digging in on a tug of war contest with all his might.  The strings didn’t budge, but it felt like my whole body was about to turn inside out.  Then there was a crack and snap as everything rebounded into me.  It was a good thing I was held so firmly against the building because I probably would have fallen ten feet backwards from the release.  I waited for it to begin again, but I only felt a stinging sensation and that familiar warmth as Gregory bit down again.

An eternity seemed to pass before he finally lifted his mouth from my arm.  I felt him stare at me, although I couldn’t see him clearly with my head held sideways against the wall.  “Here it comes,” I thought.  My bitten arm throbbed.  I held my breath, waiting for my death.  Slowly, he loosened his grasp and relieved the pressure holding me against the wall.  I didn’t know what was coming, so I dropped my arms from their achingly extended position and stood there, looking at the front of his shirt and trying to slow my breathing.  Finally, he took my arm, the one he hadn’t been gnawing on, and walked me over to the police car.  That was it?  A chewed up arm?  Perhaps he was going to continue the job over here?

“Fix yourself,” Gregory commanded, pushing me to sit on the ground beside the car while he reached in and finished whatever he was doing to the cop.  I was pretty sure the cop was dead.  I wondered if he was sticking angel wings on his forehead too.  Covering this one up and making it look like the cop had it coming.  So much for benevolent messengers of the gods.

I had scrapes down the front from my slide across the gravel; my face was raw, bloody, and was bruised and swollen from his blow.  My wrists hurt from the handcuffs, my shoulders ached from being held at that impossible angle, and the bite still burned and throbbed in an enjoyable kind of pain.  I was a fucking mess.  I wasn’t sure I could fix myself right now, I was shaking so badly.  Why wasn’t I dead?  And why did he bite me like that?  What the fuck was that about?

Gregory put some finishing touches on the cop, who appeared to be asleep in his squad car, then turned to me.  He looked me over and shook his head, his face still grim but no longer glowing with pointy teeth and huge black eyes.

“Fine.  I really don’t care what you look like, or if you bleed all over your seats.  You will get in your car with me, and you will drive to Waynesboro.  You will obey all the human traffic laws or I will destroy your vehicle and slowly break every bone in your body.  Repeatedly.  Over the course of several days.  Do you understand?”

I nodded.  And we drove to Waynesboro in silence.  No singing.  Fifty five the whole way.

Chapter Fifteen

We sat outside in the parking lot of some local restaurant called The Lamb waiting for Wyatt and Candy.  I was hoping from the name that they had Greek food, but it didn’t have the usual décor of a Greek restaurant.  Maybe they did English food and specialized in mutton?  I was starving and we’d been waiting here for quite a while.  Candy must drive like a ninety year old lady on her way to church because there had been no sign of them.  I thought about calling Wyatt on my cell phone, but was trying to be subdued and careful around Gregory.  Just in case he was wondering whether to finish chewing my arm off.

“Fix yourself, or you’re not going in,” the angel commanded again.

Back home, it was typical to see those of my kind looking like they’d had the shit beat out of them.  It was a point of pride.  When someone higher up the hierarchy chose you for a fun romp, they conveyed their status on the energy signature in your wounds.  Displaying them showed your peers that you’d been found worthy of someone higher up the food chain, and that you were tough enough to survive it.  The more battered you were the better.  Limbs dangling by a tendon, chunks of flesh burned off; all that revealed that you were tough and powerful.  Leaving a significant sexual encounter with just a few flesh wounds was embarrassing.  It meant that you’d been found to be uninteresting, or too fragile to enjoy properly.

Here though, looking beat up just marked you as a victim.  Especially if you were female.  A guy could pull it off by implying that the other participant was just as damaged, or claiming to have been in some kind of vehicle accident.  No one believed the lies if you were female, though; everyone knew you were covering up domestic violence.  Going into The Lamb looking like I did would probably result in the police being called and Gregory taken in for questioning.  I liked the idea, but given our last encounter I didn’t think it would turn out well.  Gregory didn’t seem to have any problem taking out civilians when necessary.  He’d proven that he wouldn’t shy away from murder when it came to thwarting an escape attempt.

I sat there as if all the spirit had been crushed out of me; channeling the submissive, obedient servant. It wasn’t easy.  I didn’t own any submissive people, I liked the fight and challenge too much and submissive humans were boring.  Slowly, I fixed myself, taking some time to do it as if I barely could manage even this.  It was painful, repairing my wounds this slowly, but definitely in keeping with the wounded, broken spirit I was trying to portray.

“Do your clothes, too,” he ordered.  “They’re torn, dirty, and covered in blood.  You’re not going in looking like that.  It will cause too much attention, and I’ve got enough to think about without having to enthrall all the humans in the restaurant.”

My shirt was a disaster.  The jeans weren’t too bad, especially since torn and tattered jeans were in style right now.

“I can’t do clothes,” I told him truthfully.

He stared in disbelief.  “What do you mean you can’t do clothes?  That should be ridiculously simple for you.  Even I can do clothes.”

Implying that he couldn’t do much else beyond clothing?  So angels weren’t good at matter conversion?  They were legendary at energy conversion, and they had unparalleled skill when it came to manipulating dimensions and creating gates.   I knew they couldn’t do the physical form conversion to the extent we did.  From what I’d seen so far, their human form was pretty pathetic.  I’d just assumed that converting inanimate objects would be a skill they would have.  Perhaps that wasn’t where their talents lay.

“We don’t wear cloth back home,” I replied.   “If we’re cold, we just make ourselves furry or up our metabolism.  If we have a humanoid form at the time, it’s always naked.  We do sometimes skin another creature and wear it like a trophy, but we don’t create cloth.  Here, it’s just easier and quicker to buy it than learn to make it.  Especially these weird blends with altered petroleum molecules in the fibers.”  I looked at my tattered poly blend shirt fondly.   Humans were actually pretty clever.  I predicted amazing things from them in another hundred thousand years.  If they didn’t manage to wipe themselves out before then.

He made a motion as if he were going to take his shirt off and give it to me.  I wasn’t sure how he was going to manage that maneuver in the confines of my car.  That I wanted to see.  And I did want to see him without his shirt on.  Crap, I bet he was ripped beyond belief.   Yes, crazy me.  The guy pummels me to bits and vows to kill me and I’m all revved up to see him semi–clad.  Of course, the shirt wouldn’t come close to fitting.  It would be huge on me; bigger than Tinkerbell, even.

“They won’t let you in the place without a shirt on,” I told him reluctantly.  “It says there right on the sign.”

He paused and looked around the car as if he expected a shirt to appear out of nowhere.  Nope, none in the glove box or under the seat either.

“Put on a shirt from the bags you had back at the hotel.”

“They’re all in Candy’s car,” I told him.  “My trunk is really small and full of beer, so we put them all in hers.”

He sat for a moment contemplating his options, then opened his door.  “There’s a gift shop in there, they’ve got to have some novelty t–shirts for sale.  Stay here.”  He got out then paused.  “In the car,” he added, leaning in to look at me sternly.  “And the car stays right here in this spot in the parking lot.  You and the car don’t move.”

I had to bite back a smile.  He learned quick, this angel did.  To hide my amusement, I trembled a bit and tried to look properly cowed.  I even tried to squeeze out a tear from big soulful eyes.  Gregory frowned at me.  “Do you feel sick?  Do you need some crackers or something?”

I shook my head at him.  So much for my acting skills.

While the angel was doing his shopping, Candy and Wyatt finally pulled up and parked beside the Corvette.  Wyatt practically launched himself from the car, running around my car to pull open my door and inspect me.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his face tight with worry.  “You’re shirt is torn and bloody, what did he do to you?”

“We had an incident,” I said vaguely.  “I’m okay, though,” I lied.  I was reluctant to let Wyatt know all the details.  My arm still stung from the bite, and it was in a place where I couldn’t really see it without a mirror.  I was glad it was my right arm, and Wyatt couldn’t see it from where he stood.  I really wanted to get a look at it first.  When I fixed myself, it hadn’t repaired.  I could feel the red purple strands of it snaked throughout my body down deep into my personal energy.  It worried me.  I didn’t want to check it out with Gregory in the car, but I was desperate to see what the fuck was up.  What had he done to me?

“She drives so slow,” Wyatt said, looking at Candy with frustration.  “You took off, and I knew something was going on.  I kept trying to get her to drive faster and she wouldn’t.”

“She’s smart,” I told him.  “No sense in you both getting yourselves killed in the crossfire.”

Wyatt reached in the car and brushed my hair back from my face.  I appreciated the gesture.

“Come on, get out of the car,” he said gently, as if I were a child or an invalid.

“I can’t,” I told him.  “I have to stay here, in the car, and the car needs to remain right here in this spot in the parking lot.”

“What has he done to you?” Wyatt asked.  I sensed his agitation.

“Wyatt, you need to get out of here,” I told him.  “I’m going to give you my car keys.  Sneak out when we’re in the restaurant and get as far away from here as you can.  I mean it.  Things are getting really bad, and I want you to be safe.”  He had to know it was bad if I was willing to let him drive my car.

He glared at me.  “I’m not leaving you, Sam.  I won’t abandon you like that.”

“You are way out of your league, here,” I told him as gently as I could.  “Fuck, I’m out of my league, here.  I’m trying to get away as soon as I can manage it, and I’m really worried that if I slip out of his grasp, he’ll take it out on you.  I’ve seen what he can do.  He will hurt you, Wyatt.  He won’t lose any sleep over killing you.”

At that time, Gregory came back out of the restaurant with a little bag.  I quickly slipped my car keys into Wyatt’s hand, and tried to resume my subdued mien.  The angel nodded at Candy and Wyatt and seemed pleased to see me with my butt rooted to the seat of the car as when he had left me.  I yanked my torn shirt off as he tossed me the bag.

It was a small pink tank top. Really small.  You’d think he would have had a better idea of my size from crushing me against a building.  I snapped the tag off and unfolded it, pausing a moment when I saw the design.  A stylized geometric angel in gold with a triangle body, triangle wings, circle head and a halo was featured prominently on the front, filling the shirt from neckline to waist.  I hadn’t realized Gregory had a sense of humor.  I had to force myself not to laugh as I pulled it over my head.  Submissive, meek, obedient, I chanted to myself in my head.

The shirt was outrageously tight.  It molded against my breasts and the outlines of my abs.  My cleavage burst above the neckline like my boobs were trying to escape the confines of the shirt.  I looked less like an angel and more like a Hooters’ waitress.  Wyatt’s eyebrows shot up when he saw the effect, and he glared at Gregory in suspicion and jealousy.  Jealousy?  Now that was funny.

When we walked into The Lamb, I saw the reason for Gregory’s fashion choice.  And the reason for the name.    The whole gift shop was awash in angel and Christian religious items.  I was actually grateful he hadn’t gotten me a “Jesus is my co–pilot” shirt, or the one with the blond, blue eyed, Germanic Jesus praying  to what would have been my left boob if I’d had the shirt on.

The hostess sat us near the buffet, casting adoring glances at Gregory the whole time.  There were crosses on the walls, and scripture verses on the placemats.  I wondered if I should oblige them and burst into flames or something.  None of the employees seemed to notice the irony of my presence here.  It would have been great fun to have Wyatt pretend to exorcise me, but I doubted this was the appropriate time for those kinds of antics.  Maybe we’d come back in a week or two.  If I was still alive then.

Wyatt and Candy began telling Gregory what they’d discovered on Wyatt’s tablet.  They’d found a campground nearby and snagged us a cabin; not easy to do since we were at the height of the summer holiday season.  Candy placidly avoided looking at me, while Wyatt shot furious glances back and forth between me and Gregory.  Great.  All I needed now was Wyatt to get testosterone filled and start a cock fight over me.  If a .50 caliber bullet didn’t harm the angel, I doubted Wyatt’s fists would do much except piss off Gregory enough to snap his neck.

“I need to use the bathroom,” I announced.  Gregory hardly gave me a glance, and the others ignored my statement.

I actually did use the bathroom, mainly to delay looking at my arm.  Finally, I could avoid it no longer.  I took a breath and pulled the armhole of the overly small tank top down, raising my arm to the mirror.  Fuck.  The tattoos of angels’ wings on the werewolf victims were small and tan.  They looked like tiny birthmarks, or skin discolorations from too much sun and too little sunscreen.  You wouldn’t even notice them if you weren’t looking for them.  This was over three inches long, in black and deep red purple.  It was vivid and clear; a sword with detailed angel wings curving up as guards from the hilt.  Gregory’s sword, tattooed in his color.  Surrounding it was a round area of reddened raised skin.  Like a hickey.  I wondered why I hadn’t been able to fix the hickey?  I wondered if I exploded myself out and recreated my whole flesh from the DNA pattern if the tattoo and the hickey would go away?  I doubted it.  Besides, a burst that big would bring a furious Gregory barreling into the women’s room to beat my ass.

I carefully ran a finger along the hickey mark and the tattoo, feeling with my energy as well as my skin, and just about dropped to my knees.  Lust poured through me and I shook with desire.  Great.  Just touch it and I was ready to hump the sink faucets.   I felt it more gently, trying to explore it without triggering the sexual stimulation.  The tattoo, the very color of it, thrummed and vibrated within me.    I ran my finger over the hickey and felt the same humming, although it was more flesh centered and not as deep.  The hickey mark seemed to have a direct line to my genitals, where the tattoo poured its red purple streaks down into my personal energy.  The tattoo was just as much a sexual stimulation as the hickey mark, only different in that it turned on the non–human, non–corporeal part of myself.

Well, this was just splendid.  I now had a super sensitive erogenous zone on the under part of my arm.  No need to get in my pants, just run your fingers up my arm and watch me melt.  Or lick it.  I envisioned for a moment how that would feel, and my whole body trembled.  Mmmm.  Maybe I could ignore my hunger for food and just lock myself in the bathroom, drive myself to ecstasy for a few hours.

Tempting as that was, I lowered my arm and concentrated on trying to explore the weird red purple stuff that had invaded my very core.  It was like a network of roots, of tiny little hairs driven deep into my personal energy.  It was solid, cold, impersonal.  I tried to probe it, to feel it out, to determine what it did and how it operated, but couldn’t discover anything.  It resisted all my attempts to explore it.

Next, I tried to push it out, to gather it together into a manageable mass, or even cut it into sections, to no avail.  It just sat there like an uncomfortable alien presence imbedded inside me.  I couldn’t imagine how I’d ever get it out.  I doubted I’d be able to absorb it or neutralize it, and it seemed to resist any attempt at removal.  Maybe Gregory could get it out.  Not that he’d care.  He’d stuck it there and the only way it was probably going to leave was with my death.  Which would no doubt be soon.

Pulling myself back to more constructive thoughts, I wondered what the purpose was of the tattoo and the hickey.  I didn’t think Gregory intended to put a sexual brand on me.  He was furious when he’d done it, not remotely in an amorous mood.  I couldn’t imagine what it did beyond turn me into even more of a horn dog than I had been before.  Common sense would lead me to believe that this was either some kind of punishment or a method to track, find, and control me.  I doubted even the most ignorant angel would think sexual stimulation would be punishment to a demon, so it must be the latter.  Strange, because I really didn’t feel like I was under his or anyone else’s’ control.

Unable to withstand my hunger any longer, I walked out of the bathroom and grabbed some food from the buffet on my way back.  It was typical country fare, and I loved fried chicken, backfat green beans, and corn casserole.

Candy remained her placid self at the table, picking at her country ham, but Gregory looked furious.  He was practically grinding his teeth and had his napkin balled up tight in a fist.  I looked at Wyatt in alarm.  Wyatt looked back and shook his head.  He clearly didn’t know what was going on either.  I sat down and scooted my chair a few inches away.  Gregory took a deep breath as I sat down, and let it slowly out.  I felt him glare at me as he struggled to relax.  What the fuck was wrong with this guy?  I told him I was going to the bathroom.  I didn’t sneak out the window, I didn’t use any energy, did no conversions.  Why was he so mad at me?

“What is your problem?” I asked, unable to resist confronting him.  He’d smacked me around, chewed up my arm, stuck a bunch of his whatever into me and added to my already heightened libido.  He had no reason to be so pissed at me.  “I didn’t try to get away, I didn’t kill anyone.  I was just in the damned bathroom.  Why the fuck are you so pissed off?”

Candy kicked me under the table and mouthed “shut up” at me in desperation.

“She doesn’t need to shut up,” Wyatt snapped at her, coming to my defense.  “It’s your fault.  You and your stupid werewolf problems.  And you,” he said turning to Gregory.  “She’s not hurting anyone.  Your angel buddy is the one who attacked us.  You have no right to treat her this way.”

Now I was alarmed.  Gregory looked at Wyatt as if he were barely restraining himself from killing him right here in the busy restaurant with everyone looking on.

“I have every right, you miserable demon toy.  This is not any of your business.  You shouldn’t presume to interfere in the affairs of higher life forms.”

The angel began to glow slightly and I tensed, ready to dive in front of Wyatt if I needed to.

“Don’t believe your silly folk tales,” he continued.  “Being human is no protection against me.  I’m allowing you to live because you are useful to me at this moment.  Cease to be useful, or become too much of an annoyance and I will not hesitate to kill you.”

Wyatt did not look like he was about to back down.  Admirable, but stupid.  I knew Gregory fully meant what he said, so I grabbed Wyatt’s hand under the table and squeezed it.  He looked down at me and I could see him struggling to retreat.  I got the feeling Wyatt had never backed down from a fight in his life, and this was terribly hard for him.  I could sympathize, but in this instance it was either back down, or die.

Candy distracted Gregory with some discussion on strategy as I smiled at Wyatt and rubbed my thumb on his palm.  This was going to be hard trying to stay alive, escaping the clutches of this angel, and keeping Wyatt’s knight–in–shining–armor impulses from getting him killed.  I needed to keep a lid on my stupid mouth and go back to my meek and submissive routine if I had any hope of success.  Somehow I managed this throughout dinner, and even crammed up against Gregory on the drive to the campground.

The cabins were tiny and the ranger wasn’t pleased that we were squeezing four people into one.  There was no other cabin available though, so he let it go.  The campground had winding loops of dirt roads leading to areas for tent camping, RV camping, and finally the cabins.  Our section had ten cabins, spaced about an acre apart and surrounded by woods.  Each cabin had a grassy patch in front of it, kind of like a lawn that reached from the porch to the road.  The road widened in to form a parking area where campers were expected to carry their belongings across the lawn and into the cabin.  Worn paths showed where hundreds of campers had lugged their gear back and forth for years.

Rough hewn logs made up the exterior and interior of the cabins.  Electricity service ended with the street lights, and Wyatt grumbled that he would need to charge his electronic devices through the cars.  There was no television, no phone, no coffee maker, and no vibrating bed.  There was no bathroom, either.  We’d need to walk down the road about a quarter of a mile to a shared bathroom that thankfully had propane heated showers.  There was a woodstove in the cabin; not that we’d need it in August.  Hopefully, the woods would help cool things down in the evenings and we wouldn’t miss the conveniences of air conditioning or fans.

As soon as we got in, Gregory announced he had some things to do and left.  I was shocked he actually left me behind.  Perhaps the meek and submissive routine was working?  I doubted it.  Of course if the tattoo thing was a kind of homing device, then he wouldn’t really need to have me within eyeshot every waking moment. He’d be able to locate me within seconds.  The thought was depressing.

No sooner had Gregory left then Candy’s placid air disappeared and she rounded on me.  “You are going to get us all killed!  I manage to get him calm and cooperative, then five minutes with you and he’s ready to go on a massacre with that sword of his.”

“I’m just trying to keep myself from getting killed.”

“If you were helpful and stopped making him so angry, he might let you live.”

“What planet are you from?  His sole purpose is to kill my kind.  And he has a perfect kill–ratio, so far.  If I don’t get away from him soon, it’s game over for me.  Do you seriously think he’s going to decide I’m not so bad, after all, and let me go?  Trust me, it’s not gonna happen.”

“He’s an angel.  He’s supposed to be merciful and on the side of law and order.  If you toe the line, he’ll probably just banish you and let you live,” she countered.  Clearly she’d forgotten Gregory’s ominous speech to Wyatt in the restaurant.

“No fucking way he’s going to let me live,” I told her vehemently.  “They don’t banish us, because we keep coming back if they do.  They kill us, every single time.  The only mercy I’d get is a quick death, and I seriously doubt he’s got an ounce of mercy in him.”

“He’s not like you,” she insisted.  “He’s good and you’re evil.”

“The fuck he’s not like me.  You go ahead and swallow the Kool–aid propaganda they’ve doled out over the centuries.  He’s just like me.  He killed a fucking cop today just to keep me from getting away.  An innocent cop who was doing nothing but his job.  He’s probably got a wife and kids, and that fucking angel didn’t think twice about it.”  That gave Candy pause.

“You’ve seen what the angels have done to your own kind — to your werewolves.  Althean is on a killing rampage, and Gregory cares only to cover it up and subdue Althean before he gets caught and Gregory gets his ass nailed by some higher up.  He doesn’t give a shit about humans, werewolves, anyone but his own kind.  I killed your pack mate in self defense.  I’ve been here forty years living as a human and you don’t see me enacting some genetic cleansing program, do you?  I may be a tough bitch, but I’m not killing pregnant women and cops.”  Well, there was that one cop in Atlanta, but she didn’t know about that.

Candy paused, considering my words.  “All right, so he’s not what popular culture has made angels out to be.  He does seem to be more like you than unlike you, honestly.  I don’t just have my life here to think about, though.  I’ve got the future of my species.  I know this sounds callous, but I’m trying to figure out what course of action to take that will result in the best outcome for my kind.”  She looked at me sympathetically.  “He’s cleaning your clock, Sam.  He may be the better bet here.”

Wow, that was brutally honest and I actually appreciated it.  I had suspected Candy was calculating and ruthless, and these were qualities I admired.  I could hardly fault her for them.  Besides, Gregory was cleaning my clock.  Hell, I’d throw my bet behind him in her place, too.  The odds were much better.

“I know this sounds crazy, but I don’t think he truly wants to kill you,” she added with that shrewd look in her eyes. “I don’t think he really hates you, I think he feels something else for you.  I think he’s attracted to you in his own way,” she said carefully.

Well, that wasn’t the right thing to say in front of Wyatt who’d been silent up until then.

“I knew it.  Did he make a pass at you Sam?  Is he trying to Own you?”

Angels don’t Own, but I got what he was saying.  And maybe, in a way, that’s what the strange red purple stuff was.  Some sort of ownership mark.  “Mine,” that voice deep within me announced, silently and unexpectedly.  As if I were the one trying to Own, trying to take possession.  That was weird.  I shook my head and chalked it up to the unnerving events of the day.

“No, he doesn’t have any attraction toward me at all,” I replied.  “He’s not trying to Own me.  He beat the crap out of me and did this.”  I showed them my arm, which I had been keeping carefully glued to my side all evening.

They both gasped, and I was taken by the drama of the moment.  Candy actually paled.  “What does it do?” she asked.

“Is that a hickey?”  Wyatt said, practically foaming at the mouth.  “He gave you a tattoo and a hickey?“

“I think the hickey is just a byproduct of the tattoo.” I needed to be careful with Wyatt.  He was on the verge of going on a kamikaze attack, and I really didn’t want to see him die.  “I don’t know what it does.”  I lied.  I knew one thing it did, which I assumed wasn’t its intended purpose.  I hardly wanted Wyatt to know Gregory had put a big ‘fuck me’ spot on my arm.

“It looks like a brand,” Candy said.  “Like maybe some kind of tracking or homing device?”

That’s what I was assuming, but it wouldn’t need to be rooted so deeply within me for that.  Wyatt came over to look closer and before I could stop him, he ran a finger around the outside of the sword tattoo, right over the hickey.  Lust rushed through me in a hot wave.  “Don’t touch it,” I hissed between clenched teeth.  If he did that again, I was liable to knock him over and screw his brains out.

“I’m sorry,” he said.  “It must hurt.”

Hurt.  If only.  I looked at Candy and she had the one eyebrow, wise Spock look going on.  Didn’t fool her.  She might be a total prude, but she knew exactly what had happened when Wyatt rubbed the mark.

Slowly, she walked over and held my arm up to examine the tattoo and hickey closer.  “Don’t touch it.”  She’d get the lesbian shock of her life if she did.

Instead, she leaned in and sniffed it.  I hoped my deodorant was still working.  Not that it mattered with a wolf’s sense of smell.  Letting my arm go, she looked at me thoughtfully.

“I like you,” she said slowly.  “You’re amoral.  You screw anything you can hold still.  You don’t care about anyone beyond what they can do for you at the moment.  You’re nasty, irritating, crude, and reckless.  You’d sacrifice us without a second thought, even him,” she gestured to Wyatt, “to serve a selfish purpose.  But in spite of this, I like you.  Let me know what I can do to help you get away, to help you live, and I’ll do it.  Within reason,” she added hastily.

Wyatt nodded in agreement.  “You know I’ll help you anyway I can, Sam.”

This was odd.  I wasn’t used to others volunteering to put themselves in harm’s way for me.  I could see Wyatt doing it, humans did all sorts of weird things under the influence of friendship and sexual attraction, but Candy had no such motivation.

“There’s no way I can make it all the way to a gate with this thing on my arm.   I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t make it out of town.  I’m trying to think of a plan, though.  I may just need you to distract him for a moment.”  I told Candy.  “In the meantime, if you could keep him more focused on the trap for Althean and less on beating the shit out of me, I’d be grateful.”

I turned to Wyatt.  “See?  This is why I want you to leave.  You heard what he said to you in the restaurant.  He won’t hesitate to kill you.  Please take my car and go home.”

“I’m not leaving you, Sam,” he said stubbornly.

I sighed.  I had a feeling this wasn’t an argument I was going to win.

“Well, at least go out and get me some cold beer.  Please,” I added.  “That shit in my trunk is probably skunked by now with this heat.”

Wyatt ran out to get beer for me.  He even took Candy’s car without pestering me to drive my Corvette.  I appreciated his running out for me since I had a feeling I was under house arrest.  Besides, I was trying to show Gregory what a good girl I was.  See?  Branded, domesticated, staying within the confines of my enclosure.

Candy decided to sleep on the couch since she didn’t want to share with anyone and there was only one bed.  I told Wyatt to go ahead and go to sleep, figuring I’d make some excuse to sleep on the floor later.  I couldn’t take another night of straightjacket torture, and if he accidently rubbed my arm during the night, then that erection of his wouldn’t go to waste.

I sat on the porch for hours listening to the chorus of night bugs, drinking beer, and lining up my empties on the railing.  If this tattoo really was some kind of homing device, then Gregory would know it the minute I made a bolt for the border.  I’d never make it to one of the major gates before he caught me, and I doubted Althean’s killing pattern would take him near a major gate in the next few days.  I could try to stall the project.  Althean would probably head near a major gate eventually.  I didn’t think I’d be able to foil his capture for that long, though.  Besides, even if I did, Gregory would just decide I wasn’t helping, that I was in the way, and I’d be dispatched.

The wild gate at Sharpsburg was about half an hour away at speed in the Corvette.  I didn’t think Gregory knew about that gate.  I’d heard that angels didn’t even sense the wild gates.  Normally, he’d never expect me to head there.  With this thing on my arm, I suspected that he’d find me wherever I went, and know if I strayed more than a certain distance from him.  I needed to somehow get us closer to Sharpsburg so Candy could distract him and I could be through the gate before he knew I was gone.  I’d probably be ripped to shreds in that crazy wild gate, but at least I had a chance there.  Staying here, I had no chance whatsoever.  I’d look at Wyatt’s projection of the killings in the morning to see if we circled back down into Maryland.  If so, I’d have to work hard to make the trap at Waynesboro unsuccessful.  Anything to get us closer to that gate and my last chance.

I finished my beer, and started to put the empty on the railing with the rest.  It was a pretty reddish brown color, as most beer bottles were.  It had been molded through a rather cheap and sloppy process, and there were a few bubbles and imperfections in the glass.  Humans often applied only the minimum of effort necessary to suit their needs.  They were satisfied with this beer bottle as long as it didn’t stick them with sharp edges, kept the beer contained and temperature consistent, and was fairly sanitary.

Many of my kind were this way, too.  Why apply excess time and energy if less would get the job done?  The elves were different though.  Everything for them had to be perfect and artistically formed.  Everything was an opportunity for art and expression.  Their homes, yards, stables were filled with intricately embellished functional items.  They would never have been satisfied with this beer bottle.  Its very presence would have grated on them.

Changing my mind, I took the glass bottle back off the railing, melted the glass and pulled out the air bubbles and tiny bits of debris marring the glass quality.  I needed to keep a thin buffer of cool between my human hands and the molten glass as I pulled and rolled.  Looking at the blob of clean glass in my hands, I was suddenly inspired, stricken with the urge to create.  It was an urge that demons occasionally had.  I warmed the glass again, twisting and shaping it.  When I was satisfied, I let it cool in my hands.  It was now a small brown glass horse in gallop with mane flying and nose to the sky.  I ran my finger down the glass muscles in its back and smiled to myself.

“That’s beautiful,” a deep voice said behind me.  Gregory.  His tone was that soothing rumble.  I got the impression he’d been there watching me for a while as I’d been engrossed in my glasswork.

I looked up at him.  His black eyes were hard to read in the moonless night, but at least he didn’t appear pissed off.  Maybe whatever errand he’d run had allowed him to relax and recover his control.

“Back home, I’d gift it to the one of the elves,” I told him.

The elves loved art, but they were not often satisfied with their own creations.  I thought their art was beautiful and perfect, but they deplored the lack of emotion and feeling.  They were always grateful to get something we had made, and they frequently invited us to their social events.  We annoy them, but they’ve always tolerated us like we were crazy eccentric relatives.

“You know elves?” Gregory asked in wonder.  “You actually see them socially?”

Oh yeah, the prodigal children.  The elves as a race had always been doted on and favored by the angels.  They had originally sided with the angels during the war, but became increasingly disillusioned with them as the fighting dragged on.

To everyone’s surprise, and seemingly against their own best interests, they ended up pulling themselves from the conflict and declaring neutrality.  The angels had been winning before, but after the elves pulled out, we reached a stalemate and thus the division of the realms and the treaty.  I’m not sure what caused the elves to come to our turf, but they carved out their own space and refused to enter this realm.  The whole reason the angels had created the big stable gates was in hope that their beloved species would come to their senses and join them again.

“Yeah.  They ward their land heavily against us, and their adults are kind of stodgy and boring, but their young are fun and playful.  They sneak over into our land and play pranks on us, and we reciprocate.  It’s all in good fun.  We sometimes perform services for each other. If we establish a business relationship, then it results in being invited to their social functions.”

“Do you go?  Are you invited?” Gregory asked, sitting beside me.

“Occasionally.  I’ve performed some services for one of the high lords, and he invites me to holiday functions, and the occasional great hunt.  Honestly, I think I get invited to the hunts because I ride like shit and they all get a huge laugh at seeing me hit the ground regularly.”

I handed him the glass horse and he examined it carefully.

“I saw you pull the impurities out of the glass.  Why did you bother?” he asked, sending strands of himself into the glass to better feel its structural integrity.

I wasn’t sure how to respond.  Elves would have said that things of beauty should not be marred, that they should attempt to approach divinity in their perfection, that sloppy imperfect work was an offense against nature and the forces of creation.  Perhaps the elves had just rubbed off on me?

“I don’t know,” I replied shrugging.  “I didn’t have any particular reason, I just did it.”

“It’s perfect,” Gregory handed the horse back to me.  “And it has such feeling and expression to it.  That I expected, but I would never have expected this level of detail from a demon.  Honestly, I would have expected you to shoot the bottles off the railing or twist them into a horrific mass.  Not create this delicate thing of beauty.”

“There is equal beauty in the things called horrific.  The act of destruction is an expression of beauty, too.  I destroyed the bottle to make the horse.  Is a pretty glass horse worth the loss of a bottle, but the sound of shattered glass and bits flying through the air isn’t?  Is transformation only worthy if you approve of the end result?”

Gregory stared at me in silence for a while.  I think I shocked him.  He’d probably expected me to say “fuck that” and blow up the glass horse or something.  Well, I wasn’t always a stereotype.

He reached out a hand to me and I tensed involuntarily expecting him to blast me with that white stuff or pop my head off.  Unfair, I know, since he was calm right now and we hadn’t exactly been arguing.  Still, after today, I was leery of his intentions toward me.  And it’s not like he’d necessarily have to be angry with me to kill me.  The whole process could be as emotionless as pinching the top off a dandelion.  Gregory paused for a second then gently took a piece of my hair and carefully rubbed it between his thumb and fingers.

“Your human form is perfect too,” he said, half to himself.  “Down to the last cell.  Your energy is so tightly contained.  You don’t leak like so many other demons”.

He leaked.  The power flowed off him in waves.  It was like sitting next to an open oven.  And his form sucked.  It was so weird with the strange skin and faint glow.  He blurred at the edges sometimes, too.

“You don’t have the slightest imperfection in your form,” he continued.  “I could walk right by you on the street and not know what you are.    I could be in the same room with you for hours and not know.”

“You did,” I told him.  “Last week in The Wine Room.  I was there when you came in looking for me and I managed to sneak out the back door.”

He looked at me in surprise.  “You were?  I wasn’t looking for you.  I was there to find Candy in an attempt to gain any information the local werewolves had on Althean.  I could sense she was there, but she got out the back door while the humans were smothering me with adoration.”  He rolled his eyes, as if the reaction of the humans was both amusing and annoying.  “I didn’t know you were there at all.  You were a few yards from me, and I didn’t even sense your presence?”

“You weren’t looking for me?” I asked.  “But you must have sensed me.  You were at that werewolf’s house a few days later.  The one I killed with the electricity.”

He shook his head in confusion.  “What are you talking about?  I had no indication of your presence until you blasted Althean at Robinson’s house.”

Damn.  Candy had lied.  She’d made up the whole thing to manipulate me into doing what she wanted.  All my panic, this whole madness with Candy had been because I’d thought he was on my trail.  He hadn’t even known I existed, that I was right there.  He hadn’t been after me at all.  I could have just gone about my life and he would have never known.

He continued to rub my hair between his fingers and I felt him push his energy in once again to examine me.  It was pretty rude.  He’d examined the glass horse with more consideration.  Poking around like this at me was so annoying.  I knew I wasn’t strong enough to force him out, so I returned the favor and poked back at him with my personal energy.  It didn’t have the same effect.  He brushed me off repeatedly without effort, and certainly didn’t get the hint on how disrespectful this sort of thing was.  I was nervous he’d find out how much raw energy I had stored within me and tried to compress it tighter, but he was careful to avoid contact with it.  The rest of me was fair game though.  It was like having someone root through your underwear drawer.

Without warning, I felt him snatch hold of the red–purple within me and pull violently.

“Owww,” I yelled and punched him as hard as I could in the arm.  It was like hitting a cement block.  “Asshole.  That hurts.  Cut it out.”

He stopped and I felt his surprise, but he didn’t let go and didn’t remove his energy from me.  I sat there and braced myself for more pain, but he released and gently pulled back to himself.  Silence stretched on between us, but it wasn’t awkward.  If someone had told me a week ago that I’d be sitting on a porch next to an angel listening to the locusts sing at night I would not have believed it.  I was fully aware of his strength and the enormous power imbalance between us, but for some reason I felt a sense of peace.

We continued to sit there in silence for several hours, and then I put the glass horse on the railing beside the empty beer bottles and went in to sleep.  My intention was to grab a blanket and curl up on the floor, but I looked longingly at Wyatt snoring softly in the bed.  I might not be around much longer.  As much as I dislike having someone crush me all night, I really wanted as much closeness with him as I could.  I wanted to feel his warm flesh against me.  I didn’t want to regret missing a moment of that.  Filled with longing, I pulled off my clothes and climbed under the covers with Wyatt.  He immediately sensed my presence and turned to face me, wrapping his arms tight around me and twining my legs between his.  Seconds later and I was clamped against him.  There was nowhere I’d rather have been.

I slept some, and woke in the morning to the now familiar feel of Wyatt’s erection against my thigh.  As if that weren’t bad enough, Wyatt ran his one hand down my back to cup around my ass and brought the other up to the side of my breast.

“Sam?” his groggy voice asked.  “Why are you naked?”

I’d forgotten about Candy’s presence and her edict regarding night wear.

“I always sleep naked,” I told him.

He caught his breath.  “Do you think Candy is a light sleeper,” he whispered, his hands roaming across my skin.  That morning erection of his had gained focus and was now a hard steel pipe on my leg.

“I’m a very light sleeper,” a stern voice from the sofa announced.  “And there will be no sex going on while I’m here.”

“Can you leave?” I asked her hopefully.

“No.  Sam, get up and put some clothes on and go outside while Wyatt calms certain parts of his anatomy down.  I’ve got some bottled water for us to brush our teeth with.  We’ll wait for our orders from Gregory, and then hopefully we can grab coffee and breakfast on our way.”

Candy was very organized for such an early hour in the morning.  I would rather have had slow thorough sex with Wyatt then snooze while Candy ran out to fetch coffee and donuts, but that was clearly not going to happen.  Reluctantly, I got up and dressed in yesterday’s torn dirty jeans and a clean shirt.

When I went out to the porch to stretch my legs, I noticed the glass horse was gone.  All the other bottles were still lined up on the porch rail, but there was a conspicuous empty spot where I’d put the horse.  I was oddly delighted that he’d taken it.  It must have been him.  No one else had left the cabin, and it wasn’t likely that some prowler had come around, especially with Candy’s werewolf hearing.  I was glad he liked it.  Hopefully after he killed me, he’d look at it and remember me fondly.

I grabbed the empty bottles and one at a time threw them off the side of the porch against the trunk of an oak.  The first bounced off without breaking, so I put a bit of energy behind the next one and was gratified when it shattered with that lovely breaking glass sound.  The others quickly followed, and I ended by blasting the remaining whole one as it lay by the base of the tree.

“I can’t quite see how that was a thing of beauty, but I’ll allow you to have your differing opinion on the matter,” Gregory’s amused voice announced.

I turned and was surprised by the incongruity of seeing him holding a drink carrier with Styrofoam cups and a bag.  Judging from the smell, the cups contained coffee.

“You brought coffee?” I asked.

He shrugged.  “I know humans are basically useless without this morning beverage, and I assumed you’d be the same.”

At that moment, we were interrupted by Candy, who burst through the door brandishing a broken remote control.

“I’m not paying for this,” she told me, waving it at my face.

I immediately threw the angel under the bus.  “It was him,” I said pointing at Gregory.  “He broke it off the chain and I was just trying to hide the evidence.”

Gregory raised his eyebrows at Candy and handed her a cup of coffee.

“Oh,” she said in confusion, taking the coffee.  “Thank you.  I mean, no problem.  I’m sure it was an accident.”

“No,” he told her.  “It was no accident.  I purposely broke it.”

Candy turned bright red with embarrassment and sputtered something about how it was no problem at all, vanishing back into the cabin with her coffee.  I grabbed a cup for myself out of the holder and laughed.

“You’re mean.  I like it.  Especially when it’s not directed at me.”

He handed me the drink holder and the bag along with an address on a slip of paper.

“Meet me at this address in half an hour.  We’ve got a long day ahead of us.  If you’re late, I’ll turn your car into a useless ball of metal.”

Without waiting for a reply, he gated away.  I assumed that meant the camaraderie was over and we were now back to our former adversarial relationship.  The thought made me rather sad.

Chapter Sixteen

Do it,” Gregory commanded.  “Do your thing.”

We were at the first of the werewolves’ houses and they were away at work.  It was a family of three.  Father, mother, ten year old son.  I didn’t know what the hell Gregory wanted me to do.

“Your thing,” he said impatiently.  “Do it.”

“What thing?”  Was I supposed to fuck Wyatt on the lawn, blow a hole in the driveway, throw a bolt of lightning through the picture window, or strip the skin off some human and forcibly Own them?

“Change,” he waved his hand around.  “Change into something, then change back.  Leave a big old demon energy signature right here on the front lawn to scare Althean away.”

Great.  He was too lazy to hex the place, so I needed to convert my entire flesh.  Did he want me to do this at every house?  There were forty werewolf residences in the Waynesboro area.  Was I supposed to do this at thirty nine of them?  Fuck that.  And what good would it do?  Was Althean so stupid, or possibly so insane that he wouldn’t realize that that fortieth house, the one without my energy all over it was a trap?  Any self respecting demon would just head elsewhere.  Somewhere outside the little regression line Wyatt showed on his computer.  Stupid fucking angels.  Like a dumb ass lemming.

“You’re joking.  You expect me to convert my entire form at thirty nine houses today? Do you realize how much raw energy it would take for that?  I’d be drained to nothing,” I announced dramatically.  I had more than enough raw energy, but I didn’t want him to know that.

Gregory raised an eyebrow.  “Do it,” he commanded.  His voice had power behind the compulsion. Huge power.  It swept over me with the intensity of a forest fire.  I admired his ability to put forth such a huge volume of power, but in spite of it, the compulsion slid over me without effect.

“Fuck you,” I told him.

He frowned and I could tell he had expected the compulsion to work.

“Do it now or I will make your human toy into a eunuch,” he announced, changing tactics.

Wyatt turned white.  He’d do it too, without a second thought.  Asshole.  Fine, I’d do it, but I wouldn’t make it pretty.

I was pissed, so I exploded out everything but my personal energy and stash of raw energy in a rapid blast.  Time froze, as it always did when I converted my whole self and I felt the seductive pull of eternity.  I could just let the matter go, let it drift on out taking my personal energy with it.  I would fade into the fabric of creation, become whole.  I forced myself to focus and snap back into flesh.  It was like a sonic boom, once out and once in.  Crack, crack.  Wyatt and Candy were both knocked to the ground.  Gregory stood as if untouched, the bastard.

“And she’s naked again,” Candy said, getting to her feet and dusting off her pants.  “There doesn’t seem to be a day that goes by that I’m not treated to the sight of your naked body.  Can’t you possibly do this without losing your clothing?”

Of course, I’d blown my clothing to bits when I converted, and didn’t know how to create new ones.

“Is she always like this?”  Gregory asked me, gesturing toward Candy.   “No wonder Althean is trying to exterminate the werewolves if they’re all as annoying as she is.”

“She’s alright,” I chuckled.  “I’ll bet she fucks with all her clothes on and the lights off, though.”

Gregory looked around, no doubt sensing my energy usage.

“Do it again, over here a bit.  I don’t think that will be close enough to the house to suffice.”

Fuck, this was going to be even worse if I had to do a conversion multiple times at each house.  I really would be running low if he kept this up.  Was this some way to determine how much I had stored?  How much I could do before I collapsed exhausted in a heap?  I complained again that this was a stupid idea and that there was no way I was going to be able to keep doing this.

He stopped and looked at me sternly.  “Did we not just have this conversation?  Let me see.  Yes.  Yes, it was the same conversation.  There was some whining from you, then I threatened to do physical harm to your toy, then you grudgingly complied.  Perhaps we can just skip all the middle part and get to the part where you comply?  Otherwise, I’m liable to get angry and do all sorts of things I’ll really enjoy now and mildly regret later.”

I hated this angel.

I walked over closer to the house and again converted myself violently in an explosion of pressure and sound.  Wyatt and Candy stayed farther back this time and managed to stay on their feet.

“I had forgotten about the clothing thing,” the angel said as he turned his back on me and walked toward the car.  “You’ll need to strip each time you do this since we don’t have a truckload of outfits for you to ruin.”

I glared at him as I followed him, naked, to the car, and noticed him rub a hand over his ear.  Blood.  That was interesting.

The next house he stood back farther.  I smiled to myself and blew everything apart and back with even more force.  Candy clutched her head.  “Can Wyatt and I be somewhere else for this?  If she keeps it up I’ll be tossed into the adjacent county.  Maybe we can just wait for you all to finish this at a local coffee shop?”

Gregory shot Candy an irritated look, and didn’t reply.  He clearly had a slight nose bleed this time.  “I don’t think you need to change your whole self next time,” he said rubbing his nose.  “Maybe just a portion of you, instead.”

The following few houses I experimented, changing just portions of me, using less energy, changing the residents’ dog into a rat, which Candy insisted I change back.  I can easily convert myself, but I’m not so good at changing other beings.  The dog didn’t quite go back the same as it originally was.  The owners would never be able to tell, but the unfortunate thing would die in a few weeks.  I should have left it a rat.  At the next house I burned a circle in the lawn with green fire.  None of these seemed to have any noticeable impact on Gregory.

“The fire isn’t going to have the effect I want,” the angel scolded.  “The energy signature is too vague and like natural fire.  You need to actually change something, preferably yourself.”

Men.  They always want you to change yourself, why can’t they just like you the way you are?  I recreated a foot, but did it with a vengeance.  Pop, pop.  Candy stuck her finger in her ear, and Wyatt stretched his jaw, trying to normalize the pressure in their ears.  And there it was, the light trickle of blood.  So it wasn’t the size of the conversion that affected him.  Was it the pressure change, or the sound, or both?

He stood back further the next time.  I was bored with just recreating Samantha Martin, so I decided to experiment with some of my forms from back home.  This time I snapped back as a gryphon, making it extra loud.  Gregory looked grim as he approached me.  He was coughing this time and I could see the specks of blood.

“You can’t drive around in the car looking like that.  You need to change back into human form.”

I didn’t wait for him to back away, I snapped out and in with a huge sonic boom.  He staggered, then shook his head.  Blood dripped from his nose, and trailed down from one ear.

Sound.  Everything he’d done with his energy, everything Althean had done had sound or color.  Plasma and the usual destructive forces didn’t have maximum effect on them, even my raw energy glanced off them with less than expected damage.  I couldn’t do color, but sound I could do.

“This isn’t going to work,” Gregory said, turning away from me and surreptitiously wiping the blood from his face.  “It’s way overkill.  You’re leaving a huge signature and he’ll suspect something.”

Well duh, he’d suspect something anyway if he could see I’d been to thirty nine of forty houses, conveniently  leaving one house free with a big bow on top and a ‘kill me’ sign on the door.  I wasn’t sure what the fuck Gregory’s game plan was with all this.  Was Althean’s drive to kill the werewolves in a bizarre pattern overriding his common sense?  Were we just herding him toward our trap?  If so then the overkill wouldn’t matter.  I couldn’t believe Althean would be so stupid, but I really didn’t know anything about angels.  A demon would never have gone for this.  We’d have been merrily killing werewolves halfway across the country if we saw a blatant trap like this being laid down.

“What do you mean it’s not going to work?  I’m exhausted from all this, and now it’s not going to work?  Plus we have twenty six more houses to go,” I whined.  There was no way we could watch twenty six residences.  Althean had the odds in his favor.  He’d strike again and get away, hopefully moving closer to Sharpsburg where I could take my chances of escape through the wild gate.

Gregory paused for a moment.  “We’ll split up.  I’ll take ten houses and hex them, and you take sixteen.  Just make sure you leave one open.  Meet me back at the cabin whenever you’re done.”

What, leaving me unattended with Wyatt and Candy all day?  With plenty of time to escape?  And no very specific orders to be here at this time, and there at that time?  Did he want me to run, so he could snatch me back out of thin air, deliver a smack down, and teach me a lesson?  Maybe he needed some private time.  Candy had been annoying as all hell, and spending the day in the company of a demon couldn’t have been easy for him either.  Or possibly he was just tired of the constant nosebleeds my conversion was causing him.   Either way, he had to have some faith that I’d stick around, or that he could find me if I tried to bolt for it.

I puzzled over this and my tattoo as we drove to our allocated houses.  Did the mark allow him to find me and bring me to him, or only let him know if I strayed outside a certain distance from him?  That kind of constant monitoring would probably require a deep connection, and a sharing of personal energy.  If that were the case, then the red–violet inside me could hold a portion of him, and he might have even taken on a portion of me.  Oh, that would be unbelievably ironic!  My kind does this type of personal energy swap when we breed, but we don’t keep the connection to the other person.  We just combine their energy with ours to make a new being, then isolate it.  There’s no desire to carry around a portion of someone else inside you, or maintain a kind of link with them.  How much would it irk him if he had a chunk of me inside him, or if his own precious self was tied up inside me?  If this were the case, no wonder he was in a crappy mood.

By late afternoon we were down to the last five houses, and I was tired and bored.  I’d been riding around naked.   I hadn’t brought a spare set of clothing from the cabin and had nothing to change into until Candy raced into a Walmart and picked up a pair of jeans and a tank top for me.  I refused to wear them since taking clothes off and putting them back on at each house was a pain in the ass.  After a long argument, Candy insisted the least I could do was wrap myself in a blanket from her trunk.  She claimed it was so we wouldn’t get arrested.  I’m surprised she didn’t put newspapers down on the seat.

I’d gotten creative with my form, doing a goat–lion cross I’d put together for one of the elf parties decades ago, and variations of the stereotypical devil theme from artwork throughout the ages.  Wyatt particularly liked the sexy red one with big boobs, and long rope tail that I twirled around suggestively.  It looked like something out of Heavy Metal.   He did not like the muscular black one with the huge two foot phallus and testicles like bowling balls.

We pulled up to a lovely McMansion, with a professionally landscaped yard out back, complete with a grotto pool and hot tub.  These werewolves had it good.  Wyatt and Candy sat in the air conditioned car while I took my time admiring the pool.  Half the pool was edged in flagstone with a wide set of flagstone steps rising from the water to the naturalized patio.  The other half consisted of a man–made cave and a twenty foot molded boulder with tiny streams of water trickling down the edges.  The cave was partially underwater with a ledge to hold drinks and snacks.  My pool was the standard issue, and I thought about possibly adding a feature like this.  The molded boulder was probably fine by human and werewolf standards, but its fakeness annoyed me.  If I did this at my pool, I’d create my own boulder.  I missed my pool, and since I was naked anyway I jumped in to do a few laps.

The water was wonderful.  They used a saline system instead of chlorine, and the minerals made the water slide like silk over my skin.  I explored the little cave a bit and floated around in the water.  Candy and Wyatt had to be wondering what was taking so long.  Screw them.   And screw that pissy angel, too.  I’d get done whenever I felt like it.  I did a few more laps, swimming low to see the decorative tile work in the bottom of the pool.

That’s when I noticed an odd shimmer in the pool wall.  Diving down, I took a closer look and just about swallowed the water in excitement.  It was a gate.  A wild gate.  Well, it was actually more like a wild jagged tear.  It extended the entire depth of the pool, but it was narrow.  I wasn’t sure I’d be able to squeeze through it and not leave a chunk of myself behind.  It was wider down at the bottom thankfully.  I came up for air and went back down again.  I couldn’t really tell where the gate came out at, but I was running out of options.

This was my only chance.  There was no way I could manage to sneak away tonight and come back here.  We’d never be close to this house, again.  If I didn’t go for it with this gate, my only other chance would be the long shot that we’d somehow come close enough to the one in Sharpsburg.  This was my bird in the hand, and I needed to grab it.  I’d been told my whole life that I took insane chances with minimal regard to my safety, and that’s saying a lot coming from my kind.  This was the time to prove them right.  I went up for air one more time, then swam down and slipped through into the gate.

It was a bad, bad idea, and I realized how bad the moment I stepped in.  The gate engulfed me in blackness, snapping shut behind me.  It felt like I was encased in black Jell–O. I tried to push through it, but it resisted against me bouncing back.  I could rip and tear it, but it was slow going, and it flowed back to itself, leaving no trail of where I’d been.  I couldn’t tell how far I’d come, but it felt like I’d been plowing through the stuff forever.  I had a horrifying feeling that I was going to spend eternity in here suffocating in black Jell–O.  It could be worse, I thought.

Never think that.  The Jell–O was starting to become sticky and cling to me.  I shook it off, trying to push it away and noticed red bloody marks where it had tenaciously stuck on my skin.  As if one hickey mark wasn’t enough, it seemed I was about to be covered in the things.  I wasn’t one to give up, so I kept slashing and pushing, making my way each precious inch at a time.  Hope filled me as the Jell–O began to soften and liquefy, and a glimmer brightened the darkness.  Finally, I though, I might be reaching the other side of the gate.  I hoped it didn’t open up into a black hole or something equally deadly. The glimmer expanded and I was blinded by a white flash.  I felt something more solid than Jell–O encase me and with a second flash I realized I was underwater.  Maybe I had gated into a rock in an underwater cave.  I hoped so.

No such luck.  As my vision cleared, I realized that the rock was covered by wet cotton fabric.  Shit.  I should have known. Gregory’s grip shifted, but instead of being swept up in his arms, I was dumped over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes as he carried me up the steps and out of the pool.

He had to be furious.  I’d had no idea how he’d managed to find me in that horrible Jell–O mess of a gate, let alone get us both out of there.  I can’t believe he bothered.  He must have known what that gate was.  If it had been me, I would have said “screw this” and let him die in that thing.  Why had he risked himself to pull me out?  Was I really of that much use to him?  Or perhaps he was too proud to allow me to escape him at all.  Maybe he had a need to have absolute control over me and my demise.  He slid me down off his shoulder and held me tight against him, my face smashed into the wet cotton of his polo shirt.  I waited patiently to be crushed to a pulp.  Instead I was held in place, with the angel’s ragged breath warm against the top of my head.

“I have no idea how you’ve managed to survive this long, little cockroach,” he said, his voice tight.  “How did you make that gate?  That was the worst thing I’ve ever seen in my long, long life.  Crippled lobotomized elves with one eye could make a better gate than that.”

I didn’t know specifically what having one eye had to do with gate creation, but I got his point.

“And you didn’t end it anywhere.  The edges weren’t stable; it didn’t really have edges.  The whole thing was slowly collapsing in on you.  I honestly don’t know how I managed to find you in that thing, let alone pull you out of it in one piece.”

I held very still against him.  He didn’t sound very angry.  I thought he’d be furious, smashing me into little bits for defying him and trying to get away.

“If you’re so bent on killing yourself, cockroach, just be patient a little longer and I’ll do it for you.”  He said, sounding as if he anticipated that moment.  “I don’t know what to do with you.  I can’t be with you every second, I can’t bind you any tighter.  Now, I find you can create gates, no matter how terrible and ineffective they are.  I should just go ahead and kill you now, you are such an annoyance.  Any usefulness you provide is far outweighed by your time wasting and disrupting actions.”

Okay, so he risked himself to pull me out of a wild gate only to kill me himself?  I guess it was more satisfying if you did the deed yourself rather than have your target die through suicide by stupidity.  I could identify.  It was so disappointing when your prey fell off a cliff and broke its neck before you could sink your teeth into it and have it die by your hand.

We stood there for a few moments more, then he slowly pulled away and looked me over.  I was naked and covered in bloody Jello–O hickey marks.  Not exactly a good sight.  I risked a quick look up at him.  No pointy teeth, no black filled eyes, no glowing, no sword.  He actually looked rather bleak.  These were hopefully good signs for my continued existence.

“Fix yourself,” he said with a sigh, and stepped back to let me work.

I stood and stared at him a moment, sure that I heard him wrong, and that any minute he was going to lop my head off with that sword of his.

“Go on,” he urged.  “I don’t really care, but if we walk back to the car with you looking like that, your toy is going to go insane and try to blow my head off with his little cannon, again.  I’ve killed one human this week; I don’t want to kill another.  I’m way over my quota for the year, already.”

I had an odd feeling the last statement was some kind of angel humor, but I didn’t want to ask.  Quickly I fixed the Jell–O marks, thinking that Wyatt was going to flip anyway with us walking back together, both soaking wet and me naked.

Wyatt was not happy.  He was even less happy when Gregory grabbed the blanket from Candy’s car and proceeded to dry me off, himself.

“Here, put your clothes on,” the angel told me.  “I’m going to gate you to the last few houses so I can keep you with me.  I’ll hex them, and these two will follow us in the car.”

Wyatt turned red and clenched his jaw, but at least he kept his gun to himself.

It was a slow process.  The gating around was fast, but then I had to stand there a moment squished against Gregory to keep from falling over while the world righted itself.  Then we had to wait an eternity for Candy and Wyatt to arrive, since Gregory informed me he couldn’t trust me to my own devices while he was occupied creating the hex.  He told Candy at the first house that she was to watch me and if he found me so much as a foot from where he left me, he’d bash her face into the pavement.  I wondered if angels were always this violent or if I was having a peculiar effect on him.

I was a good girl, much to Candy’s relief.  Besides, where would I go?  He’d catch me, and just be more pissed off.  Part of me still wanted to try for the Sharpsburg gate, but part of me was really afraid to try that shit again.  There were more pleasant ways to commit suicide.  That sword of Gregory’s probably wouldn’t be as bad as dying in a wild gate, but I didn’t really want to give him the satisfaction of causing my death.  I’d rather suffer horribly.

We finished by dark, and at least three of us were starving since we’d missed lunch.  The house with the pool and the wild gate was our intended target.  Not that it mattered.  I wasn’t about to try Jell–O world again, especially if it didn’t lead anywhere.  We grabbed take–out Chinese and headed back to the cabin to collapse in exhaustion.  I didn’t even bother with the Tinkerbell shirt, and just wrapped myself up naked in a blanket to sleep on the porch.   Candy took her couch, and Wyatt the bed.  Gregory sat in the porch chair with his feet up on the railing so he could keep an eye on me.  It was rather unnerving having someone stand guard over you while you sleep, but I was worn out and dozed off quickly.

I woke up with my heart racing.  It was early, well before sun up, and it took me a moment to realize where I was and what had woken me.  Something was here, something I knew, something I wanted to kill.  I reached out and felt his presence, about five hundred yards into the woods to the northeast.  Althean, stealthily creeping closer.

What in the world was he doing here?  Two who are gunning for him are here, and none of his targets.  Then it hit me.  Candy.  Maybe he was ready for his hit, and she was here and sleeping soundly.   I’d left no strong energy marks around the cabin, and Gregory hadn’t hexed it.  We hadn’t thought that Candy could be a potential victim, since she wasn’t a local.  Maybe Althean wasn’t going off a database or map, but some kind of sense that located werewolves themselves.  That could have been why he’d hit the Robinson house, with Craig and Candy both there.

I carefully turned my head to look at the porch chair.  Gregory was gone.  I reached out to look for him.  I was fairly convinced I could accurately determine his location if he were nearby with all the time I’d spent with him recently, and this tattoo with the red purple stuff inside me.  I couldn’t feel him within a quarter mile radius, but I wasn’t positive in the outer edges.  That left me alone, with prey approaching and no one to interfere with my hunt.  My focus narrowed to a laser.  I wanted this kill.  I was going to die anyway; I might as well have a last supper.  Smiling, I slid out of the blanket and tracked my victim, edging quietly around to flank him as he approached the cabin.  I wished I could convert into something scary and vicious looking, but I needed to keep this under the radar until the last moment so I didn’t scare him off.

Althean’s gold curls shimmered in the faint moonlight.  He was not trying to be as human in his appearance, and his skin was solid and marble looking with the glow and the blur at the edges.  He was naked, which was kind of bizarre.  He’d had clothing on at Robinson’s.  Did the nakedness signify something important?  Did he just lose his clothes or blow them to bits like I always managed to do?  Of course, I was naked too, and he’d probably wonder the same about me if he saw me.  I assumed that his teeth were pointy and his eyes dark.  Better keep my arms away from those teeth.  One tattoo was enough for me.

I watched him edge toward the cabin.  There was a clearing of about fifty feet long between the woods and the porch steps.  The best place to grab him would be right at the edge of the woods.  He’d pause there to check out the clearing before he made his dash.  If I waited until he was in the clearing, he’d be liable to see me and gate out before I reached him.  Better to grab him while his attention was on scanning the porch and clearing for activity.  Slowly, I trailed him from the side, utterly silent, my heart thudding and adrenaline surging.  I had to struggle to keep my energy deep within myself where he couldn’t sense it.

Finally, he paused at the edge of the woods to survey the clearing and I made my move.  I blew everything out, then back in with a boom of sound.  The trees disrupted some of the effect, but Althean dropped to his knees.  I jumped on him, knocking him into the clearing and straddling him, and punched him in the face just because I felt like it.  It didn’t do much except hurt my hand and give him a chance to throw me off and scramble to his feet.  I hit him again with another boom of sound, and he staggered.  I threw another one at him, knocking him down and giving me a chance to straddle him again.  Then I began pummeling him with the sound; he clutched his head.  The blood dripped out his nose, eyes and ears, from the corner of his mouth, and even began to seep out his pores.  I knew I wouldn’t have the time to own him, so I’d have to be satisfied with just killing him.  Once he was dead, I’d shred him to bits.  I’d roll in the blood and flesh of his empty form.  I’d savor the pain and fear of his last moments.

He was struggling less, so I placed my hands against his chest and made ready to hit him hard and loud, when I was grabbed from behind.  I knew who it was, so I spun around and threw the blast I had into Gregory instead.  He made an oof sound and grabbed me in a wrestling hold.

“Stop it,” he commanded, covering my energy with that slippery shit, again.  I didn’t have to look, I knew Althean was gone.

“You fucking bastard,” I snarled.  “I had him, and now you let him go.  He was here to attack Candy.”

“I know,” he said, sounding oddly affectionate and still holding me against him.  “You were just protecting your friend, I’m not angry with you.  But you can’t kill him.  I won’t let you kill him.”

It was less about protecting my ‘friend’ and more about making my kill, but whatever.

“Well I’m angry.  You let him get away.  Again!  You don’t care anything about stopping him, bringing him to justice, or having him pay for his crimes.  All you care about is covering your ass by sweeping the whole thing under the rug, protecting your reputation and Althean’s.   You’ll grab him, take him to Aaru, and stick him in some nice office job.  Then you’ll assign another angel to the werewolves and act like the whole thing never happened.”

“What, because that’s what you’d do?” Gregory asked.  Now he was angry.  “You know nothing about me, nothing about how we operate.  Don’t go making assumptions about our society based on your own twisted lawless nature.  You know nothing about us.”

“I know enough,” I retorted.  “I was at the place in York.  I know what happened.  I felt the bodies, saw the video tape.  Althean killed a pregnant woman.  An innocent woman and an innocent child died.  And from what Candy says, lots of the victims have been innocent.  I honestly don’t care who you kill, but you have an agreement with these people.  They’ve given up a lot, the least you could do is keep to your end of the bargain.  Althean isn’t keeping the contract, and neither are you.”

“There are subversive factions among us who would bypass protocol and take action.  If Althean were just one of these vigilantes, he would be punished harshly.  And trust me, prison and punishment among our kind is worse than death.  He’s wavering in his convictions, though, making him capable of redemption.  The last few kills have caused him to go nearly insane with doubt and guilt.  The death of the woman and baby have put him over the edge.  I know there is something in him still worth saving,” Gregory insisted.

“He’s not worth saving, and neither are you.  You were there in York, too.  You covered it up.  I saw you put the mark on the woman and the baby, I read your energy signature.  Even without the video tape, I know your energy signature very well by now.  It was you.  You marked them both as if they were criminals.  You fucking hypocrite.  You’ll save Althean, cover the whole thing up, but where’s the justice for the werewolves?  Their dead have all been marked as criminals.  A baby, for fuck sake!”

He’d held me by the wrists away from him to look at my face as I ranted.  Finding I had a foot free, I kicked him in the shin.  It was like kicking a wall with my bare foot.

He looked down at me in amazement.  “Marked them as criminals?  What are you talking about?”

“The angel wings on their temples,” I told him.  “I could see it on the woman, and I saw you place it there from the video tape.  I got your energy signature off of it, and then I felt the same mark, the same energy signature on the unborn baby.  How in the fuck can you justify marking a baby as deserving of death?  It’s not only against the contract, it should be against your very nature.  Unless your kind has changed that much in the last two million years, it should be contrary to all you hold dear to condemn an infant, especially an unborn one.”

Gregory stared at me as if I’d gone insane.  “Criminals?  The wings don’t make them criminals, they are to convey that someone has paid for any crime they may have committed, that they are clean.  They’re a forgiveness mark, a blessing, not a condemnation.”

I was stunned.  What incredible arrogance it was to deign to convey forgiveness on those they killed.  I hated these fucking angels.

“So those who violate every rule, every clause of the existence contract, they get forgiveness, too?  Same blessing as an unborn baby?  Because all of the executions bear that mark.”

Not that I thought dead people gave a shit about some pompous asshole angel granting them forgiveness.  What the fuck?  No wonder we ditched these psychos for our own place.  They were so full of themselves, it wasn’t even funny.

“Yes, even the worst criminal deserves forgiveness.  They’ve paid their dues with their death, and they should approach their afterlife with a clean slate.”

I rolled my eyes.  When I finally could resist it no longer and let my entire being scatter throughout the universe, I doubted if it gave a flying fuck whether some angel gave me the thumbs up or not.  All were equal in death.  Maybe that’s what he was saying though in his own full of shit way.

“You’ll still cover it up.  I know you will.  You killed a cop, and you covered that up too.  Fucking holier–than–thou hypocrites, all of you.”

“I did a lot of things in anger that day that I’m not proud of, but I refuse to feel guilt for that death.  I will never let you get away, never let you escape me, and the deaths of a million humans are an easy price to pay for that,” he said with determination, finally letting go of my hands.

It was a little unsettling to know that he’d casually plow through a million human lives just to have the pleasure of killing me himself.  And they say we are evil.

“He’s one of yours,” I insisted.  “Tell me honestly that you’ll kill him, that he’ll see justice, because I just don’t believe that’s going to happen.”

“Althean will pay for what he’s done but you cannot kill him.  The justice needs to come from our own kind, from someone with the proper authority to deliver judgment.”

We stood there a moment as the bugs sang in the woods around us.  I wasn’t sure I believed him.  I suspected Althean would live for millions of years as they plowed through the red tape of who had jurisdiction and what laws pertained to this suspected offense.  There was something else I wondered about though.

“Those demons that you’ve killed, do they get wings too?  Are they granted your forgiveness?” I asked, knowing the answer but wanting to hear him say it.

Even in the dim moonlight, I could see a bolt of pain cross Gregory’s face before it hardened into a rock like mask.

“Demons are filthy creatures, abominations beyond redemption and forgiveness,” he said bitterly.  “They don’t deserve forgiveness or mercy, either in life or in death.”

I shrugged.  “Doesn’t matter.  None of us want your blessing.  None of us give a shit about your forgiveness.  Like we even care.  We return the same.  You’ll get no mercy from us.  No forgiveness, either.”

I saw him wince at the last few words.

“None of you has the capacity for mercy or forgiveness,” he said.  He was furious, but at least he wasn’t glowing.  “Your vibration pattern will continue to diminish, you’ll continue to devolve until the lowest worm has more divinity than you.  You deserved to be banned from Aaru, to be banished for all eternity.  You deserve to be killed on sight with no mercy.   I should have killed you the moment I saw you.  I should have killed you when you tried to escape me.  I should just kill you right now.”

That pronouncement should have had me on my knees, begging for that mercy he told me he’d never dish out.  But I was pissed, so I taunted him the best way I could think of.

“Then why did you do this instead of killing me?  What is this you’ve done to us both?” I asked, running my finger up the underside of my arm and over the tattoo of his sword.

Gregory jerked and clenched his fists.  “That,” he said.  “That is a terrible mistake.”

I smiled to myself as he stalked away into the woods.  Just what I had thought.  He’d fucked up whatever he’d done to me somehow and what the mark did went both ways.  If only I could find out exactly what it did and how to work it, I could do to him as he did to me.  Whatever that was.  Right now, I could turn him on.  Funny as that was, I couldn’t see how it would work to my advantage in the long run.  Hopefully, more useful applications would reveal themselves in the near future.  Hopefully, before he killed me.

I turned around to walk to the cabin and my smile faded.  Candy and Wyatt had woken up to the booms of sound in the front yard as did many of those in the neighboring cabins.  They’d all been an interested audience to the whole exchange.    The neighbors must be particularly entertained to see a naked woman arguing with a clothed man in front of the cabin.  I also had a depressed feeling that any chance I’d had of a continued relationship with Wyatt was vanishing by the moment.

Chapter Seventeen

I woke up rather pleased that I’d managed to get through the last night without damage to my physical person.  Candy announced she was making a breakfast and coffee run for us and pointedly left me alone with Wyatt.  He sat on the bed and messed with his tablet while I walked around the cabin moving stuff around, and basically hovering.  Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore, so I scooted up on the bed next to him.

“Please talk to me?” I pleaded.  “There is nothing going on between me and that angel.  Nothing sexual, nothing romantic, not even remotely friendship.  I’ve been trying to get away from him, and somehow that always ends up with me injured and usually naked.  He seems to be less fired up about killing me the past few days, but I’ve pretty much run out of options.  He’ll eventually kill me; I’m just trying to stall until I can think of something.  There was a wild gate in the pool at that house.  I tried to go through and he dragged me out of it.  It was a good thing, actually, since I would have died in there.  That’s how desperate I am, I went into some crazy wild gate with a million to one chance of coming out in one piece and somewhere reasonable.  Because a million to one chance is still better than zero.”

Wyatt paused a moment, then tossed his tablet aside and gathered me up in his arms.  He was still shirtless with his pajama bottoms on and his skin felt glorious against my face and arms.  Warm and smooth with his heartbeat against my cheek.  He had muscle, but the muscle and flesh had a firm give to it, so unlike the hard rock of a chest I’d spent the last few days being crushed against.  I snuggled against him like a puppy and breathed in the scent of his skin as Wyatt tightened his arms around me.  It felt so good.  I was actually considering giving the straightjacket of sleep another try tonight.

“When he first came after you, I had a knight–in–shining–armor impulse.” He laughed.  “Stupid, I know.  A human can’t do anything against a being like him, and you are a thousand times stronger and more capable of protecting yourself than any woman I know.  It’s horrible to stand back and watch you two go at it, though.  It makes me feel worthless, that I’m not worthy of being your friend, let alone anything more.  I’m so outclassed, and I’m not used to that.  I’m used to being the big fish in the little pond.  The one who can get any girl he wants, and could easy smack down any threat or competition.  This situation has smashed that illusion to bits.  Then every time I turn around you’re naked and pressed against him with his arms around you like something from a dime store romance.”

I felt him twirl my hair in his fingers for a moment.  “I’m making this whole situation about me and my feelings of inadequacy, when it should be about you.  You’re the one fighting to survive, and I’m pouting about having a supreme being hone in on my woman.  I’m sorry, Sam.  I’m a selfish jerk.  I should be helping you and not having a pity party, here.”

I pulled away a bit to look him in the face, and put a hand on his cheek.

“I’d be dead if it wasn’t for you, Wyatt.  You fucking shot him.  Point blank, in the head, with that huge gun of yours.  I know it didn’t kill him like you intended, but it distracted him.  If you hadn’t done that, he would have lopped my fool head off right then and there.  I was practically wetting my pants, and you had the balls to shoot an angel.  You are a big fish in my book.  You’re clever, fun, hot beyond belief, and you’re my go–to guy when the shit hits the fan.”  That was super hokey, but it was true.  And to make my point, I leaned over and kissed him.

Kissing Wyatt has to be one of my favorite things ever.  It’s soft, then it’s firm, then he runs his tongue over my bottom lip, then I run my tongue around the inside of his mouth, then he bites my lower lip, then I suck on his tongue.  He dug his hands through my hair and gripped, like he thought I was going to run off if he didn’t hold me in place.  We made out slowly and thoroughly as if we had all the time in the world.  Things were heating up to the point where it was hard to keep activity confined to mouth only.  Wyatt let go his grip on my hair to yank my shirt off, and expertly remove my bra.

Now we were both bare–chested.  I claimed his mouth with mine again and rubbed my breasts against him, happy for additional skin to skin contact. He rubbed a thumb over my nipple, sending a hot pulling sensation down between my legs.  I could feel his hard length just a few thin layers of clothes away as I sat on him.  How fast could we move this along, I wondered?  If we hurried, we could both be sweaty and spent by the time Candy returned with the coffee.  Wyatt bent his head down and ran his tongue over the other nipple, pulling it with his teeth.  Fiery sensation washed over me, and I closed my eyes.  Coherent thought was impossible and I reveled in the feelings flooding through me.  I wanted to get his pants off, but couldn’t figure out the logistics of removing them while keeping his mouth on my breasts.  If only his pants would remove themselves.

Through the fog of my desire, I heard the door open and a loud “Arrrrrr!”

“Go away, Candy,” I said firmly.  She sounded like she’d walked in to find dog crap on the floor.

“I left you two to talk and make up, not to engage in sexual relations on the only bed in the place.” She complained, showing no signs of leaving.

“Please?” I begged, although Wyatt had already stopped his wonderful exploration of my body and was lying back on the bed taking deep breaths.

Candy took her time getting a donut, and adding cream and sugar to her coffee.  “I’m taking my breakfast outside, because it stinks in here, now,” she announced, banging the door on her way out.

I threw myself down on Wyatt and scattered frantic kisses up his shoulder.  “Oh, let’s go for it,” I said breathlessly.  “You’re ready, I’m ready.  I’m so ready.  You have no idea how ready I am.”

I felt the rumble of his laughter against my chest.  “I get the feeling that you’re always ready, Sam,” he said, rolling me over so he lay on top of me.  In spite of the promising position, I had a feeling that our opportunity had passed.  He gave me a glorious kiss as I ran my nails down his back, then rolled off the bed announcing that he was going to take a cold shower.

“You’re killing me, Wyatt,” I told him as he grabbed a towel and supplies to head to the communal bathhouse in the campground.  “You’ll come back and find me shriveled to dust in some female version of blue balls.”

“Oh, the drama,” he teased, heading out the door.  I hopped up and put on my shirt, draping my bra across Candy’s couch just to piss her off, then went to dig through the donuts. Things felt very right with the world again.  I grabbed a chocolate cream and went outside, not finding Candy on the porch or in the front clearing.

I just can’t seem to leave well enough alone, so I went ahead and sent out a search for Gregory.  Casting in a radius around the cabin, I found him surprisingly close.  Just around back by the woodpile.  So of course I crept around back to see him.  Because after making up with my hopefully–soon–to–be boyfriend, it seemed like a smart thing to seek out the homicidal maniac that wanted to kill me and was causing all the trouble with said hopefully–soon–to–be boyfriend.  I hoped it took Wyatt a good long time to cold shower his genitals back to a relaxed state, because if he returned to find me behind the woodpile with Gregory, things were not going to be pretty between us.

As I snuck along the side of the cabin, I heard voices and realized that Candy and Gregory were talking.  Well, at least Candy was talking.

“She’s distracting you with her antics.  You would have caught this guy days ago, if you weren’t having to chase her down.  You can find her any time you want, just let her go.  Let her go home.  Even if she slips through a gate, no one knows you’ve seen her except me and Wyatt.  We’re not saying anything.  Althean will be out of the picture, and he’s crazy.  Even if he says there was a demon, no one would believe him.  She’s served a purpose, give her a pass.  Let her go.”

“No”

Well, that was short and to the point.

“She’s crazy, she’s clearly got some death wish.  She’ll be back across in a couple of years and you can grab her then.  No one back at her place would seriously believe her escaping you.  They’d think she was full of it.”

“No.  I’ve marked her.  Permanently.  I’m not letting her go.”

Crap.  So much for ever getting this damned tattoo off my arm.

“She’s living as a human.  She has friends, business associates.  Humans depend on her.  Just let her go on with a human life, then.  Take her powers away or something so you feel she won’t be a danger to anyone, and just let her be.”

Take my powers away?  Could he even do that?  That would be like blinding someone, or ripping out their tongue.  I didn’t like the sound of that at all.  I think I’d rather he kill me.

“No.  End of discussion.  I’m going to watch the house.  I’ll be back.”

I scurried silently back around the house to sit on the front porch and drink my cooling coffee.  I was grateful for Candy’s efforts, but it didn’t look like this angel was ever going to let me go unless it was as a dead pile of sand.  Probably not even then.  I could see him sticking the sand in an urn and putting it somewhere unpleasant just to spite me beyond the veil of death.

I know it wasn’t productive to keep harping on my impending death like this, but it somehow kept diminishing in my mind, as if it were truly only a remote possibility.  It wasn’t.  It was real, and I needed to keep remembering in order to stay focused on trying to get away.  I wanted to hang around this angel, to be near him when I should be trying to be as far away as possible.  He’s going to kill me.  He’s going to kill me.  Maybe if I chanted it, I would focus on survival and not on wondering what he was doing right now.

We muddled around the cabin for the morning.  Candy had the forethought to bring a paperback to read.  I was going stir crazy and my death chant wasn’t having much of an effect, so I announced that I was going to buy some more clothes to replenish all the ones I’d ruined so far.  Wyatt offered to come with me, but I told him I needed some alone time.  In reality, I was going to do something stupid.   Fuck, my impulse control was becoming worse than Boomer’s.   I was crazy and clearly did have a death wish.

I found the nearest Walmart and blindly threw some jeans, sweat pants, and t–shirts into the shopping cart.  Then I found a liquor store.  It wasn’t easy.  They aren’t usually open in the morning.  All the higher end ones were closed for hours, but I did manage to find a seedy little liquor store with metal bars over all the windows and doors that had proudly opened at eight AM.  And if that wasn’t testimony enough to their target demographic, their alcoholic offerings clearly were.  The only vodka they had was Gilbey’s.

I’ll admit I’m a vodka snob, but I have nothing against Gilbey’s.  It burns like Liquid Plumber going down, and you get drunk faster than you can snap your fingers, but at least it’s honest.  Some of that high end stuff in the fancy bottles was just as brutal and cost five times as much.  Still, I’m not drinking it.  I’m not that desperate.

The regular clientele of this liquor store clearly were that desperate though.  There was a whole wall dedicated to various whiskeys.  Not a craft beer in the place, although I was pleased to see they at least had Bud Light.  It was a bit dusty and behind stacked boxes of Busch advertised for $9.99 a case in huge blue numbers.  The wine selection was just as dismal.  Lots of Boones Farm and sweet fruity wines.  I wondered what angels drank.  I hadn’t seen Gregory eat or drink anything, so maybe that was all part of their abstinence routine.  The elves drank wine nonstop.  I don’t think I ever saw one without a goblet in his hand.  Angels loved their elves, so maybe they drank wine, too?  I doubted they drank Jack Daniels.  I strolled around the store in indecision while the clerk looked at me nervously.  I’m sure their usual customers were in and out in five minutes flat, while I looked like I was making the decision of my lifetime.

Finally, I grabbed a bottle of blackberry merlot that looked somewhat less rot–gut than the other wines, and paid the clerk the ridiculously cheap price.  I just wasn’t going to be able to find a decent bottle of anything in Waynesboro at this hour.  Maybe it would be the thought that counted.

I drove out to the McMansion, parked my Corvette a block away, quickly locating Gregory.  And there I sat for half an hour, almost turning around.  Starting the car.  Turning off the car.  Banging my head on the steering wheel.  What the fuck was I doing?  Idiot.  Should I do it?  Should I just go back to the cabin?  Maybe I should sit here and drink this nasty wine myself.  Finally I got out of the car and made my way as stealthily as I could over to him feeling like the dumbest ass in the whole world.

“Hey,” I said.  He ignored me.

“Got any bites yet?” I asked, as if he were fishing.  “I wonder if he’ll make a move today after what went down last night.  I walloped him pretty good; you might be here for a long time.”

Silence.

“Sitting here staring at a house is really boring, so I brought some wine.  I think it tastes like crap, but the elves like it, so I thought you might, too.  Actually, I don’t think the elves drink this particular wine.  In fact, I’m sure they’d think it was crap too, but there isn’t much to choose from in Waynesboro at this hour.  See, I brought a corkscrew and some little plastic glasses.  I’ll open it right here in front of you so you know I’m not trying to poison you or anything.”

Silence.

I struggled to open the bottle until I realized that the top was a screw off and not a cork.  Yanking the corkscrew out, I wondered if I could just pour the wine through the hole I’d made in the cap.  The alternative was probably the better choice, so I screwed off the mangled cap and poured a bit, sniffing the glass in what I hoped was a knowledgeable way.  The stuff smelled like air freshener.  Seriously.  Like something I’d hang in my car.  Or possibly one of those scented candles that everyone gave me at Christmas.

“Ah, the bouquet,” I said, trying to keep a straight face.

I swirled it around in the glass.  It coated the sides in a purple sheet and slowly oozed down like a gelatinous monster from a horror movie.  If it were any firmer, I’d be having nightmare Jell–O flashbacks from that wild gate yesterday.  I’ll try anything, so I took a swig.

“I can see why it says ‘serve chilled’ in huge letters on the bottle,” I told the angel, grimacing at the taste.  “I’m not a wine critic, but this tastes like grape juice with a couple pounds of corn syrup mixed in.  I can smell the blackberry, but I can’t taste it at all.  Fuck, this stuff is sweet!  I hope you brought your insulin.  Ugh.”

Silence.

I poured him a glass and sat it down by him, arranging myself on the dirt.  I filled up my glass and took another gulp, shaking my head at the strange acidic aftertaste.

“I don’t blame you if you don’t drink it.  It might be good for discipline, though.  Better than a hair shirt.  You should at least give it a shot.  Who knows, I could be totally wrong.  This could be the best wine ever.  One of those secret treasures of the cheap liquor store.”

Silence.

Fuck, I was babbling like an idiot.  What was wrong with me?  I left a hot guy, whose company I enjoy to run over here and bring wine to an asshole who wants to kill me, thinks I’m an abomination, and now won’t talk to me.  If Wyatt were here instead of this angel, he would be rolling on the ground laughing with me right now.  We’d be daring each other to drink the swill, taking bets on who could sip it the slowest without puking.  Wyatt was fun.  This angel was not.  I should just shoot myself because I clearly had no sense left in my head whatsoever.

I sat there beside him, drinking the horrible wine and braiding blades of grass.  After a few moments, I dropped onto my back and stared at the thick, dark clouds moving in.  He didn’t say anything.  Didn’t even glance at me.  He shifted occasionally, so at least I knew he wasn’t dead.  I thought of all kinds of inane things to say, but I’d made enough of a fool of myself, so I just sat there in silence and watched the storm clouds gather on the horizon.

I’d killed about half the bottle of wine.  He hadn’t touched his, hadn’t spoke to me, looked at me.  Hell, he didn’t even grunt at me.  I plopped my empty glass next to the bottle and his untouched wine, got up, dusted off my rear, and just walked off.  I couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t make me seem like even more of an idiot that I already appeared.  I really wanted to bash my head against something.  It’s not like we’d ended last night on friendly terms, and he’d made it clear in the conversation with Candy that he wasn’t feeling kindly toward me.  I don’t know why I was sort of hurt by all this, why I was at all surprised by his reaction, or lack of reaction, to me.

I drove back to the cabin, and unloaded my purchases.  No one was there.  I glanced through Candy’s paperback, only to toss it down and pace the cabin.  I don’t deal well with boredom, and there was nothing to do in this stupid cabin.  Things were starting to get a bit dark and I heard the distant rumble of thunder,   so I went out into a big field by the tent area to watch the approaching storm.

Electricity and plasma are near and dear to our hearts.  They are some of our first talents as children, and we always have an affinity for them.  Storms here in this realm are just amazing.  The smell, the power, the rain, even that strange yellow color the air gets.  I was feeling really down and needed a good storm to bring me right again.  Was I homesick maybe?  Humans are awesome, but there are some things you just can’t share with them.  Things that would freak them out, or things that are just beyond their understanding.  We have such different lives.  Our skills, our talents, our culture and society, how we’re raised, what we value.  Maybe that’s why I was tagging around after this angel like a half–starved stray dog.  I missed my own kind.  And I was rusty. Forty years over here and I had an angel beating up on me and one that had twice eluded my grasp.  Shameful.  Dar would never let me live it down.

The blackness was rolling forward in the sky and I could feel the charged ions above me.  I smiled and hummed a bit, waiting for the flashes in the sky to get closer.  It was a good storm.  The campground lights flickered on in the darkness, and cold hard drops began to pelt down on me.  A huge flash lit the sky with an almost simultaneous roar of thunder.  It shook hard enough to set off somebody’s car alarm, and I laughed as I reached out and called it down to me.

The bolt shot right to me like a lover to my arms.  I let some of it dance along my skin, twisting in colored bands of barbed light up my arms and neck, then down my torso and legs.  I kept it moving circling and surrounding my flesh, and then flashed it in a disco ball of light around one arm before pulling it into me with a swick of sound.  I called down another bolt, holding it in my hands in a globe shape, where it flashed and darted about in a prism of color.  The next bolt I divided into hula hoops of white, swirling them around my hips and arms.  I hadn’t had this much fun in, well, in forty years.  I hadn’t realized how very bleak my life had become.

I called down a huge bolt, shaping it into a giant donut above my head, then let it rain down around me, causing a ring of fire in the grass.

“Be careful, little cockroach, or you’ll set the whole place ablaze,” said a soft voice behind me.  I was so preoccupied that I hadn’t felt him near, but I wasn’t startled.  Maybe some part of me did know he was close by.  I should have known he’d come running the moment I did something like this, no doubt to make sure I didn’t burn the whole town down.

I extinguished the ring of fire, leaving it blackened and smoldering, and then called another bolt down, letting it dance along my skin.  This storm was fast and violent.  I’d probably only have a few more bits to play with before it moved on.

“Gather it closer,” the angel instructed.  “It’s leaking out and the humans in their tents will be hurt.  You’ve got talent, but you’re sloppy and lazy with this energy.  I know you can do better.”

Asshole.  It’s not like others’ safety is ever our priority.   Who cared if it leaked out and cooked someone?  It’s their fault for being in a damned tent during a lightning storm.  Still, I pulled it in around the edges just to show him I could.

“Can you work the lightning?” I asked, with the bands still flashing around my arms.

He shrugged.  “Most of us can’t, it’s just not one of our talents.  I’ve been around a long time though, so I can.”  He called down a small bolt from the clouds and shaped it into a fleur–de–lis with nice tight defined edges.  Showoff.

“I used to come with my brothers when the planet was still young and we’d play in the lightning,” he mused.  “Everything was pretty much plasma and energy then, all these complex molecules hadn’t formed yet.  We had to manifest in an energy form to hold our being.”

“What type of energy?” I asked, curious.  That was so long ago that I couldn’t even imagine what the world was like.  I felt very young next to him.  A baby.

“All sorts,” he said vaguely.  Then he seemed to make a decision.  “I’m most skilled in fire and fire–type energy, so I used to manifest as flame.  Smokeless fire, I believe the humans call it.  There’s no real word for it in their language, though.   Sa. . my youngest brother,” he corrected, clearly not wanted to reveal his brother’s name.  “He had great talent with electricity and we’d marvel at the things he would do with lightning.  I have some talent, but not anywhere close to his level.”

“He used to zap us with lightning sometimes, when we weren’t expecting it, just to see us jump.”  He smiled fondly at the memory and turned to me.  “You remind me of him, sometimes.”

I looked at him in shocked surprise.  I reminded him of his brother?

“Was your brother a demon?” I asked.

He laughed.  “You weren’t always demons, you know.  You used to be angels.  Always different from the rest of us, very different, but still angels.”

“Are we no longer angels?” I asked, thinking that his answer meant all the difference in the world.

“I don’t know.  I thought you had all devolved to a far lesser state.  Now, I wonder,” he mused.

I stared at him with the lightning still rolling over my skin, waiting for him to say something else.  I was afraid I’d break the spell and he’d return to the cold enforcer who was ready to kill me at any moment.

“We were five, my brothers and I,” he continued.  “The middle three were the least strong, although they have gained in skill and power with time.  We’ve always been close, especially back then, but my youngest brother and I had a special bond.”

I could feel a pain and sadness from him.  Actually feel it, like it was inside me.  Why was he sad?  Did he and his brothers no longer have these good times together?  Why should an obviously fond memory bring him pain?

I pulled the electricity within my stash of raw energy and looked up at the brightening sky.  “These things are so fleeting, always over so fast.”

“Yes, they are,” he replied, and I realized he was talking about more than just the storm.

I was fairly wet from the big plops of rain.  The storm had moved off fast before the downpour could start.  The folks about a mile or two down the road were probably getting drenched.  I wanted to just walk off and leave him standing in the clearing, or trailing after me.  My ego was still smarting from the whole wine thing.  Pride isn’t my sin, though, so I stood there squeezing the water from my hair.

“Do you work with water much?  Can you do this?” he asked unexpectedly as he suspended the water drops I’d shaken from my hair and floated them around me like little opaque balloons.   It was pretty cool.

“Wow,” I said, genuinely impressed.  “Are you using some kind of force to overcome gravity or are you doing something to negate the effect of gravity in an area surrounding the water?”

“The latter.”  He swirled the little droplets together to make a large sphere, hanging before us.  “I’m no expert with water, though,” he said with false modesty.  I could tell he was showing off.

I shook my head.  I’d go ahead and stroke his ego a bit, because this was pretty cool.  “That’s really delicate, technical work; not something we’re encouraged to do.  We tend more towards big and flashy.  Or exploding.  Back home, no one would bother spending a lot of time to learn this.  I mean, what would the point be if others didn’t appreciate it, or it didn’t destroy anything?”

I walked over to the globe sticking a finger through the gravity suspension field and into the globe of water.  Gregory held it in place around my finger, and maintained the integrity of the shape and field as I withdrew, showing his amazing control over the most minute particle.  The guy was really fucking impressive.  I’d never seen anything like this before.  I stuck my finger in a few other places and he held the field perfectly each time.  The sphere didn’t even quiver as I moved my finger over and through it.  I wondered what else he could do.  I’d never been around someone with this much power and control before.  I wished I had a few millennia to just trail around after him and watch him work.  It would be amazing.

The outside of the water globe began to take on a solid shape and I realized he’d frozen about a quarter inch of the outer water, leaving the inside to swirl about like an elaborate icy snow globe.  The outer rim of ice on the globe was as clear as glass with the inside a churning prismatic liquid.  Gregory walked over to pluck the globe from the air and handed it to me, placing it gently into my cupped hands.

I carefully ran my hands over the cold surface.  It was absolutely clear, perfectly round and smooth.  The water inside continued to churn and swirl in a pretty dance.  He kept it frozen in the heat of the day, but the warmth from my hands created a slick wet surface as I held the globe.  I was amazed to notice that the wet against my hand wasn’t cold.  Then I realized that he was holding the cold tightly against the surface of the globe, and the wet was actually a created buffer between my hands and the ice.  I suppose he did this to keep my hands from sticking to it?  Or possibly to keep my hands from being cold?  Whatever his motive, it was a skilled piece of work to differentiate the temperature so cleanly and sharply in such thin layers.  He made it all seem so easy.  Fuck, he was so damned impressive.  Damn it all, now I was even more drawn to this asshole.

I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do with the globe.  Just admire it?  Stick it in my freezer and save it as a souvenir?   Instead I sat it in the grass in front of me and tried to raise it.  I could shoot it with a burst and blow it across the grass, but I couldn’t get the darned thing to float at all.  I kept messing with it while Gregory watched and continued to keep the globe contained and frozen.  I attempted different methods to see if maybe I could move it sideways instead, since up seemed beyond my talents.

“How long have you been here, on this side of the gates?” he asked, abruptly changing the subject.

“A little over forty years,” I told him, getting the globe to rock a bit.  No sense in lying at this point.

“Wow, I guess that makes me rather incompetent,” he said, as if the idea amused him.

“It’s not like I came in with guns a–blazing.” I tried to get the globe to roll further to no avail.  “Before this, I’d do like everyone else and pop over to wreck havoc and party, then dart back across the gates.  This time I intended to stay, so I was very careful in cloaking my energy signature when I arrived.  The biggest thing I’ve done before this week was Owning this flesh, and assuming its form.  It was risky, but she was an ideal candidate for a long–term identity to assume.”

“How did you manage that without detection,” he asked with interest.  “We should have been on you fairly fast after an Own and a full body conversion.”

I shrugged.  “I don’t know.  I was surprised too.  Human’s have made a perfect environment to conceal small energy usage,” I told him. “Cell signals, microwaves, x–rays, power grids.  If you’re careful, it’s easy to stay within the parameters of the existing power flow.  For big stuff, you can mask under an electrical storm, or blow out a power grid in a surge.  The really big stuff is impossible without detection, but you can still get stuff done and run under the radar.  I have no idea why you didn’t catch me back then, though.”

He stared at me, fascinated.  It’s not like I was giving any big secrets away.  No one would have the slightest desire to repeat what I’d done, and I’d either be dead or unable to return.  I might as well spill the beans.

“Forty years.  Why would you want to do that?  To live so hindered?”  He seemed truly perplexed.  “What appeal could this possibly have, to live without the use of your power?  To live as a lowly human?  You’re a being of spirit.  You’re so much more than this.”

“I have my reasons,” I replied vaguely.

“Can you not return?  Will you be killed?  Are you a runaway servant?”

“No,” I said indignantly.  “I have status, and a household awaiting my return.”  Not that my household was big.  I was just an imp, after all.  And everyone had someone gunning for them.  That’s just the way life was in my world.

“Is it the human you’ve marked as yours?  Do you stay for him, for love of him?” he asked with a strain in his voice.

Was he insane?  That I could love a human?  That I could love at all?  Wyatt was my best friend, and I did want to stay here to be with him.  But love?

“He amuses me,” I said slowly.  “I know he’s only a human, but he amuses me. The chase, the sexual tension.  He’s fun, and I really enjoy his company.”

We stood there and the silence stretched on between us.  I could feel that pain in him again, as if my words bothered him.  His dark eyes bore into mine searching for something.

“Go home,” he finally said, as if the decision caused him agony.  “I won’t come for you, I won’t stop you.  I’ll ensure you have safe passage through the gate near Baltimore, the one in the mall in Columbia.  It’s the most stable gate on the northeast coast, and the safest.  It will put you out near the elf border.”

You would have thought I’d be gone in a shot, but I remained there with stupid indecision as my hand crept up my arm, stopping just shy of the tattoo.  I didn’t want to leave Wyatt.  I didn’t want to leave this angel.  I didn’t want to go home.

“Why?  Why are you letting me go now after telling me you’d slaughter millions before letting me go?” I asked.

“I can’t kill you,” he said, a hint of desperation in his voice.  “I’m afraid if you stay, that I will kill you, that I’ll find myself in a situation where I have to kill you.  I can’t go through that, again.”

“But what about this?” I asked, touching the tattoo lightly.  I was bound to him, his demon.

“I can’t remove that,” he said.  “With some study, I may be able to eventually dull some of its effects, but it’s there permanently.  I don’t know how you’re going to explain it when you return home.  I’m not usually so rash.  I’m sorry.”

Wow, an apology.  From an angel.  Pigs truly do fly.  I didn’t know what to do or say, so I wandered in a daze slowly back to the cabin and put my bags back in the car.  Candy and Wyatt still hadn’t returned, so I sent Wyatt a quick text and headed out.  I didn’t see Gregory again.

Chapter Eighteen

It was about seventy miles from Waynesboro to the gate.   I know I went down through Emmitsburg, then took Route 140 up to Westminster, but I honestly don’t remember the trip at all.  I was very close to home, but couldn’t bring myself to go there.  Wyatt would take care of everything for me, and be a rich man for his troubles.  I hoped it helped make up for me not saying goodbye in person.  I had turned off my cell phone to avoid his calls.  I just couldn’t talk to him right now.  I just couldn’t tell him in person that I would never see him again.  I tried to keep my mind off of him and off Gregory as I drove numbly down the road.  The back roads from Westminster to Columbia were beginning to fill with late Saturday traffic, but I was driving in the opposite direction and thankfully didn’t hit any gridlock.

Columbia was a well manicured suburb outside of Baltimore, filled with expensive homes in wooded subdivisions, consultant and technology offices down tree lined avenues, and winding, well maintained streets.  The place had an overwhelming air of neat, liberal money.  On the surface, it gave flashy lip service to environmentalism, but underneath it was as shallow and selfish as anywhere else in the world.  It was as fake as a boob job and acrylic nails.  A very expensive boob job and acrylic nails that people lied about and claimed were real.  I shopped here a lot.

I always got a bit lost trying to find the damned mall.  All the streets looked the same, and the buildings and signs were artfully hidden behind maples and oaks.  I know this seems like a strange place to put a major gate between two dimensions.  It’s not like the angels intended to put a big gate at a mall.  Heck, they didn’t intend it to be anywhere near civilization.

When the gates were first built, they were in remote areas where it would be easy to see anyone coming and going, and to guard them.  The humans are like ants though, breeding like crazy and spreading themselves over every surface of the planet.  For some reason, all the major gates ended up engulfed or near big cities and, unfortunately for the angels guarding them, tended to be in a high traffic areas.  The one in Columbia was no exception.

The universe clearly had a sense of humor, for a mall had grown up around it.  A big, upper middle class shopping haven complete with a Nordstrom’s, and Macy’s.  You didn’t want to cross during the night, when the mall was closed, but during the day it was open season.  The poor gate guardian had the worst job ever.  If you hit it during Labor Day or the weekend, the place was teeming with people.  Through some weird design fluke, the gate moved around the mall area, but once you located it, you just blended in with the teens and harried soccer moms and slipped right through.  Because it was so popular and well used, the gate had to have a full time, alert and powerful guardian.  He constantly changed his appearance, and he didn’t take prisoners.

I parked my car safely on the outer edges, even though I’d never see it again, and walked in the Nordstrom’s entrance.  The gate was clearly not in the shoe section, and I checked it thoroughly.  Nor was it anywhere near the rhinestone studded Ralph Lauren belts.  I hoped it was in the Sephora store.  It wasn’t, but a really cool shade of MAC lip gloss was.  I was now accessorized with a little bag as part of my shopper disguise.  Clearly, no one would suspect me with a cosmetics bag, although I had no idea what I was going to do with lip gloss back home.  Most of my forms there didn’t even include lips.

I spent several hours weaving my way through stores, looking for the gate.  I hoped it wasn’t on the outside of the mall today.  It would be harder to slip in unnoticed while in the parking lot.  Not that I needed to be unnoticed this time, since I had my handy dandy get–out–of–jail free card from Gregory, but old habits die hard. I had made it down to the food court, and was contemplating buying a smoothie when I heard a voice call me in a name that should never be spoken this side of the gates.

“Azi Niyaz!” a voice said, with a tone of relief.

I froze.  Two of my names.  Crap, it’s a wonder the idiot didn’t go ahead and spew out the others.  I turned carefully around and saw one of the Low behind me.  He was in the flesh of a thirteen year old boy, which was disturbing in and of itself.  I don’t like to Own children.  They don’t have a lot of life experience, so it’s really a waste of time.  Plus, they make fool decisions in regards to their willingness.  It just felt wrong, but they were easy prey so it was something the Low did if they got the chance.

The form he took had floppy brown hair in a mop around his face and ears and pale skin with blue eyes.  His jeans hung practically off his hips, and his t–shirt advertised some kind of surfboard.  It was a well put together form, but the eyes gave him away.  They were incorrectly formed and like rat’s eyes darting around under the curtain of brown bangs.

As soon as the Low said two of my names, he sputtered to a stop, realizing his error.  He cringed back from me and corrected himself.

“I mean El.  I’m so sorry, El.  I welcome your punishment.”

Yeah.  I could hardly flay him or remove a digit here in the food court.  Punishment would be in order back home, not just for saying my names this side of the gates, but by addressing me that way in general.  There were titles of respect you used for those above you.  Names were for peers and above only.  This guy was Low; he wasn’t even in the ranks of the hierarchy.  He really shouldn’t even have been addressing me at all.  Using the title El was a good call, though.  El meant “Mighty Being” or “Powerful One” and was a title used far above my pay grade.  He was flattering me to make up for his mistake.  He should have used Baal, which means Lord, and is more in keeping with my level.

I waited for him to proceed.  He must be desperate or he wouldn’t have come within twenty feet of me, let alone spoke to me.  He shifted from foot to foot, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground right before me.  The guy clearly knew his manners.

“My apologies, El, for disturbing you with my presence.  I am unable to find the gate and would be glad to offer my person to the lowliest of your household in return for assistance.”

Wow.  It was way above his station to ask me for assistance.  He truly was desperate.  He can’t have been a total idiot.  Beyond his initial error, his etiquette was impeccable.  I would have been offended if he offered himself to me, as I was above his station.  To offer himself to the lowest rung of my household was fitting, but the service he was asking was far beyond that gift.

I looked at him closely.  He probably saved for centuries to purchase assistance crossing the gates on a long awaited holiday, and now found himself stranded by his guide and unable to return.  I wondered if Gregory would even bother with someone so low, or if he would have one of his minions dispatch him.  The angel seemed to take some pride in doing it himself, so maybe this guy would rate.

“Did you pay Charon for passage, or some other guide?” I asked.

The Low let out a huge breath in gratitude, keeping his eyes firmly on the floor in front of me.

“Oh no, El.  I could not afford Charon’s fee, so he advised me to try another guide.  The journey here was uneventful, but it’s been two days since he was to meet me and I fear I am stranded.  I don’t have the skill to find the gate on my own or avoid the guardian.”

Great.  He probably paid Phlegyas or one of his flunkies.  Phlegyas was good.  He wasn’t as good as Charon, but he could activate the gates and get someone safely back and forth.  He was very untrustworthy, though.  It didn’t matter how much you paid him, he was liable to forget about you or just not bother.  The Low should have withheld partial payment, and had someone back home ready to beat Phlegyas to a pulp if he didn’t return as expected.

Two days.  He must be starving and scared.  He was so Low, a human could probably kill him with bare hands.  I wondered if he’d been sleeping in the parking garage with the homeless people.  He didn’t look very dirty.  I wondered if he could even convert, or if he’d had someone else do it for him.  His form was pretty good for the level he was at and his speech and manners were good.  Maybe he had some unrecognized talents.  I should send him home to see if my household could use him.  If not, they could play with him a bit and set him loose.  Did my get–out–of–jail–free card include a Low?

“Follow me.  Remain at least ten feet behind me at all times.  Try to act as if you’re not following me.”  I spun around and headed out, knowing that the guy would rather slit his own throat than lose me in the crowd.

Finally, I found the gate — by the carousel of all places.  It was a few feet in front of a bench parents used to watch their children go round and round on the plaster horses.  The humans walked by and through it without the skill to activate it.  Humans could fall through some of the wild gates accidently, and the elf gates were sometimes set up to snag unwary humans like a carnivorous plant and bring them over, but the angels had done a good job.  Their gates were complex and perfect creations.  Many of us had the skill to activate them, but an equal number could not, resulting in a thriving guide industry.  Some guides were on the level, and some would take your money and get you killed.

I popped into Starbucks and sipped on an iced latte while looking casually around for the guardian.   I assumed the Low was still following me.  I didn’t check and I certainly didn’t offer to get him a coffee.  Normally, I would have roamed around here for hours excluding people and narrowing down the loiterers until I identified the guardian, but not today.  Tossing the remains of my latte in the trash, I walked right up to the gate and placed my left hand upon it.  Before I had a chance to activate it, my wrist was in the surprisingly firm grip of a tiny elderly woman with purple hair and a wildly patterned dress.

“You should not touch that, dearie,” she said in a pleasant voice.  I saw a flash of sharp little piranha teeth as she smiled.

“You should not touch me, dearie,” I replied, turning my other arm to show her the tattoo.

She jumped like I’d stung her and stared at the mark.  It would have been one thing if it were just the tattoo, but that damned hickey was still there too.  And I had the feeling that it wasn’t supposed to be.  She better not try and touch it or I’d punch her across the floor.  Then I’d get arrested for assaulting a little old lady.  I wondered if I could call Gregory from jail and have him come down and make bail for me.  I didn’t think he had a cell phone.  Even if he did, I doubted he’d bail me out.

The gate guardian peered closely at the tattoo and I held my breath, fist ready.  Finally she released my wrist, and looked me up and down, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Well, I’m certainly not one to question my superior’s actions or decisions,” she said in a rather sarcastic voice.   Then she went on to question them anyway.  “That’s plain wrong.  I’ve seen bound demons before, but not that.  That’s just insane, that’s what that is.  What was he thinking?  Not that it matters.  You’re walking dead anyway, and the bond will break once you’re killed.  I’ve been told to let you cross, which I had to have him repeat twice.  I’ve never been told to let someone cross.  And why he’d let you cross with that on your arm, I have no idea.  Why would he want you walking around the other demons with that?  Perhaps he just wants to freak them all out and send them into a state of panic.”

I wondered what it was about the mark that would send my kind into a state of panic?  Would they be alarmed that one of their kind had been bound and not killed like we normally were?  Would they suspect me as a spy?

“This has been a very enjoyable conversation,” I told her.  She seemed rather insubordinate for a guardian.  Maybe all the years hanging around teenagers at the mall had affected her attitude.  “Can I activate it now and go, or are we going to discuss this over salad and an iced tea first?”

“So what has he compelled you to do?” she chatted on.  “Are you going to bring back a hoard of demons for him to exterminate?  Act as a go between and negotiate something with the elves?  Maybe blow up your entire realm?  Usually it’s building stuff, but you don’t seem the type to put up temples, bridges or pyramids.”

“Do I look like I’m compelled to do anything?  Do I seriously look like anyone could compel me to even bring them a coaster?”

She looked me over again.  “You look like you’re compelled to cause trouble, but I doubt that’s the boss’ directive.”

“Can we get on with this, then?” This guardian was a pain in the ass.

“Oh no, you can’t activate the gate.  I have specific instructions that I must activate it for you.  In fact,” she dug around in a large purse, “I took notes.”

She pulled out a brown fast–food napkin with writing on it and read from it.

“Do not let her activate the gate.  She is liable to close it in on herself half way through.  Then I’ll need to come back here to pull bits of her crushed body out, and that will cause me to work months restoring the gate.  Activate the gate for her.  Also, make sure she doesn’t accidently drag in dozens of shopping humans and the kiddy carousel with her to the other side.  It’s never happened before, but she’ll find a way.”

Ha, ha.  So funny.  Gregory the angel comedian.  “Fine,” I told her, flicking my wrist for the Low to approach.  He darted over to stand silent looking at the floor in front of my feet.

“Oh, no,” the guardian protested.  “He told me you, not you and some sniveling worm.  You can cross.  I’ll take care of this one.  He’s not significant enough to bother the boss with.”

Well, that answered that question.  I put some steel into my gaze and hefted the weight of my raw energy to the surface in a flash, just to show her what I was packing.  She didn’t even budge.

“How disappointing,” I sneered.  “I will just go back to the angel and let him know that I was unable to complete the task he compelled me to do because the guardian would not allow me through with my servant.   He’ll have to leave the pressing matter he is dealing with to accompany me back here.”

The guardian clearly didn’t like that idea, but I could see her weighing if it was a bluff or not.

“He’s not even high enough to be considered a being,” she said grudgingly.  “I could see where maybe the boss didn’t notice his existence.  Still, I’m going to activate the gate, and go get some sweet and sour pork.  As far as I’m concerned, you crossed alone.”

Good compromise.  She activated the gate along with a repel perimeter to make sure I didn’t accidentally drag in any humans than headed off to the food court.

One step and I’d be home.  Back to my household, my own kind, the life I’d grown up with.  The time I’d spent here wasn’t much when compared to my life so far.  Just an extended vacation.  Time to end it and get back to business.

Time to do something reckless and impulsive.  I turned to the Low and took his hand.  With a flash of energy, I twisted his hand completely around, breaking the wrist and facing it palm up on the arm.  I’ll give the guy credit, he didn’t even flinch.  He might be useful after all.

“Go to the steward of my household and show him this.  He will have you pay for the service I’ve rendered.  Whatever payment he deems fitting.”  I motioned to the gate, and the Low crossed, ducking his head in gratitude but never raising his eyes.  Then I closed the gate, dismissed the repel perimeter and walked out the nearest mall exit.

Chapter Nineteen

Of course, the exit I took was at the opposite end of the huge mall from where I’d parked.  I walked all the way around the exterior of the mall, including the parking garage, to the outer edge of the lot by Nordstrom’s with my little bag of lip gloss.  I wanted to make sure the guardian didn’t see me.  As far as she knew, I was gone.  As far as Gregory knew, I was gone.  I hoped the bond wouldn’t register if I kept my energy usage to zero and I kept my distance.  It’s not like he’d be looking for me if he thought I was over the border.  I’d have to be even more careful about my energy than before.  I’d also have to make sure I avoided any proximity with those of my kind over here.  If Gregory showed up to get them, he’d sense my presence nearby and know I’d remained.

Could I possibly be free?  Free to take the assets I’d hidden and start a new life.  I couldn’t assume a new form, but I could use the human methods to gain a new identity.  They were very clever about their forgeries, if you had the money to pay them.  I’d contact Wyatt and have him meet me.  I’d have to get a new identity for him, too.  He could still kill zombies with a different name.

I took the highway home, slogging through traffic, then pulled down the road past Wyatt’s house.  I should feel happy.  This was my choice.  I felt just as miserable as before, though.  I looked over at Wyatt’s house, thinking of his broken fridge door, and shooting guns in his back yard.  I wandered about my yard, patting Boomer, dipping a toe in the pool and watching my horses in the field, grazing peacefully.  My eyes were getting misty, which was a human thing, not typical of my kind.  I went inside, and saw the blinking button on the answering machine.  It hit play, thinking this would be the last time I’d hear this person’s voice.  It was Wyatt.

“Hi, Sam,” he said sounding miserable.  “You’re not picking up your cell phone.  I don’t know if you’ll stop by your house, or even listen to your messages before you leave.  Probably not, but I wanted to leave a message just in case.  You must have shook up Althean pretty bad, because he killed someone outside of Hagerstown today.  He bypassed Waynesboro entirely.  We’re heading down to Sharpsburg which looks to be his next area.  There are only a couple werewolf residences there, so I’m hoping we can nab the guy and wrap this up.

“I’m tagging along with Candy to help her out for a couple of days.  If this thing isn’t resolved by then, I’ll probably call a friend to come pick me up and I’ll head back.  I know you said Michelle was arranging for your animal care.  I called her to make sure she’d cover for the next few days until I get back.  I want you to know I’ll go right to your safe and follow all your instructions.  I’m hoping you’ll find a way to come back, although it doesn’t look like that’s going to be possible.  If you ever make it back in the next sixty years or so, I might still be alive.  I’d love it if you looked me up, even though I understand we’d hardly be able to pick up where we left off.”

There was a few seconds of silence on the tape before he continued.  “Sam, knowing you made all the difference in my life.  Everything is different when I’m with you, risks are fun, amazing things are possible, anything can be overcome.  I was never a serious person, but with you I really saw how humorous and fun life could be . . . if I only took a chance.  I’ll always remember you.  I know you’re immortal, and that your time with me was a grain of sand on the beach of your life, but I hope that knowing me meant something to you, too.  Good luck, Sam.”

I really had been away from home, living as a human for too long, because my eyes were leaking all over the place and my chest was heaving air out in choked bursts.  It was very unpleasant.

I cried until I felt like I didn’t have any more in me to cry.  Didn’t make me feel any better and I looked like shit.  My face in the mirror was red and blotchy with puffy eyes, and I couldn’t breathe through my nose.  I missed home, missed my own kind, but wasn’t ready to go home and deal with the politics, the power struggles, the stupid breeding petitions.  I liked my life, here.  When it got boring, fun was within arm’s reach.  Humans were plentiful, and very entertaining.  And Wyatt.  I really liked being with Wyatt.

There was no logical reason for what I was about to do at all.  I was staying here in this realm, but I wasn’t going to run off and hide under a new identity either.  I couldn’t really go back to the way things were before this week.  I’d just have to make the best of what lay ahead.  What I was doing was a leap off the cliff, trusting in my instincts that things would somehow be okay.    I got a much needed hot shower, changed my clothes, packed a small bag and headed west toward Washington County and Sharpsburg.  Whatever happened, happened.

Sharpsburg was a dot on the map.  A series of country routes led there from the highway around the mountain and through Boonsboro.  I prefer the steep winding narrow roads right over the mountain and down into the heart of the little town.  With less than a thousand residents, it’s got that typical small, one street town kind of feel.  The place would have faded into oblivion except for the fact that it saw the bloodiest day of the Civil War right on its doorstep.  Over twenty three thousand dead, wounded or missing.  That’s pretty impressive, even by demonic standards.  The historical folks did a decent job with the battlefield site, too.  It had scores of informative plaques, monuments and some cannons.  It would have been far more impressive to have tens of thousands of mannequins posed for battle, bloody and shot to bits, and scattered around the fields so visitors would walk amid the carnage and really get a feel for the action, for the scope of the slaughter.  It’s a shame preservation groups didn’t take these things more seriously.

It was such a tiny town.  I searched for Althean, trying different vantage points to make sure I covered the whole area.  I wasn’t sure what I was going to do, now that I was actually here.   Should I wait for Althean to show up, and then swoop in dramatically?  Should I text Wyatt, letting him know that I hadn’t left?  Should I search for Gregory?  Maybe not.  I wasn’t sure what he’d do to me since I had not crossed the gates as told me to.  I knew I was going to have to face him, eventually.  Either way, I knew he wouldn’t be pleased.  No, I really didn’t want to find Gregory.  Not yet.  I searched again for Althean, then went to the General Burnside Tavern for a drink.  I was not really good at this waiting thing.

The bar was small.  One room with a few tables and a couple of dart boards.  Some guy with a guitar played in the corner with his case open for tips.  It didn’t have a lot of money in it and I suspected what was there was placed by the guitarist himself in an effort to prime the pump.  Everyone ignored him.  There were four guys at the bar drinking beer and watching football on TV.  It was too early for the pro season or even college.  Did they show football re–runs in off season?  The best of last year?  I plopped down next to them and ordered a Bud Light.  I knew better than to ask for vodka in this place.

Part of my thoughts went to a constant scan for Althean.  That was a boring activity though, so I drank my beer, eyed the patrons and wondered what I could do to entertain myself until I could kill something.   The four guys at the bar were riveted to the game on TV.  There were a couple of guys playing darts.  The guitarist started up again bellowing some ballad about love and tulips.  One of the guys at the bar glanced at him in irritation and turned the captioning on the TV.  I didn’t realize they close captioned football games.  Huh.

“What’s the guitarist’s name?” I asked the bartender.

“Bob Burrows,” he told me, glancing over at the singer.  “He annoys everyone, but the owner’s sister knows him so we have to let him play.”

I took a swig of beer and looked over at the guy.  He was skinny, with a short beard and longish brown hair.  Mid–twenties.  His hands on the guitar were rough and calloused with a wedding ring on his left hand.  He had that far away look in his eyes of a man whose dreams have been derailed by reality.  The guitar was second hand, but in decent shape.  The case battered with some band stickers that clearly were not placed there by the current owner.  His sheet music was propped up in the lid.

“How often does he play here?” I asked.

The bartender shrugged.  “A couple times per week if we’re lucky.  He works construction.  Went to Shepherdstown College across the river for a year for music, but got married and dropped out.  His wife gets irritated if he’s out here too many evenings.”

I got up and walked over to the guy.  “Are you Bob Burrows?” I asked.

He looked at me, clearly noting I was not one of the regulars, or even a local in this small town.  “Yes.”

“I’m a private investigator out of Hagerstown,” I told him.  “I’m doing surveillance in a divorce case.  I just wanted to let you know that your wife is fucking the propane delivery guy.  His wife hired me to get proof after she found some naked pictures of your wife on his phone.  You seem like a nice guy, and I just thought you ought to know.”

I never saw a man scramble up his guitar and case so fast in his life.  He raced out the door and a few moments later a truck roared out of the parking lot.  His wife probably was cheating on him.  Loser was so hung up on what could have been that he can’t have been very present in their relationship.

I turned around to see the patrons staring at me.  Even the four football watching guys had torn their gazes from the television to look at me with their mouths open.

“You wanna play darts?” a short wiry guy asked me.

Althean was still nowhere nearby so I played some darts and ordered the hot wings that were on special.

The hot wings were good, but they didn’t improve my dart game.  I finally gave up and started tossing darts into the various decorations on the wall holding the dart board.  My favorite was in the nose of the mounted deer head.  It was very amusing to see a lovely cluster imbedded in the deer’s left nostril.  The patrons and bartender started to look at me warily.  They probably were beginning to think they had been better off with the guitarist.  Much to everyone’s relief, the bar finally announced last call.  I’d filled the deer head and a painting of some military guy with dart holes, and was trying to convince one of the drunken guys to put a stalk of celery in his mouth in a William Tell–style feat of accuracy.  The bartender managed to shoo us out the door before I impaled the guy.

Still no Althean.  It was two in the morning and I was getting bored with walking the one street town.  I could go to the all night Waffle House up the road, but I was worried it would be too far to get an accurate fix on my target if he arrived.  Everything was closed in this town.  Crossing the street, I made my way again to Burnside Bridge Road, where a small gas station occupied a corner.

The gas station had closed hours before, but there was a soda machine humming away outside the garage building.  I only had change enough for one soda, so I used a small trickle of energy to dislodge the rest out of the machine and wasted some time shaking them up and pitching them against the gas pumps.  The minimum wage attendant would get quite a shock when he opened in the morning and found the pumps sticky with dented soda cans strewn about.

Finally, I couldn’t take any more boredom.  I texted Wyatt letting him know that I had decided not to leave anyway, and that I was in Sharpsburg vandalizing a gas station.  I told him that he should come down and bring some beer so he could drink with me.  Then we could pitch the bottles into the road.

Maybe I should just pick up Wyatt and go back to our houses.  If I wasn’t allowed to kill Althean, then the whole thing was going to be pretty snoozeville.   Although, I did want to watch and see what Gregory was going to do to him.  I could learn a lot from that guy.   Wyatt called back immediately.

“Sam?  You’re really still here?” he asked in a hushed tone.

“Yeah.  Why are you whispering?  Where are you?  What’s going on?” I asked, whispering back.

“Gregory wanted us both to leave, to go home and let him handle it, but Candy insisted she needed to stay.  I think she wants to make sure it’s truly resolved before she goes back.  I’m still here  because I have the computer models, and I don’t have my truck so I don’t have a way  back.  We’re holed up at one of the werewolf houses off Burnside Bridge so Candy doesn’t get attacked separately again.  Gregory has been gone for hours.   He’s in a horrible mood.  Seriously horrible mood.

“Sam, why didn’t you leave?  What are you doing still here?  You’re not safe, here.  I don’t know what he’ll do if he knows you’re still here.  He’s a sanctimonious jerk; I don’t think he’s going to tolerate you living over here now that he knows about you.  Plus, the mood he’s been in this evening, he’s liable to just kill you on sight.  You really need to make yourself scarce.”

Sanctimonious was a good word.  I had no idea Wyatt had that kind of vocabulary.

I didn’t know what I was doing, either.  What was I trying to gain from this?  Why didn’t I just scoop up Wyatt and go back to the house?   Because I was a stupid idiot and couldn’t keep away from this damned angel.  I needed to see him, needed to know who he really was inside.  Candy wasn’t the only one who needed to see this through.  I had to see if Gregory would deliver justice or just cover it up.  I shouldn’t really give a shit, but I needed to know if the angel was a hypocrite, to know what his moral framework was, to know if he lived by the inflexible code which fractured our races so long ago.

“Where are you?” I asked Wyatt.  “I just want to make sure you and Candy are safe.  Don’t worry about me; I know what I’m doing.”  Lie, lie, lie.

Wyatt told me the address, somewhere off Burnside Bridge Road.  I told him to stay tight, and that I’d call him in a bit.

I went out again, casting around for Althean without success.  Dreading what I was about to do, I drove to the outer portion of town, as far away from where Wyatt and Candy were as I could get and converted every cell of my being in a huge pop of noise.  I hoped it was far enough away to not scare Althean, but close enough to jar Gregory’s exterminate instinct and bring him running.

It was barely a second later before something large and rock like flashed an inch from me and knocked me to the dirt.

I slid across the ground for about three feet.  “Damnit, I just took a shower and put on clean clothes.”

“You!” the angel said.  He closed his eyes, and then opened them again, as if I were an illusion that would disappear.  “The guardian saw you cross.  She told me she saw you go through the gate with her own eyes.  How did you get back here?”

I wasn’t about to narc on the guardian.  “I have mad skills,” I told him.

He looked at me blankly.

“I am a being with many diverse talents,” I explained.  The guy really needed to work on his modern slang.

“I know, what ‘mad skills’ means, I just don’t see what that has to do with anything,” he said.  “Why? Why did you come back?  I go against the council decree that I should kill you on sight, then actually allow you to freely return home and you not only come back to this realm, but you come here and bring yourself to my notice less than twenty four hours from when I let you go.”

He took a deep breath and let it out in a whoosh.  “When I want you to stay, you practically kill yourself trying to get away, and when I want you to go away, I can’t get rid of you.  You, cockroach, are truly my worst nightmare manifested.  What was my sin that I am punished by having you constantly around, messing things up, thwarting my plans?”

Thwarting his plans.  It sounded like some bad guy in an old western.  All he needed to do was twirl a long handlebar mustache and chuckle deviously.

“Yes, well dastardly villains like you deserve thwarting,” I joked.

“How do you think I’m a villain?” he looked confused.  “Do you still think I won’t punish Althean?  Or is it because I killed that human law enforcement officer?   That was unfortunate, but I was not about to allow you to escape me.”

“It was a joke.  You know, because you used the word ‘thwart’ and it’s such a clich&eacute; word.  Oh, never mind.”  He had to have a sense of humor somewhere in that thick head of his.  Or maybe not.  “I came back because I need to see this to the finish.  I owe Candy a blood price for killing one of her pack mates and my taking out Althean was the price.  I don’t want it said I go back on my contracts, on my word.”

“You know I will not allow you to kill Althean.  So your contact is void.  You are simply unable to fulfill it.  Candy will have to renegotiate another blood price with you.  Why are you really here?”

I could hardly tell him I was obsessed with him and that he better get used to me stalking him like a creeper in a white van.

“I have OCD,” I told him desperately.  I don’t know how my mind made the jump to that.  Maybe because I’d been thinking of Candy and I was fairly certain she had all the symptoms in the diagnostic manual.

He sighed dramatically.  “Okay, please enlighten me as to what this OCD is.”

“Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.  It’s a mental condition some humans have where they do repetitious behavior, or actions that are driven by compulsion and not the logic of the situation.  So you see, I have OCD and cannot quit in the middle of this.  I just need to see the hunt through.  If I can’t kill him, then fine, but I need to see it through to the end before I can move on.  Or I’ll go crazy and wind up in an institution somewhere.”

That was the stupidest excuse ever, but maybe he’d believe it.

He scowled.  “You are the worst liar in all of creation.  I have no time for any more of your ridiculous falsehoods.  You’ve drawn me away and even now Althean may be at the house attempting to kill while I stand here bantering with you”

I’d been scanning constantly since I had arrived.  “No, he’s not there.  I can sense him and track him if he’s within a couple miles radius.  That’s how I knew he was at the cabin in Waynesboro.  Will that help you?  Maybe you can use that skill of mine?”

The angel paused thoughtfully.  “I can’t sense him until he uses some energy, so your skill would possibly help save a life.  If you try to kill him or hinder me in any way, though, I will not spare you.  Don’t think that because I let you go once that you have special privileges.  You are a cockroach and I won’t tolerate your interference.”

I nodded.  “If you’re not with me, let me know how I can contact you.  You don’t have a cell phone number I can text you on, do you?”  Damned angels were so backward about human technology I wasn’t even sure he could use a walkie–talkie.

“No, I don’t.  You’re energy use is how I sense you.  If you convert something or use your energy to call me when he’s near, Althean will be tipped off and flee.  You’ve nearly killed him twice.  I doubt he’ll risk fighting you again.”

It was really wicked, I know, but I ran my finger over the tattoo.  “I can call you this way,” I teased.

He ground his teeth.  “Will you stop doing that?  Stop messing with it until I can find some way to disable that unfortunate feature?”

“Is it always this strong?  Does it fade with distance or time?  If I’d crossed the gate, could we still feel it?  Would it even remain?”

He rubbed his face and ran his hands through his chestnut curls.  It was a very human gesture.  “It will always remain and time won’t do anything but maybe make us more used to it.   I don’t know what effect distance will have on it.  Perhaps it will be weaker.  Perhaps I won’t sense you at all if you’re far enough away or across the gate.  The original binding that it’s based on, that it was supposed to be, is meant to summon you no matter what realm you’re in or how far away you are; to know your location when I want to find you and be able to gate to you; and to compel you to do as I command.”

There was that compel thing again.  He must have fucked that part up too because I didn’t feel particularly compelled to obey him.

“So, you mean you didn’t intend to put a two way erogenous zone on my arm?” I asked, running my finger over it slowly.  It felt amazing and I found myself wondering again if angels had genitals.  He’d probably kill me, though.  I got the feeling angels didn’t do sex.

“No,” he ground out.  “And if you don’t stop that, I’ll remove your hands from your body.”

“Then I’d be forced to use my tongue,” I said, rather breathlessly.  That sounded like an even better idea.

“I’ll remove your tongue, then.  Repeatedly.  Until you get tired of growing it back.”

He seemed very serious, so I reluctantly stopped.  Besides, it was difficult teasing him when I myself was getting turned on twenty times what he was.

“You will remain near me and tell me when he’s close.”  Gregory said, in a voice that sounded suspiciously commanding.  I was okay with what he was proposing, but the whole compel thing had me a bit on edge, so I decided to pester him a bit more just so he wouldn’t get any ideas that I was compelled to do stuff.

“We’ll be joined at the hip,” I told him, wiggling my eyebrows suggestively.  “Or maybe joined at other parts of our bodies.”

“Not going to happen,” he said.  “Although I may be tempted to drag you by your hair.”

“I might like that.”

He shook his head in exasperation.  “Are you sure you’re not a Succubus?  You seem really obsessed with the sin of lust.”

“It’s a good sin.  I like gluttony an awful lot, too.  Sloth has its moments, but I just don’t understand acedia at all.  I mean, what the fuck is that anyway?  Oh, and greed is good, to quote Gordon Gekko.  Anger, envy and pride,” I ticked them off on my fingers.  “I don’t often have much use for them.  It’s a shortcoming that I’m hoping to correct in the next millennium or two.  I’m not very old; I can’t be expected to have mastered them all yet.”

“I think you’ve worked too hard on some of those,” he said dryly.  “Maybe you should switch over to virtues instead.  Give yourself a much needed break.”

Virtues?  Yeah, right.

“Virtues are too difficult,” I told him, shaking my head.  “Look how old you are and you’ve hardly made a dent in them.  I’ll admit, you seem to have zeal nailed, as well as faith and temperance.  Self control?   I’ve got my doubts based on your recent actions.  I’m not seeing the kindness, love or generosity, either.  That humility thing seems to be pretty far beyond your reach, too.  Really, really far.  I’m sorry to tell you this, but from what I can see, the sin of pride is a major component of your character.  Dude, you’re fucking old.  You should have these things pretty well ticked off your shopping list by now.  I’m seriously disappointed.  Seriously.”

He stared at me, his face unreadable.  I wondered for a brief moment if I’d pushed him too far, but he didn’t seem angry.  Crickets chirped in the background, like an old cliché, but I just met his gaze and refused to break the silence.

“I can hardly wait until this is over,” he finally said.  “Then I never have to spend another moment with you for the rest of eternity.”

He turned and walked away, and I followed him, feeling rather relieved.

We gated back to the target werewolf house.  Gregory stood there, patiently holding me upright while I got my bearings.  It didn’t seem to take quite as long this time, but we did gate a fairly short distance.  Less than five miles.

The house was a beautiful single story log cabin nestled in the woods.  The driveway actually had a small bridge to cross over the creek to get to the road.  Pines flanked the driveway and formed little oases among the hardwoods, with their tall dense canopy.  Underneath, their orange needles cushioned the ground like a soft mattress.  I knew I’d get sap all over my jeans, but I couldn’t resist sinking to sit on them and breathing in their fragrance.

Gregory sat beside me in silence while I continued to cast around for Althean.  It was early morning, and I could see a faint lightening of the sky to the east.  It would remain dark in these woods for quite a while, though.  Sunday wouldn’t bring any early sounds of workday traffic, and we’d have hours before even the earliest church goers headed out.

“I know you think Althean is capable of redemption, so you’re probably not likely to kill him.  Are you going to punish him yourself, or lock him away in some jail?” I asked him the question that had been on my mind for days.

Would he change his mind and kill Althean?  Would he banish him?  Was there some kind of rehab for angels who went crazy?  Electroshock therapy or something?

“Why didn’t you just let me kill him the other times?” I continued.  “You’ve got to admit, your actions make it look like you really want to take it easy on him.”

Gregory sighed in exasperation.  “You just won’t let this go will you, annoying little cockroach?  No, I don’t want to kill Althean.  I’m hoping I can save him, that we can rehabilitate him.  I know why he is doing these things, and there are others among us who feel the same way.  I don’t want him to become a martyr to his cause.  If that happens, the council will have a whole faction to wipe out instead of just a few random extremists.  Looking at things with a long term perspective, it would be best to keep Althean alive and convince him to change his mind on these matters.”

I shivered in the warmth of the summer air.  I had no doubt about this angel’s methods of changing someone’s mind.  I think I’d rather be dead.

“This is bigger than just a few dead werewolves,” he told me, rather heartlessly.  “There are subversive groups in Aaru who wait to pounce on any opportunity for political gain and possible overthrow.  We keep a very tight leash on these groups, but a martyr would benefit their cause.  The issue with the werewolves has been going on without resolution for a long time, and people feel strongly on both sides of the issue.  Opposing factions would love to seize on this as their banner.”

He looked over at me, and then quickly looked away.  “I won’t allow you to kill him, little cockroach.  I know you desperately want to, and I’m sure you have the skill and power to do so.  If you did, you’d be signing your own death sentence.  The council would never allow your continued existence if you killed an angel.”

I sat for a moment in silence.  “You’re going to kill me, anyway, why do you care if the council decrees my death or not?”  Not that I even knew what this council was.

“I’ll kill you when I’m ready to,” he assured me.  “That is the directive, and you will eventually die.  I have discretion on when and how I dispatch demons that enter this realm in violation of the treaty.  I usually kill them on sight, but I’ve bound you to me and you are under my authority and control.  The council won’t interfere with my decision in this matter.  But if you were to kill an angel, I doubt I could protect you.”

He looked grim and I got the feeling he would fight tooth and nail to protect me.  I had no idea why.  What use could I be to him beyond tonight?  Did he really feel it was worth it to keep me around and tolerate my annoying behavior?  Was there something else he had planned for me that would make this all worthwhile?

The lights came on in the cabin.  Wyatt and Candy were probably up.  I wondered if the other werewolves, the ones who actually lived there had managed to go to sleep.  I wondered how much they knew about what was going on, what danger they were in.  I glanced at Gregory, sitting like a brooding statue beside me.  It didn’t take much of my attention to continuously cast for Althean, so my mind wandered.  At least Gregory didn’t intend to kill me right away.  That was a huge relief.  Maybe we could actually hang out together sometime.  Perhaps hang out for a few decades.  At least until my usefulness was over.  I knew that was a ridiculous fantasy, but I still indulged myself in it.

To keep my hands busy I grabbed a nearby pinecone, and stuck some sticks and needles into it creating a bizarre prickly and sap covered animal while I daydreamed about playing with lightning beside this angel, or possibly fire.  Maybe he’d teach me to manipulate water and make that cool globe.  I eyed my needle covered pinecone animal.  Great.  In my boredom, I’d been reduced to creating children’s campfire crafts.  My hands were covered with sap, and the stuff just didn’t come off.  I ended up coating them with dirt so at least they were no longer sticky.  If this stupid crazy angel didn’t show up soon, I was going to go out of my mind.

Finally, as the morning sun had fully risen, I sensed him.  Good thing, since I’d stacked my loose change into little piles, had a whole stable full of pinecone animals, and was now making little pine needle haystacks for them to eat.  I was covered in sap and dirt.

I tugged Gregory’s sleeve and indicated with my hands that our target was at two o’clock, about fifty feet away and moving slowly in.  He frowned at me uncomprehendingly and looked with astonishment at my pinecone menagerie.  I guess he didn’t watch too many spy movies, or experiment with nature crafts.  I pointed and went through the motions again, carefully whispering this time.

He nodded.  “Stay here.  Don’t move.  Don’t do anything.  Don’t say anything.  Nothing.  I want your posterior rooted to this spot.”

I nodded in agreement.  I lie and I don’t follow directions well, so as soon as he left the little pine tree shelter, I got up and followed him.  I had to stay a good distance back so he wouldn’t hear me.  He edged up closer to the house, and waited a moment before walking into the tiny yard of cleared trees in front of the house.  It had to have been only fifteen feet from tree line to tree line.

I edged up behind him, staying behind a pin oak, hopefully out of sight.

Althean appeared at the edge of the tree line directly across from Gregory.  It was like the scene from High Noon without guns or tumbleweeds.

“Have you finally leashed your dog?” Althean said derisively.  The nervous glances he was casting around gave his bravado less credibility.  “I thought you were neutral in this, but I now wonder after you had your demon practically tear me apart.”

“She is not easy to control,” Gregory confessed.  “I am neutral in this.  The council has not given its decision though and you cannot run around like a vigilante delivering your own personal brand of justice.  We are sympathetic to your views and understand why you’ve acted the way you have, but you must cease and return to Aaru.”

Althean paled.  “So you can imprison me?  So you can bring me back to ‘sanity’ and obedience?  I am not the only one who feels this way.  The council is taking too long in their decision and the time to act is now.  You can bend me to your will, rip my mind apart, but others will be right there to take my place.  They are Nephilim.  You know that.”

“We do not know that for a fact,” Gregory said.  “The council will not exterminate a species — will not commit genocide — until we are certain they are Nephilim.”

“The council is committing genocide through attrition,” Althean countered passionately.  “The existence contract is so restrictive that the werewolves are slowly dying out.  In a few millennia they will no longer exist and the council can walk away with clean hands and claim innocence.  Cowardice.  Have they become so weak they are afraid to shed blood?  Afraid of delivering justice and hard mercy?  There are still angel renegades that escape them, Nephilim still walk the earth.  It is clear to many of us that the council is incompetent and unfit to rule.”

Gregory barely restrained his anger.  “You are not privy to the workings of the council, and are not in any position to pass judgment on their fitness to rule!   Would you lead a war against them?  Attempt a revolution?  It would be over very quickly, I assure you.  And the result would not be to your satisfaction.”

He paused to calm himself and continued.  “I will offer you the chance to live, exiled among the fallen ones whose path you have mimicked.  Or you may choose to return to Aaru for redemption,” Gregory said.

Fallen ones?  Did he mean us?  He’d banish Althean to our realm?  We’d eat the guy for lunch within ten seconds of crossing the gate.  Dude would be better off choosing to fall on his sword, instead.  It would be a far more pleasurable way to die.

“You would send me to the demons?” Althean asked in horror.  “Clearly, your vicious reputation is deserved if you would consign me to that eternal torture.  I will return with you to Aaru, but be aware that my ‘rehabilitation’ will not even put a bandage on the seeping wound of this division within us.”

Gregory walked toward Althean, who had bowed his head in submission.  I felt something within me pinch with alarm and knew what was coming long before Althean even began to formulate the blast.  It seems Althean decided to go out like a man.  Impossibly fast, he threw a stream of that white energy right at Gregory.

Before it even left his body, I had darted out in front of the pin oak and shot my own bolt of raw energy at him, curving it to loop around Gregory and leave him untouched.  It was a tricky piece of work, especially since I was doing it on the fly.  It hit Althean just as his bolt of energy left, cutting his blast short and knocking him solidly to the ground.  Gregory jerked to the side, either in anticipation of Althean’s blast or in reaction to my looping energy.  The white stuff the angel had shot missed him by inches and unfortunately smacked me right in the chest, throwing me backwards into the pin oak where I slid to the ground.

Fuck, this stuff hurt.  This was the same shit that took my hand completely off back in Gettysburg, so I was a little alarmed.  I pulled my personal energy safely inside and started to regenerate.  It must have been a smaller blast than the one before because it hadn’t blown through me.  It did leave a nice hole in my right lung, destroying the ribs and tissue and leaking blood all over the place.  I sealed off the blood vessels, and explored the damage.  I’d had worse.

Gregory looked over at me in surprise.  He took in my injury and exploded in anger.  His vaguely human looking form disappeared in a wash of bright light and power.  He shone so bright in his fury that they had to have seen him all the way to the road. “Oh fuck,” I thought in panic.  “I’ve disobeyed him and he’s gone insane with rage.  He’s going to come over here and finish me off.”

Instead he strode over to Althean who was trying frantically to get upright.  I must have hit him pretty hard, I thought smugly.

“She’s just a demon!” Althean said in panic.  “You can’t kill me over a stupid, worthless demon!”

Gregory picked him up by the throat and held him, his feet dangling from the ground.  “She’s mine,” he hissed.  The word sang with power and ripped through the air in a wave, trembling the earth and raining pine needles to the ground.  The morning bird sounds stopped abruptly and the silence was eerie.

Althean began to shake.  “No,” he choked out.  “You cannot.  She’s a nasty stupid cockroach.  She’s not worth it.”

Gregory tightened his grip and Althean’s words ended in a gurgle.  “Mine,” he hissed and began to shake the smaller angel.

I covered my ears as a high pitched screeching sound, like nails on glass filled the air.  Althean convulsed and he tore at Gregory’s arms frantically with his hands. I saw what appeared to be dirt falling from him, then realized that it was sand.  Slowly, Althean was dissolving into a pile of white sand from the feet upward as I watched.  The process was agonizingly slow; Althean kicked and shook while Gregory continued to hiss and stare at him with those merciless black eyes.  In minutes, only his torso and head remained and the sand rained down upon the ground.  Gregory kept at it until there was nothing left but a pile of the white grains.  He stared at it, grim–faced, and then proceeded to wipe his hands casually on his jeans.

As I watched all this with interest, part of me was getting worried.  The white energy was having the same kind of slippery effect on my raw energy that Gregory had when he touched me.  I was able to regenerate small portions of myself with the bits I could grab, but the white stuff was eating in deeper and quicker than I could fix.  Giving up on regeneration, I concentrated my efforts on getting the white stuff converted and cleared out of my system.  It was persistent and multiplying fast.  If it destroyed too much of me, it might reach my personal energy.  Or I’d be too dissolved to hold in the massive amount of raw energy I had stored within me.  Releasing all that energy would be like a bomb going off.

Gregory turned from the pile of sand to look at me, his expression becoming alarmed.

“Fix yourself!” he commanded, an edge of desperation in his voice.

“I’m trying, you asshole,” I replied.

I felt hands on my side and realized that Wyatt and Candy were there.  Candy looked worried and Wyatt was trying to apply pressure to the wound.  I looked down at Wyatt’s hands and saw that the blood oozing between his fingers was becoming streaked with an opalescent white.  Crap, the raw energy was leaking out and causing me to lose form.  I didn’t want that to happen with this stuff eating its way through my flesh.

“Hold on, Sam,” Wyatt said, applying more pressure.  He needed to stop or the raw energy would burn his skin like acid.  “Is there anything human doctors can do?   Should we call an ambulance?”

I shook my head at him and kept trying to convert bits of the white stuff into nice neutral carbon based molecules.  If I could just grab enough raw energy, I could dispel the whole lot of it, but the slippery coating was only allowing me access to a tiny bit at a time.  I had to fight for every little bit.  Meanwhile, the remaining white stuff expanded faster than I could negate it and was dissolving several important organs.  The body I was in was on the verge of failure.

Fuck.  I put my hands to the ground and started to slowly trickle raw energy out into the earth.  If I could release some of this, then maybe I wouldn’t blow half the county up when I went.

“You need to get out of here,” I told Wyatt, bubbling blood up from my ruined lungs.  “You and Candy.  Fast and far.  As fast as you can.”

“I won’t leave you, Sam,” Wyatt insisted.

“I’m not joking.  You need to leave right now,” I told him, enunciating as best as I could.

Wyatt continued to protest and I looked at Candy.

“You promised to protect him, to keep him safe.  Get him out of here.” I told her and she nodded grimly.

I didn’t have time to argue with Wyatt any longer. I turned to him and put every last ounce of strength into pulling out my mean.  “Get the fuck out of here right now,” I snarled at him.

He jumped back and looked hurt.  Candy seized the moment and grabbing him by the arm dragged him as fast as she could toward her car.

I gave up trying to stop the white stuff and began concentrating on dumping as much raw energy as I could.  The ground around me was beginning to smoke.  The whole thing was an exercise in futility.  It would take me nearly two months at this rate to dump my stash of energy.  I looked up at Gregory, who just looked back at me.

“Now would be a really good time to get that damned sword of yours out.” I told him, trying to speak the words as clearly as I could with all the blood I was spitting.  I needed to say this before my lungs totally gave out.  “I’m assuming it collects our energy as you kill us so you don’t blast half the planet apart.  How much capacity does it have?”

He told me, pulling the sword out of thin air.  It wasn’t enough.  The sword would hold about half my energy.  If I could dump another two percent before I croaked, then maybe it would be enough to limit the destruction a bit.  He’d probably die, so I wasn’t about to reveal the limitations of his sword to him.  I didn’t want him changing his mind and gating out of here to save himself, leaving me to blow a huge chunk out of the ground.  I wondered if the sword would survive the blast.  If not, then we were back to square one.  Not that we had any other options.

“Do it.” I told him.

He paused.  “How much raw energy are you packing?”

I rounded down.  Way down.  Like ten percent of what I really had down.  He raised his sword and began chanting something.  I closed my eyes.  I don’t have any problem facing my own death, but I simply could not look this angel in the eyes as he killed me.  The chanting stopped and I held my breath; then it started again.

“Would you hurry the fuck up?  I don’t have all day here,” I told him, keeping my eyes closed just in case.

The chanting stopped again and I heard him whisper something under his breath.  I tensed, waiting, but instead of my head rolling on the ground I felt myself pushed onto my back in the blood wet grass.  I risked opening my eyes and saw Gregory kneeling above me, shining white with his black–filled eyes and sharp teeth.  What the hell was he doing?  If he killed me this way, then everything would most likely be blown to bits.  His eyes met mine.

“I’ll surely burn for this, but I seem to be heading down that path anyway,” he said as he leaned down into me, shoving his hand into the hole in my chest, and placing his lips on mine.

I thought it was a pretty inappropriate time for him to be getting his freak on, even by my standards, but who was I to judge?  I opened my mouth to kiss him back and winced as his hand dug deep within my ruined flesh.  Just like sex back home, I thought.  I felt a vibration humming through me and realized that Gregory was slowly dragging the white energy out of my body and into his hand.  It hurt terribly as the stuff burned and ripped its way out through my flesh.  Another sound, like bells with his red–purple energy tinged in gold, was spreading out from his mouth across my flesh in a wave of regeneration.  He was trying to heal me.  I appreciated the effort, but I was really far gone and the hold on my raw energy was severely compromised.  Desperate, I tried to shove some into him to hold.

He accepted a good sized chunk, so I proceeded to transfer the entire lot to him.  Ridiculous, I know, but I wasn’t thinking too clearly at this point.  I heard his quick intake of breath, as he realized the volume of energy and attempted to block the transfer.  Things were getting fuzzy around the edges of my consciousness, and I was frantic to unload this energy before I croaked.  I shoved it back at him more firmly, and he again blocked  it.  We continued this game of hot potato, with my slipping through additional chunks here and there as he was distracted trying to resist the largest portion.  I knew it was too much for him, but I couldn’t help it.  I could taste his blood filling my mouth as I continued to overload him with raw energy.  Finally, with a massive effort, he crammed the largest portion back, shoving it deep within me and yanked with all his might on the remaining white stuff. The pain was intense and everything narrowed in to black . . .

When I came to, I realized that I was breathing with both my lungs.  Gregory lay on top of me, with his weight thankfully on his elbows and knees.  His face was turned away from me, but I could hear his ragged breath.  Everything seemed to be in the right place.  Personal and raw energy, flesh, bone, most of my blood.  I reached up a hand and twirled one of his chestnut curls around my finger, tucking it back behind his blood crusted ear.  His human form really sucked, but the hair was awesome.  Soft and shiny, dark coppery red with a hint of brown.   The curl sprang free from behind his ear and back onto my hand.  So pretty.

He turned his head to look over at me, yanking the lock of hair free from my fingers.  His eyes were still dark and his teeth pointy.  He was covered in blood, both mine and his.  “You lied to me,” he hissed.

He was really pissed.  He had a reason to be since I’d nearly cooked him from the inside out.  That said, this whole “save me, then want to kill me” pattern seemed to be an ongoing theme in our association.

Gregory grabbed me by the shoulders and thumped me gently against the ground.  Very gently.  With great restraint.  I was starting to rethink my assessment of his lack of self control.

“You lied!  You have fifty, a hundred times the energy you said you have.  My sword couldn’t even have absorbed it all, and it was created to take out the most powerful demons with room to spare.  There is no way you can hold that much energy and be stable.  No way you can carry that around long term.  Nothing can do that.”

I just looked at him.  What was I supposed to say?  We don’t need to carry around energy back home, it’s plentiful around us.  I had been surprised at the amount I’d been able to hold over here.  I was actually a bit depleted with all the conversions I’d done this week.  I didn’t think telling him that would reassure him though.

He smacked me on the ground again.  “Angels cannot hold raw energy.   The sword can absorb it, but it needs to change, to become something before I can attempt to hold it within me.  You were killing me by shoving that much into me.  Couldn’t pass up on an opportunity to be free of me at last, could you?  You attempted to kill me while I was trying to save your life.”

“I didn’t intend to kill you,” I told him.  It was kind of the truth.  “If I had died, there would have been a huge explosion from the release of all that raw energy.  I was trying to find a safe place for it.  How am I supposed to know you can’t hold it?  I don’t know anything about angels.”

He stared in disbelief at me, his face so close to mine.  “I should have killed you the first moment I saw you.  I should have let you die just now.  You will never be anything but a worthless disgusting cockroach.  But no, against council decree, against all common sense I healed you.  I’ve let you go free, I’ve saved you from death, and I’ve healed you.”

“Are you not listening?” I shouted.  He was inches from me, but I was pissed.  “What fucking alternative did I have?  Let’s review the options here:  One — I die from Goldilocks’ blast and release my raw energy, killing you and a whole stinking bunch of humans.  Two — you absorb some of my energy with the sword and kill me.  I release less raw energy and kill a smaller bunch of humans and hopefully your sword doesn’t blow up, too.  You may or may not die.  I don’t fucking know.  Three — you heal me, but I lose control and release enough raw energy to still kill a bunch of humans and possibly you, too.  Or four — you heal me and help hold the energy so it doesn’t blow anything up.  Wow, four sounds good to me.  How the fuck am I supposed to know you can’t hold it?  Fuck you.”

He glared down at me.  I kind of wished he’d get up.  Having an argument this close was really disconcerting.

“And why does a little cockroach like you care one bit about human death?  Why would you care at all if an angel lived or died?”

“I don’t know,” I shouted.  “I don’t fucking know.  Now get off me, you asshole.”

Abruptly he stood up and continued to frown at me while I scrambled to a seated position.

“You need to go home.  I’ll take you to the gate myself and see you through it.  Stay there and don’t come back.”  His voice sounded flat and hard.  This was clearly not negotiable.

“No,” I told him.  “I want to stay here.  I have a life here and I’m not leaving.  You can shove me through the gate, but I’ll be back.  You can’t watch them all, and I’m very good at sneaking through.”

Gregory sighed and ran his hands through his hair.

“Fine.  In the interest of my sanity, I’ll agree to let you stay as a bound demon.  But there are rules.  No Owning.  No killing humans.  No breeding.   I see any plagues, asteroid strikes, or another ice age and I’m going to rip your head clean off your neck.  Got it?”

Sheesh, like I could do any of those last things.  I was just an imp, after all.

“Scouts honor,” I said.  “Totally.  Absolutely got it.”

He frowned.  I was lying, and he knew it.

“Cockroach, do not push me on this.  If you’re too much trouble, I can always take you back to Aaru and drag you around on a leash for the other angels to pet.”

Yikes.  The idea of being a demon slave in Aaru was truly frightening.  I nodded and tried to look sincere.

“Hey, can you gate me back to my car before you go?” I asked in what I hoped was a friendly tone.  “I left it, like, five miles from here.”

He gave me an incredulous look.  “What am I, your taxi?”

“It will just take you a second.  I mean, I was helping you tonight.  I did save your life after all.  It’s the least you could do, you know.”

He shook his head and with an exasperated noise, gated away.  Asshole.

Figuring I’d have a better chance hitchhiking if I cleaned up a bit, I walked down to the creek and tried to wash off as much blood as I could from my shirt.  My bra was hysterical.  One whole side was missing and it had been hanging in tatters under my destroyed shirt.  Taking it off, I hung it on a tree limb and left it.  I looked rather scruffy, braless with a backward torn shirt, but hopefully some hung–over local would give me a ride.

As I walked down to the main road, I saw Wyatt coming toward me.  We walked casually toward each other as if we’d had a chance encounter while out on a walk.

“I told you I wouldn’t leave you,” he said, smiling as we met.

“What did you do, leap out of Candy’s car?  Smack her on the head with a box of wet wipes?”

“I threatened to shoot her if she didn’t let me out,” Wyatt said.  “I would have done it, too.  She told me she hadn’t promised to protect me from my own stupidity and let me out.”

Candy and I were going to have words.

“Aren’t you going to ask me if I’m okay and feel me up for flesh wounds?” I was hopeful he’d get the hint on the feeling–me–up part.

He grinned.  “You’re up and walking around.  You don’t have a huge angel sword sticking out your back.  I’ve learned that means you’re okay.”

“I get to stay, Wyatt,” I told him.  “If I can manage to behave myself, then I get to stay.”

Wyatt nodded, his eyes warm on mine.

“Well then, let’s go find your car, go home, put some steaks on the grill, and get you a shower.  Naked.  With a Loofa,” he teased.

“I’m very injured and will need you to help scrub my back,” I told him.

“I was planning on it,” he said, putting an arm around my shoulders as we walked side by side down the road.

I was going to go home.  My earthly home.  The one here in Maryland.  Where I intended to stay as long as I could.  With Wyatt.  Hey, I’d be able to catch the Monday Zumba class tomorrow morning.  Cool.

Epilogue

The sun was at its highest point, offering no relief for any creature foolish enough to be out midday.  Iguanas, normally basking on rocks, were nowhere to be seen.  The goats that climbed along the seaside cliffs were hidden away in caves.

The angel stretched his wings over the red dust, watching it cling to the taupe colored flight feathers.  The feel of the heat, the dry, red, sandy dirt reminded him of somewhere else.  Of course, he could never be in this form there.  The blasting winds would tear apart this soft flesh even before the radiation cooked through skin and bone.

This place was enjoyable.   Even though he never fully committed himself to a corporeal form, he could still feel the bake of the sun on skin, the scrape of rock on his wings, the bright light causing his dark eyes to water slightly.    He frowned, wondering for a moment how the demons could stand it.  How could they endure the constant onslaught of sensation that a deep physical form brought?   He could barely endure this.

He looked up to see a man approaching him.  It was another angel with dark spiked hair and wings of pure white.  He looked down at his own wings with their swirling colors of cream and taupe.  The scars were barely visible after all this time.  He could feel them though, aching deep beyond the muscle and bone to the spirit part of him.  It had been so long ago, but the scars still felt like fresh wounds.

“Brother,” the dark haired angel acknowledged as he walked up to the seated figure.

Gregory rose.  “Brother.”

The dark haired angel shuddered slightly as he took the offered hand and clasped it.  Shimmering, he shifted into a female form, although still with the short dark spikes of hair.

“Female?” Gregory asked.

The woman grimaced.  “You’re very much to the right at the moment, and it is uncomfortable not to have balance between us.”

Gregory frowned.  Was he?  He was often accused of being too far to the right, but not so much that he caused such discomfort that others to feel the need to change.  It was her.  She was so very far to the left, and he’d just gotten used to balancing in her presence.

“Brother, what are you doing?” the woman asked, sitting down on a large rock.  Gregory sat too, in a silent agreement that this would be an informal family meeting and not a confrontation.

“What kind of horrific binding did you do with that demon?  Why didn’t you kill her?  And now you’ve killed Althean.  Brother, you are creating enemies left and right.  You’re lucky everyone is too scared of you to take action.”

Gregory smiled.  It wasn’t a nice smile.  He was well aware that his three remaining brothers were happy to stir the pot and spread doubts about his competency, about his sanity.

“I’m also lucky that I have such loyal brothers to watch my back,” he said

“Seriously,” the woman urged.  “Why didn’t you kill her?”

Gregory shrugged.  “I thought she’d be useful in hunting Althean.  They have skills.  I think I may use her in some other projects before I kill her.  I might as well since I took the time to bind her.”

At least he lied better than that irritating cockroach of a demon.  She’d surprised him, acted very un–demonic in protecting her human toy by jumping on him and smacking his head on the ground.  It made him curious about her.  No, it made him wonder with a fleeting hope if maybe there was some spark in them, something left of the angels they used to be.  It was a whim he’d indulged in, with horrible consequences.

“Brother, there are rumors about the binding.  Rumors that it is too in the flesh, tied to sensation, that it binds you as much as it binds the demon,” the woman said.

“She was not easy to bind,” Gregory interrupted.  He paused, realizing that he sounded defensive.  “I haven’t bound a demon in ages, and I was very angry at that moment.  Yes, the binding is flawed.  I will fix it as soon as I have the time.”

Angry was a mild word for what he was at that time.  It wasn’t the first time he’d let his temper get away from him with disastrous results.  He’d always struggled with anger.  And pride.  It seemed over the ages that he been giving in far too much to sin and too less to virtue.  Funny how that happens.

“But if you, too, are bound, Brother?”  The woman let the question hang in the air.

“No.  She’s just a baby, and far too Low to have any idea of how to use a bound angel,” he insisted.

But she wasn’t Low.  All that raw energy, and that perfectly formed human flesh with her spirit embedded deep and tightly contained.  Such potential hiding in a dirty little cockroach.  It was a shame she’d not live long enough to realize that potential.  Not that it mattered.  Even if she did somehow manage to survive, she’d never bother to expand her knowledge and skills.  Demons only wanted to roll around in the muck of sensation, and play frivolously in the physical world.  Such a waste.

“Besides,” Gregory added. “I don’t plan on having her live more than a year or two.”

“What?  You don’t plan on walking her around Aaru on a leash, like a pet?” The woman laughed.

“She’d just pee on the carpet,” Gregory said, amused.

The woman waved her hand.   “Enough about this filthy creature.  Why have you not formally reported on Althean’s death?  The longer you wait, the more the factions accuse you of wrongful murder.”

“As soon as I am able,” Gregory assured her.  “I gave Althean a chance to return on his own, or be banished to Hel with the demons and he refused either option.”

The woman laughed.  “You seriously gave him the option of being banished with the demons?  Like he was going to choose that?  Wow, you must have been pissed.  Still, I can’t believe you actually killed him.”

Gregory couldn’t believe it, either.  Again, it was anger.  Blinding, white hot anger — not that Althean attacked him, but that he’d so injured the little cockroach.  Just thinking of it brought up the urge to pulverize something, smash it into the rocks.

“Althean attacked me,” he replied.

“Come on.”  The woman grinned.  “You could have subdued him, taken him down.  You dusted him.”

“He would not back down,” Gregory insisted.  “I had no choice.  He was determined to be a martyr for his cause.”

Probably.  Not that Gregory had given him a chance.

“Was it the demon?” the woman asked.  Gregory stiffened. “Did she kill Althean?  Are you covering for her?”

“No.  I told you she is Low,” he said.

They sat in silence for a few moments.  The dark haired angel let her eyes trail along Gregory’s outstretched wings, shifting her own white ones so they swept the red dust in a pattern of lines.  Picking up a wing, she admired the red dust clinging to the bottom edges.

“We cannot go back in time, Brother,” she said sadly, affection in her voice.  “Even if we could, I’m not sure it would be right.  What’s gone is gone.  They are not angels anymore, they are demons, and we cannot bring back our loved ones by indulging in reckless fantasy.”

Gregory nodded, looking out along the shore.    His brother was right, but encasing himself in stone, trying to petrify the hurt inside hadn’t helped either.  Still, something deep inside him felt like it was chipping away at the hard edges.  Like it was trying to get out.  He wasn’t sure if he should let it.  When he meditated on it, he saw a laughing imp playing with lightning, or sometimes his younger brother, also laughing and playing with lightning.  But she was not the brother he still mourned.  That was foolish thought.

The red haired angel stood and stretched his wings once more.

“There will be no reckless fantasy,” he assured his brother before gating away.

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Influential Magic

Deanna Chase

New York Times bestselling author, Deanna Chase, brings you the first book in the Crescent City Fae series.

It’s tough being a faery in New Orleans, a city fraught with vampires… especially when their very existence drains your life-force.

Willow Rhoswen, owner of The Fated Cupcake and part-time vampire hunter for the Void is having a rough week. Four years after her twin brother’s mysterious death, Willow’s life is threatened and the director saddles her with a new partner—her ex-boyfriend, David. To her horror, he’s turned vamp, which causes her physical pain whenever she touches him… and any other specimen of the undead.

In order to save Willow’s life, David agrees to turn double agent against the most powerful vampire organization in New Orleans. Or so he says. And she’s convinced they know something about her brother’s death. Unsure where David’s loyalties lie, she turns to Talisen, her childhood crush, to help her solve the mystery.

Caught between two gorgeous men and a director who’ll stop at nothing to control Willow’s gifts, she’ll have to follow her instincts and learn who to trust. Otherwise, she risks losing more than just her life.

Chapter One

The ugly concrete building loomed before us, making my body itch with unease. I gritted my teeth and tried to mentally prepare for the long flight ahead. There was a reason faeries hated airplanes. Metal had an unfortunate way of draining our energy.

“You didn’t have to walk me in,” I said to Talisen, my brother’s best friend and the guy who’d just spent five hours transporting me from Eureka to the Sacramento airport. “I would’ve been perfectly fine if you’d dropped me off at departures.”

“Are you kidding?” Talisen draped a casual arm over my shoulders and made a show of stretching his legs. “One more minute in the truck and my limbs would’ve seized up.”

I eyed his lanky but muscular body. Tall, broad-shouldered, and tan from his long days of working outdoors in my mother’s nursery. He’d dressed nicer than usual today. Gone were his faded blue jeans, scuffed work boots, and pop-culture T-shirt, replaced by olive khakis, a short-sleeved, button-down shirt, and black canvas shoes. “I think you could’ve survived until you hooked up with your lunch date.”

He pulled the glass door open for me. “Date?”

“Yeah. Yesterday I heard you tell a client you weren’t available this afternoon because you had a date. I assumed that’s what this was about.” I waved my hand up and down, indicating the change in his wardrobe choice.

He laughed. “I was talking about you, Willow.”

“Oh.” I smirked. “Sorry excuse for a date. Is dropping your best friend’s sister off at the airport the best you can come up with? Maybe you need lessons. Remind me the next time I come home to set you straight on what a normal twenty-four-year-old would consider ‘dating.’”

“Ha! Look who’s talking. You didn’t even so much as look at any other dudes this summer, let alone go out with one. Pathetic, really. No, thanks. I’ll get my lessons elsewhere.”

His words hit a sore spot in the middle of my chest, and I was grateful we’d reached the ticket counter so I wouldn’t have to continue our regular banter. David, my ex back in New Orleans, had dumped me right before I’d left my store, The Fated Cupcake, in the hands of my trusted assistant so I could run my mom’s shop while she recovered from an accident. Other than missing New Orleans; my dog, Link; my shop; and my best friend, Phoebe, it had been fun and distracting, hanging out with Talisen nearly every day.

David had become a distant memory. Almost.

I paid the extra fee to check my bag and met Talisen near the security gate.

He held his arms out and sent me a rueful smile.

I tilted my head and eyed him suspiciously. “You don’t expect me to fall for that, do you?”

His smile widened. “Get over here.”

Wrapping my arms around his waist, I buried my head in his shoulder. “Thank you for this summer,” I whispered.

He placed one of his large hands on my head and gently stroked my hair. “There’s nothing to thank me for.”

Hot tears burned the back of my eyes. I squeezed them shut, forcing the emotion down. “Beau…” My breath caught on a silent sob.

“It’s all right, Wil. He’s been with us. He’s with us every day.” Talisen squeezed me harder, and I knew we were both picturing my brother on that fateful day four years ago. He’d been smiling and laughing only a few hours before we’d found him lifeless in my mother’s lavender fields.

I pulled back and nodded.

Talisen eased his grip but didn’t let go. His deep green eyes bored into mine. “Don’t stay away so long this time.”

“I already promised Mom I’d be back for Christmas.”

“Good.” He laced his fingers around a lock of my hair. “Your hair looks nice, lightened by the sun.”

Warmth spread to my belly. All the time spent outside this summer had left streaks of gold in my wavy mane. “I’ll get highlights for December.”

“Don’t. Natural’s better.” Faeries didn’t usually mess with chemicals. And I wouldn’t, either. But there were natural hair dyes. Still, Tal knew the one quality I really loved about myself was my long, slightly curly auburn hair. “Text me as soon as you get there.”

I grimaced and patted my pocket for my phone.

He rolled his eyes. “You didn’t leave it at your mom’s, did you?”

“Um…” I plunged my hand into my purse, frantically searching for the iPhone I never used. My fingers wrapped around something hard and cool. “Got it.”

Talisen took it from my hand and pressed the on button. “Your battery’s almost dead. Try to charge it before you get on the plane.”

I snatched it out of his hand and tossed it back into my purse. “Yeah, yeah. You’re worse than Phoebe.”

“She’s just given up on your lazy ways. Promise you’ll let me know when you land.”

I nodded.

“Good.” His expression turned serious and he seemed to really look at me. Then he leaned in as if to whisper something, but instead brushed his lips lightly over mine, lingering slightly longer than a casual goodbye kiss. “Stay safe,” he said against my lips and then turned and walked out of the airport. I stood still, stunned, my hand against my tingling lips as I watched him go.

Where had that come from? Flustered, I headed for the security gate.

One layover in Houston and seven sleepless hours later, I stumbled off the jet and into Louis Armstrong airport. I’d thought of nothing but Talisen ever since I’d left California. What in damnation was that kiss about? We’d been flirting with each other relentlessly for the past nine years, but because of Beau we’d never acted on anything. Not to mention Talisen’s constant stream of revolving-door girlfriends. Now, with Beau gone, if I lost Talisen due to some stupid relationship problem… it was too hard to even think such a thought.

No, we were just friends. More than that. We were family. And that’s the way I intended to keep it. I whipped out my phone and powered it on. The tiny red battery light mocked me. So I’d forgotten to charge it. Whatever. I only needed to send one text.

The phone buzzed with an incoming message from Phoebe. Vampire sighting at Saint Louis Cemetery. Meet me there are soon as you land.

Dang it all. I hadn’t even had time to pee. I sighed and typed out a message to Talisen. Not two seconds after I hit send, the phone died.

***

Standing in front of New Orleans’ Saint Louis Cemetery, I checked my watch. Twenty minutes and no sign of Phoebe. Just perfect. What was I going to do, wait all night? Clutching the handle of my suitcase, I squared my shoulders and strode through the gates, dragging my suitcase behind me. I might’ve laughed at the absurdity of the situation if it hadn’t been for the very real threat I could pass out at any moment. Faeries never—never—spent time in cemeteries, and if they did, they sure as hell wouldn’t bring half their wardrobe.

The moldy dampness mixed with the stale, rancid stench of decay turned my stomach. I kept my mouth clamped shut. Tasting death would only kill me faster. I scanned the rows of tombs and cursed myself for forgetting to charge my cell… again.

Where the hell was Phoebe?

Darkness swam at the edge of my vision and panic sparked a healthy dose of adrenaline through my veins. Time was up. If I didn’t want to check into death’s hotel permanently, I had two options: find Phoebe or get my ass out of there. It wasn’t much of a choice. If I’d known where the witch was, I would’ve found her already.

Damn it! I’d never bailed on a job before. With a grunt of disgust, I fled.

My mind turned hazy, my thoughts jumbled. A second later my limbs went numb, and I stumbled. Forcing myself up, I struggled to place one foot in front of the other. My eyes never wavered from the exit. If I could just make it to the street, to one of the giant oak trees, everything would be fine.

My head would clear and feeling would creep back into my limbs. Life would flow again. Ten more feet and I’d be free, hugging the old oak, my body sucking up the life force it needed. Almost there.

A thick, honey-like sensation skimmed my bare skin. I froze.

Vampire.

Shit! I had to warn Phoebe. It was my job. I turned, intending to run back into the heart of the cemetery. But my feet wouldn’t move. The death sealed within the tombs had sucked too much energy from my body, robbing me of the ability to take one more step. I sank to my knees, still clutching my suitcase as I stared at the front gates. Maybe I could crawl my way out.

A shadow fell over me, blocking the moonlight. My breath caught. I didn’t need to look up to know what towered over me. Vampire. He was there, inches away, his presence pinning me to the ground. My strange vampire-sensing ability prevented me from moving.

Slowly, I raised my head. My vision swam and all I could make out was a double vision of a tall, dark-haired vampire. This was it. Another moment and either his death energy would suck me dry or his fangs would. I prayed I passed out before I had to endure either one.

A low, vicious growl sounded behind me, followed by a blur of white fur as a wolf leapt over me, landing with his hackles raised and teeth bared. My heart pounded with fear and relief. My mind continued to buzz in confusion, but I knew one thing. Link, my wolf, was there. Maybe I wouldn’t die.

Footsteps pounded on the bricks, and a shout rang out, followed by a commotion. A moment later, all the action stopped, and the vampire energy faded. My limbs started to tingle and my mind cleared. “Phoebe?” I asked, glancing around.

“Right here.” She appeared by my side and helped me up. “Come on. You need a tree.”

The moment she propped me against the large oak, life energy rushed through my veins, clearing all the cobwebs and revitalizing my energy. I sighed in relief and reached a hand out to pet Link.

He licked my hand and then shimmered with gold right before he morphed into his normal Shih Tzu form. He jumped into my arms, lavishing me with tickling kisses.

I laughed. “Link, buddy. I missed you. Thanks for saving my butt.”

At the sound of my voice, the Shih Tzu’s tongue went into overdrive, licking me everywhere from the neck up. “I’m glad to see you, too, boy.” His little body shook and wiggled against my chest as he tried to get as close as possible. Hugging him to me, I buried my face in his fur.

“Welcome home,” Phoebe said from somewhere nearby.

I jerked my head up, spotting my roommate leaning against her car a few feet away. Her normally short, spiky hair was concealed by a sleek black wig, styled in a high bun. She wore a belted green tunic over her black leggings. Sensible low-heeled, knee-high boots completed the ensemble. She looked exactly like the free-spirited, hippie-type artists that populated the city. Only they likely didn’t have a knife in each boot and magic-wielding stones tucked in their pockets.

“What happened?” I asked.

“What do you think happened? You almost passed out. Would have, too, if Link and I hadn’t been there.” Phoebe lit a cigarette and took a long drag. “Fuck, Willow, why didn’t you wait for me at the gate?”

I scowled. Phoebe knew how much I hated smoking. It wasn’t that it was just an annoyance; it made me physically ill. Thankfully she only smoked when she was really stressed. “I did wait! For twenty minutes. What was I supposed to do, stand there all night like bait?”

“It beats checking into the City of the Dead.” Phoebe took another long drag. “You could’ve sent me a text.”

I clamped my mouth shut and focused on Link’s scruffy coat. He needed a groomer ASAP. Looked as though Phoebe hadn’t brushed him once in the two months I’d been gone.

“Wil?” Phoebe prompted, her accusatory tone implying she already knew what I was going to say.

“It’s dead.” I reluctantly met her gaze.

“Again?” Phoebe narrowed her eyes and shook her head. “One of these days, that lazy habit is going to cost you your life.”

“Give me a break. I just got off the freakin’ plane. I’m not even supposed to be on duty again until early next week. At least I remembered to turn it back on before it died.” The only reason I’d even gotten Phoebe’s message was because I’d promised to text Tal as soon as I got off the plane. And for once I hadn’t forgotten. How could I? The embrace we’d shared at the Sacramento airport had burned an imprint on my skin.

I shook my head. Tal was a childhood friend, my brother’s best friend. It was better not to think about it. I set Link down and leaned against the oak again. “Thanks for getting me out.”

Phoebe shrugged. “Not like I could leave you there.”

“What are we doing here, anyway? No self-respecting vampire hangs out in a cemetery.”

“This one does, apparently,” Phoebe said.

“How cliché.”

“No shit, right?” Phoebe took one last drag and snuffed out the cigarette. “But he’s gone now, so I guess we’ll have to try again tomorrow.”

“You lost him?” My eyes went wide with shock. Phoebe was one of the best agents in the Void. I couldn’t remember the last time she hadn’t caught whoever she’d been sent to eliminate.

“It was either you or him.” Phoebe grabbed the suitcase. “Come on. It was a mistake to call you out here after you spent hours on a plane.”

I lifted one shoulder. It was true. I shouldn’t have been working a case after being confined in metal for such a long time.

Living, breathing things filled me up, left me powerful and strong, while metal, concrete, and death sucked me dry. On any other day, the cemetery wouldn’t have affected me as fast or as strongly. I would’ve been weakened by it, but I’d have had plenty of time to find Phoebe, who had the power to shield my energy from being leeched. We’d both been stupid.

“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t realize it would be that bad.”

I smiled and fell in step beside her. “It’s okay. Neither did I. Now, tell me about the case.”

“Not much to tell. A cemetery-tour group was attacked last night. The third attack in a week, but this time someone died. The guide identified the attacker as a vampire. So, we’ve… well, I’ve been dispatched, but you know how I hate to work alone.” Phoebe grinned sheepishly.

Yeah. Over the last few years—ever since we’d figured out my unique abilities—Phoebe had stopped running down vampires alone. Who could blame her? My talent was invaluable when dealing with vamps.

“Seems pretty open and shut then,” I said.

Phoebe nodded, then heaved the suitcase into the trunk of her green Camry. “Jeez, that’s heavy.”

The locks clicked, and I reached for the door. Then I went completely still. The heavy, sticky sensation of death settled on my skin, ever so slowly leeching my life energy. Not enough to weaken me. Just enough to put me on high alert.

“Wait,” I said before Phoebe could disappear into the car. “Can I get a cigarette first?”

She cast me a questioning glance but passed a cigarette over and held out a lit lighter. I leaned in and mouthed, He’s still here, then puffed the smoke to life. My eyes watered and my lungs constricted in protest, but I managed to appear cool and collected. Sort of. Until I coughed as I exhaled.

Phoebe, clearly holding back laughter, grabbed the cigarette and took a short drag before crushing it with her shoe. “You don’t need any more bad habits.”

Ha! As if I would take up smoking. Faeries didn’t smoke. At least none I knew. I jerked my head, signaling Phoebe to follow.

“Link,” I called. The Shih Tzu bounded up next to me, his normally brown eyes glowing gold. “Keep it together, boy,” I soothed. He yelped softly and then put his nose to the ground, intent on the search. “Good boy.”

“Jesus,” Phoebe said under her breath.

I ignored her. Link had saved Phoebe’s ass numerous times. Which more than made up for ruining her favorite ritual robes and her suede boots. Besides, that had been months ago. He was only a puppy, and he was learning.

We strolled along the outer wall of the cemetery, quiet and alert. The only sound came from Link’s insistent sniffing. I slowed when the sticky sensation intensified; I was swimming in it. Link’s nose went into overdrive at the base of a magnolia tree, his tail wagging in excitement. He’d found something.

In unison, we both looked up.

Right there on a lower limb, the vampire sat watching us. I squinted, trying to make out his features, a habit instilled by the Void’s training. Eliminators were sent to eliminate. Mistakes were not tolerated. Always identify the perpetrator before the deathblow. Not that I had any idea who we’d been looking for. Phoebe hadn’t given me the details.

I took a step back, offering her the stage.

Curious thing about my ability—I could sense a vampire within a mile radius if I concentrated. It was the reason I’d been recruited to the Void branch of the Arcane—the government-sanctioned supernatural authority—two years ago. Prior to that, I’d just been Phoebe’s normal faery roommate, spending my days running The Fated Cupcake. Now I was super Willow. Baker by day and badass vampire stalker by night.

Link hovered protectively at my heels. My job was done. Despite having other magical abilities, they weren’t ones that could help Phoebe take down a vampire. Not unless he was a diabetic, anyway. Thank the Fae Lords I had Link and his supernatural abilities to protect me, because if anything went wrong, Phoebe would have her hands full.

Link was already trembling and emitting an amber glow.

Uh-oh.

I crouched, running a soothing hand over his white and gray fur. “It’s okay, boy. Phoebe’s got this.”

“Kind of unoriginal, taking out tourists at Marie Laveau’s tomb, don’t you think?” Phoebe taunted him, taking a step to her left to get a better view of her suspect. “You vamps, always going after the easy marks. Where’s your pride?”

A low chuckle rumbled from the branch.

“Wil, I think our friend finds us amusing.” Phoebe gripped her black agate crystal.

“Just you,” the vamp replied, his voice as deep and gritty as a thirty-year chain-smoker. “She’s interesting, as well as that dog of hers, but I’ve been looking forward to this matchup for some time.”

A grin broke on Phoebe’s profile and her eyes glittered. “Oh, good. A challenge.”

The hooded figure leapt from the branch a second before Phoebe blasted the spot with her sunlight-infused agate. The branch sizzled and, with a deafening crack, landed inches from where Phoebe had been standing.

“Holy fae,” I breathed and took off after Phoebe, who was now sprinting to catch the vampire. She sped up, periodically flashing her agate, trying to stun him. His reflexes proved to be far superior to the average vampire’s, and I suspected this one had been around much longer than most. He alternated back and forth from the tree limbs to the cemetery wall in smooth, graceful movements, deliberately waiting for Phoebe to make a move before leaping.

He was playing with her.

At the end of the cemetery, the vampire turned and looked Phoebe in the eye. “What else you got, witch?”

Phoebe stopped yards ahead of me, her tiny, lithe body seeming to grow a few inches. She lifted her left hand straight out, palm up and shouted, “Siste!”

Her long, glossy black hair fell from its bun, whipping straight back in the windless night.

The power behind the spell rooted me to the path, frozen in a running pose. Link was a few yards ahead of her, suspended in midair, his face scrunched up in a snarl. The vampire’s laughter rang clear as he bounded onto a nearby rooftop and disappeared.

“Fuck!” Phoebe shouted as the power dissipated.

With the spell broken, I lost my balance and fell face-first on the hard brick sidewalk.

Link shot ahead, his little legs never breaking the run. His body shimmered gold before his limbs gave way, expanding until he’d grown to ten times his normal size. Once again in wolf form, he shot out of sight, sprinting after the vampire.

I groaned and rolled over, staring into Phoebe’s exhausted face. “You all right?”

She offered me a hand. “Yeah, but shit. I lost him.”

“How’d he do that?” I’d never seen a vampire manipulate her magic before. “It’s like he blocked it.”

“He deflected the spell, and it hit you and Link instead.” She rubbed her temple. “I don’t know how. I’ll need to do some research.”

I nodded. “I can’t sense him anymore, he must be long gone. We better go find Link before animal control gets him again.” The last time they’d picked him up as a wolf, he’d turned back into a Shih Tzu before I could claim him. The paperwork confusion had been a nightmare.

“You go ahead. I’ll grab the car and catch up.”

“Okay. Be safe. I’ll keep an eye out for you.” Smiling, I flew to the nearest rooftop.

I spotted Link within moments. He was racing around the corner at the end of the street, his white coat gleaming in the moonlight. Had he picked up the vamp’s trail or had Phoebe’s magic sent him into a frenzy? I couldn’t feel the vampire, so it must have been the magic.

Or could I? My limbs were weighted as if the air was heavy, and my lungs had to work harder for oxygen. Something was off, though. It didn’t feel the same as the sticky, swimming death I’d experienced earlier. The sensation pressed lightly and then all at once clung to me.

A vampire was close. Really, really close. But why did it feel so different?

My heart picked up as panic set in. Link was blocks away. Phoebe was in the car somewhere, and I was alone on a roof.

Why had I taken off by myself? Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I glanced around at the half-deserted neighborhood. A stone settled in my gut as recognition dawned. I was on vampire property. In the years after hurricane Katrina, the city had swelled with vampires. Drawn to the despair and lawlessness, the vampire population had more than tripled.

At first, they helped the struggling economy by buying up blocks of decimated homes. Unfortunately, they only rebuilt the one they lived in and left the others to rot. The perfect way to discourage neighbors. Vamps had been known to do a lot worse for privacy.

I scanned the streets for Phoebe’s car or a glimpse of Link. If I could find either of them I’d be fine. The silence grated. Alone on a roof with no cell phone and a vampire lying in wait. Now what?

I stretched my wings, fluttering a few feet off the rooftop. Flying always gave me a sense of control. I couldn’t cover a lot of ground, but I could move pretty quickly if I needed to. Faster than sprinting, anyway.

The sticky sensation stayed with me, but as I flew, the intensity lessened. Maybe he was in the building.

The thought didn’t put me at ease one little bit. Vamps were impossibly fast. If one had spotted me… Link reappeared at the end of the block.

“Finally.” I flexed my wings and shot toward the edge of the building.

“Willow?”

I spun. My wings stilled mid-flutter as pleasure heated my insides. I knew that voice and missed it more than I cared to admit. Managing to land gracefully on shaky legs, I peered through the moonlight. “David?”

He nodded.

Relief washed through my body at the sight of him, uncurling the knot I’d forgotten existed in my stomach. I took a step closer and froze.

Thick honey vampire energy clung to me and it was coming from my ex.

Chapter Two

Of course, when I’d dated him, he’d been human.

When the hell had he turned vamp? I intended to ask just that but blurted, “Where have you been the last three months?”

Crap. Smooth, Willow, real smooth.

Considering he’d unceremoniously dumped me in a text—after a year-long relationship—the last thing I’d wanted to do was make him think I actually cared about his cold, undead ass. Too bad my mouth forgot to consult my brain.

“Why are you here?” David moved closer, his vampirism making my head swim. Death leeched my life force, but the way he looked right then, his familiar, intense, midnight-blue eyes searching mine, I didn’t move back.

“Why are you here?” I demanded, struggling to remain calm. “Did you have anything to do with those poor tourists?”

“Tourists? No.” His steps slowed when I flinched at his now-alarming proximity. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

My chest constricted, making it hard to breathe. The protectiveness in his tone sparked memories I’d just as soon keep buried. Anger quickly filled the ache in my heart. “I’m fine. But you aren’t going to be in a few moments if you don’t start talking.”

“You aren’t supposed to be here.” His elegant brow furrowed in confusion.

My wings twitched in agitation. “Where the hell am I supposed to be?”

“Not here.” He glanced over his shoulder and moved closer.

With one forceful stroke of my wings, I shot straight up out of his path. The cemetery incident had left me too weak to sustain flight, forcing me to land on a nearby dormer. Even though I was above him, I knew I didn’t have the advantage. If he wanted to get to me, he could… and I’d be powerless to stop him.

I studied his pale face, the perpetual tan a thing of the past, his tall body much leaner than it had been. Now his muscles would be corded, reminiscent of a chiseled statue. A trait of all vampires. “Why are you here?” I asked again.

“Wil,” he said softly. “You’ve got to get out of here. You’re in danger.”

“I’m safe enough.” Right. Standing ten feet from a vamp on a roof with Link and Phoebe at street level, I’d never been less safe. But I wasn’t leaving without answers. Damn it, I deserved them. “Answer my question and I’ll go.”

“Still stubborn as a wisteria vine, I see.” He tried to make his tone light, but the strain in his voice gave him away.

I crossed my arms and waited.

He stalked closer, slowly so as to not frighten me, but I recognized the predator he’d become. The history between us didn’t change anything.

“Stop right there.” I put my hand out, palm raised, as if that would actually hold him off.

He glanced up with a wry smile, then suddenly appeared inches from me on the dormer. I hadn’t even seen him move. The physical effects were instantaneous, leaving me trapped by my unfortunate vampire disability. I couldn’t fly in such a weakened condition.

This was bad. Very bad.

“Are you going to answer my question?” I asked, proud my voice held steady.

“So brave,” he said, leaning in, his eyes shining in the moonlight. “One of the things I always loved about you.”

I bristled. “I’d step back if I were you.”

“Or what?” He chuckled. “Gonna force-feed me a Truth Cluster?”

He was making fun of me. Asshole. Heat burned my face, and if I could’ve lifted my arm, I’d have punched him in the gut. Never mind his vampire physique probably would’ve broken my hand. “I might, after Phoebe blasts you with her sun agate.”

He brushed back a lock of my hair, bringing his lips close to my ear and whispered, “I’m not afraid of the witch.”

“You should be,” Phoebe said from behind us, steel in her voice.

David vanished and reappeared behind me, his cold arms wrapped around my middle, crushing my wings between us. The impact knocked the air from my lungs, causing a silent cry of pain. Fiery jabs of tiny pinpricks seared my bare arms where his skin touched mine. My knees buckled, and I concentrated on sucking in air, half hoping I’d go ahead and pass out. Anything other than endure a vampire’s touch.

“Willow can’t protect you from my magic. What I’ve got for you won’t even touch her.” Phoebe inched toward us, one hand on her agate, the other one holding an electric stun gun.

I closed my eyes. The gun meant Phoebe was weakened. The combination of her failed spell and however she’d gotten up on the building had taken a toll.

“Calm down, Phoebs.” David kept me locked in a tight grip. “I’m not here to start anything.”

“Looks like you already have. Let go of Willow, and we’ll see if we can sort this out.” She stopped a few yards from the dormer. “No need to make this messy.”

David’s arms relaxed but he didn’t let go. The debilitating pain lessened just enough for me to regain my balance.

“You don’t have anything on me, witch,” he said, his voice hard. “Back off. I came here to deliver a message.”

“You’re threatening a faery, vampire,” Phoebe shot back. “I don’t need anything else to take you down. This is your last warning. Step away from Willow. Now.”

The tension grew as the two held their ground and glared at each other. This would not end well. David and Phoebe hadn’t really gotten along when David had been human. And vampire David wasn’t scoring himself any points.

A howl rippled through the air, fueling the tension. I lost my cool. “Would you two stop it?” I snapped. “David, let me go.”

He didn’t move.

“David? Can you step back?” I softened my tone, narrowing my eyes at Phoebe in warning. Threatening him right now wouldn’t help. He could crush me in two.

“You need to hear this first,” he whispered so quietly I could barely hear him.

“I’m listening,” I said. His arms fell from mine. But the fire from his touch still burned. It took every ounce of willpower to not wrap my arms around myself in defense. I would not appear weak in front of a vampire. It was too dangerous.

“She said step back.” Phoebe advanced, her agate held high.

David ignored her and tilted his head down until I felt his hot breath on my ear. “You’re in danger. The Cryrique sent me to—”

“Insolate!” Phoebe’s voice drowned out the last of David’s words. Light blinded me, making my eyes water. The vampire energy vanished as David fell. Instantly, my wings kicked in, relief flooding me as only a small amount of pain registered in my left wing. Damn him for bruising my wing. It would take forever to heal.

“Really, Phoebs, was that necessary?” I asked.

“Uh, yes, and a thank you would be nice.” Whipping out her iPhone, she stalked over to where David lay unconscious.

“Who are you calling?”

“The cleanup crew.”

“Oh my God. Is he dead?” I landed and crouched down, placing my hand on his cold chest. No burn. No pain. Nothing. It was like I was touching a piece of marble. “You killed him! Shit, Phoebs. He said the Cryrique sent him and he had to warn me about something.”

“Calm down. He’s not dead. Just knocked out.” Phoebe started talking rapidly into her phone. Another howl drifted from the street.

Link. I took flight, descending to the street and landing at his side. “It’s okay, bud. I’m fine.”

He licked my hand in acceptance, his yellow wolf eyes watching me.

“Come on.” He followed me to Phoebe’s car and climbed in. He’d be safe from animal control while I spoke with her.

A second later, I rejoined her on the roof. “What will the cleanup crew do with him?” I gestured to David, trying not to look at his stone-pale face. A face of death.

“Take him in for questioning and lock him up if they can.” Phoebe peered over the edge of the roof, keeping a lookout for the backup team.

“But he didn’t do anything.” I sat, exhausted. “It’s not his fault vampires affect me the way they do. He doesn’t even know what he did to me. How could he?”

“You’re telling me he didn’t notice the agony he was putting you through?” The expression on her face resembled the one my mom had perfected during my teenage years.

“I don’t think he was focused on my well-being, considering you were threatening him with sunlight.”

“It doesn’t matter. He hurt you.”

I wondered if she was referring to the night’s activity or the emotional turmoil I’d suffered after the breakup.

Phoebe turned with hardened eyes. “And he’s wanted for questioning on another case.”

“What case?” I snapped my head up as my mind whirled. “Wait. You knew David had been turned?”

Phoebe nodded, glancing away.

“When?” I breathed.

“I don’t know. His profile came up early this week as a vampire of interest.” She took my hand and squeezed softly. “Sorry. I was going to tell you. I didn’t get a chance.”

“Do you think…? I mean, he must have been turned against his will, right?” I couldn’t imagine he’d asked for such a thing. He wasn’t the type.

“We’ll find out.” She pulled me to my feet, then handed me the car keys. “Take Link and go on home. I’ve got it from here.”

I fluttered, more than ready to take flight. “You sure?”

Phoebe nodded as sirens filled the air, signaling the arrival of the cleanup crew.

“Okay, but don’t forget to get to the bottom of whatever he was trying to tell me, all right?”

“You got it.”

***

Link, back in his Shih Tzu form, bolted through the door of the Greek Revival townhouse Phoebe and I shared. The instant my feet hit the glossy, wide-planked, oak-wood floors, every tense muscle began to relax.

Home. Finally.

I tugged my suitcase up the narrow flight of stairs as Link yelped from the edge of the landing. “I’m coming, I’m coming. Hold on.”

He spun in circles, unable to contain himself as I pushed my bedroom door open. The pungent odor of stale old house mixed with the fresh, woody scent from the enchanted oak tree. I took a deep breath, reveling in it. My room took up half the entire second floor, and by the state of things, Phoebe hadn’t even cracked a window while I’d been gone.

Too exhausted to care about the dead leaves on the floor, I disappeared into the bathroom. Moments later I reemerged, fluttering up to the bed tucked between the limbs of the old oak. The makeshift elevator designed for Link sprang to life, the old-fashioned pulley system creaking and groaning with his weight. I’d oil it tomorrow, along with the other million things I needed to get caught up on. The bed shifted as Link curled up into a ball next to me. I rested my hand on his soft coat and closed my eyes.

Sleep. I longed for the blissful oblivion. The airplane alone had been enough to take the life out of me. But running into David and then finding out he’d turned vamp was too much.

My eyes filled and hot tears leaked between my closed lids, soaking my pillow. The door I’d slammed shut on our broken relationship had swung wide open, and the pain I hadn’t let myself experience after he’d broken things off came out in the form of gut-wrenching sobs as I mourned for what had been and what never would be again.

David was a vampire. Any hope I’d had about reconciliation—no matter how unrealistic—had been shattered. The realization left a gaping hole in the middle of my heart.

Link burrowed closer and placed a sympathetic paw on my forearm. I wrapped an arm around his tiny body and let the tears lull me into a fitful sleep.

***

Wood splintered, sending me bolting upright from a sound sleep as my door crashed against the wall. Heavy footsteps echoed through the room and Link suddenly shifted, crushing me under one hundred and fifty pounds of wolf weight. He snarled, hackles raised.

“Enough, Link!” Phoebe growled. “And damn it, Willow. Where the fuck is your phone?”

I squinted through the brilliant sunlight, groaning at the ache in my arms and back. Every inch of where David had held me must’ve been bruised. “Good morning to you, too.”

Phoebe snorted, pulling the dead phone out of my purse. “It would have been better if you’d managed to answer one of my phone calls.” She jammed the charger in the outlet, connecting the cell to the end of it. “Get up. You’ve been summoned.”

“Why?” I stretched, giggling when the heavy wolf shifted once again into Shih Tzu form and leaped up to lick my face.

Phoebe frowned, her face pinched in worry. “It’s about David.”

Dread curled in my stomach. “What about him? Is he all right?” I picked up Link, fluttered my wings, and landed softly in front of Phoebe.

She let out a short bark of laughter. “Yeah, he’s fine. Better than fine. The bastard cut himself one hell of a deal. Hurry, they’re waiting for us.” She spun and stalked out.

“What deal?” I cried.

Phoebe yelled back something incoherent, and a second later the front door slammed.

I stared at Link. “This is not how I planned to start my day.”

Chapter Three

“For the last time, tell me what kind of deal David made,” I demanded.

Phoebe pulled into the narrow garage of the seemingly abandoned brick warehouse and parked. The Arcane kept their headquarters hidden. If anyone went looking for them, they’d never expect the most powerful branch of the government to be housed in the deteriorating structure one block from the Mississippi in the Irish Channel.

“No.” Phoebe shook her head. “If Maude finds out I bugged him, the shit’s gonna fly. Better it comes from her.”

I climbed out of the car. Link yelped, barely escaping without losing a paw as I slammed the door in frustration. He glared at me with accusing eyes.

“Sorry, buddy,” I cooed and picked him up, running a hand over his silky fur. He closed his mouth, his bottom teeth protruding. Clearly, I wasn’t forgiven.

I kissed the top of his head, set him down, and then fell in step with Phoebe. “How did you get the bug past security?”

She grinned. “I’ve been experimenting with a few charms while you’ve been gone.”

“You’re going to piss off the wrong person one of these days.”

“I’m not worried. Just wait until you see what I’ve worked up.”

I snorted. “You’re an awfully cocky witch. I wouldn’t underestimate Maude if I were you. Our power may be more subtle, but faeries generally rank higher on the magic scale than witches do.”

Phoebe’s mahogany eyes gleamed. “I know. That’s what I’m counting on.”

Frowning, I waited while Phoebe passed through security. What kind of crazy plan had she cooked up?

Once Phoebe was cleared, the security scanner flashed green, ready for its next victim. I took a deep breath, tensed, and forced myself into the glass booth, Link by my side. Tension engulfed me, slowly squeezing the air from my lungs. The familiar panic set in, making me struggle to not gasp.

I willed myself to calm down. It’s not like I hadn’t done this dozens of times before. Everything was going to be fine.

Right, because electrodes stripping away my layers of magic was the perfect way to start the day.

Please don’t let this machine short-circuit my brain. I was going to need some form of intelligence, because despite Phoebe’s incessant pestering, I had yet to make it to a single defense class. Tomorrow. Definitely tomorrow.

The security scan heightened and sucked away the last dregs of my magic. The sense of loss and vulnerability left me hollow, uncomfortable in my own skin. Why the hell did I put up with this nonsense? I didn’t need to work for the Arcane. I ran a successful bakery, a place where my magic could truly shine. I was good at it, damn it. And Maude didn’t have any control over me there. Mostly.

The glass doors opened, and I stumbled out. Link followed in a clumsy daze. The security scan had temporarily neutralized his wolf-shifting abilities. The pair of us joined Phoebe, her face white from her own trip through security.

“Let’s get this over with.” I took off, marching to the director’s office. The sooner I got out of there, the better.

The receptionist’s desk was unoccupied, and the usually closed door was slightly ajar. I hesitated for a second, then gave one sharp rap before entering.

Maude Jenkins, the director of the Void branch, glanced up, her sharp, angular features set in a scowl. Her mood matched the severe bun coiled tightly on her head and the gloomy gray pantsuit. “Agent Rhoswen, you’re late. I do not enjoy being kept waiting.”

I stiffened, hiding a scowl of my own. I’d signed on to work for the Arcane under a different director. If I’d known my spiteful aunt was in line to take over, I never would have signed the paperwork. And I sure as shit wouldn’t have committed to five years.

Two years, eleven months, and twelve days, I reminded myself. Unless I got lucky and dear old Auntie was promoted again. Or better yet, offed by one of her many enemies.

A pang for my mother rippled through me. Maude hadn’t always been a first-class bitch. She and my mom had grown up the best of friends. When Beau and I were young, she’d visited often, winning Beau’s affection after she’d brought him a fae chemistry set, complete with beginning water spells. Then, shortly after he’d died, she’d changed. Become obsessed with the Void and turned into someone none of us recognized.

I carefully arranged my expression to match my bored tone. “I wasn’t aware I had an appointment.”

Maude’s inky black wings flared in irritation, a stark contrast to my own pale, ice-blue ones. Her eyes hardened. “Do not act as if you’re doing us a favor, agent. You are paid very well for minimal service. If I require your presence, you will make yourself available. Your contract sees to that.”

I swallowed the snarky reply poised on my tongue. That damned contract. Stupidly, I hadn’t realized I’d magically bound myself to the Arcane when I’d signed it. Phoebe’s voice rang in my head. You don’t walk away from the Arcane, Willow. Think carefully before you commit.

One couldn’t break a magically bound contract. Not without dying first.

“Of course, Director.” I kept my face blank.

“Take care to remember that.” She cut her gaze to Phoebe. “Close the door, Agent Kilsen.”

Phoebe did as she was told and sat, nodding to me to settle in the adjoining chair. I hesitated, loath to show submission. The director’s eyes seared through me, the force of her will almost pressing me into the chair.

Damned fae! I despised the use of magical persuasion, a gift especially strong in female faeries. I fought the magic just long enough to prove I could. Then, with a pointed stare, I took my seat next to Phoebe. “What can I do for you this morning, Director?”

Maude stretched her wings wider and then slowly retracted them as she eased back into her chair.

I did a mental eye roll at the display of dominance. My aunt already had the advantage. High-ranking Arcane officials weren’t subject to magical paralysis in their home offices.

The director leveled her gaze. “Effective immediately, you are suspended from agent Kilsen’s service.”

“But—”

“Recent events have rendered you a liability. Instead, you will work with a double agent, gathering intel on Cryrique.”

My limbs went ice-cold with shock, but I kept my face impassive. I didn’t want to give Maude any indication the mob-like vampire corporation terrified me. The company unofficially controlled almost everything in New Orleans… except the Void. Was my aunt insane? I most definitely hadn’t been trained for the spy business.

Did Phoebe know about this? Her cool expression implied she did. Would it have been so hard to warn me? Freakin’ Phoebe. What was she up to?

I focused on Maude. “A liability? Does this have to do with the cemetery? Because that had everything to do with spending the day in an airplane. You, of all people, should know what being enclosed in metal can do to an earth faery.”

“Do not insult me, Rhoswen. While your actions highlighted your pathetic lack of training, I’d hardly waste energy rearranging your life because of it.”

Anger bubbled in my throat. Swallowing, I choked it down. What did I ever do to deserve this disdain? Just because I’d joined the Void without going through the proper channels didn’t mean I wasn’t good at my job. It was no secret Maude resented shortcuts. Never mind I possessed a skill so rare no one believed it possible.

My record stood for itself. How many agents would’ve been killed had I not been there to warn them? My talent made the Void safer, kept Phoebe safe, and I’d be damned if I lost someone else I loved when I could do something about it. Spending three years at the academy was out of the question. I hadn’t wanted to devote my entire life to the Void. I had a shop I loved, but I couldn’t ignore my ability either. We’d struck a deal. I’d go on runs, warn the agents of nearby vamps, and then stay the heck out of the way. No academy training needed.

“What about Phoebe?” I asked. “You can’t leave her without backup.”

“That is not your concern.” Maude didn’t bother to hide her disgust. “A seasoned agent would be more concerned about her new assignment.”

“I imagine I’ll be given my new orders before I leave,” I said reasonably. “I’m just looking out for my partner.”

Maude raised one brow as she smirked. “At least you’re loyal. To put you at ease, her new partner will be in place by the end of the week.” She passed a packet across her desk. “Here are the details of your new assignment. Be here at sunset to pick up your shadow agent. I expect an update every forty-eight hours until I say otherwise.”

Staring at the packet as though it was tainted with flesh-eating bacteria, I kept my hands clenched in my lap.

Maude pressed a button on her intercom. “I’m ready for my next appointment.” She didn’t even look up when she addressed us again. “You’re excused.”

What exactly was a shadow agent? The finality of Maude’s tone, mixed with her obvious contempt, kept my mouth clamped shut. I’d rather have my wings plucked out than admit my cluelessness. I grabbed the envelope and shoved it in my purse.

Phoebe and I left without another word, Link at my heels.

“What just happened?” I asked Phoebe once we made it back to the lobby. The two guards ignored us, both standing straight with their hands clamped behind their backs.

“You just got into a pissing match with our boss. Our boss who is a spiteful, dangerous faery.”

Faeries had a bad reputation for holding grudges. “Please. She doesn’t scare me.”

Phoebe stopped, turning to face me. “She should. Do you think she became a director by kissing babies or baking cupcakes for a living?”

I bristled. “That was low, Phoebs. Really low.”

“You need to take her seriously. I know she’s bitchy to you, but damn, Willow. She’s good at her job. Making an enemy of her isn’t doing you any favors.”

The sun peeked out from behind a deteriorating building, making me squint as I studied my friend. A small crease etched her brow and tension filled her face. Under my scrutiny, her expression cleared, erasing any hint of frustration. She was an expert at hiding her emotions when she wanted to.

“Make an enemy of her?” I scowled. “You know our history. You think anything I do now is going to make it worse?” Shaking my head, I stalked toward the door. “Whatever. I’ve got to get to work. Come on, Link.”

“Shit,” Phoebe muttered behind me. A moment later she caught up to me on the sidewalk. “Let me give you a ride to the shop.”

“No need. We’ll walk.”

“Wil, you know this neighborhood isn’t safe. Don’t be stubborn.”

Phoebe was right. The streets surrounding headquarters housed some of the most notorious human crime lords in the city. The Arcane chose the building for a reason. The more foreboding an area, the less chance of prying eyes. If an agent was too weak to fend off mere humans, no matter how dangerous, they shouldn’t be working for the Arcane. Especially the Void branch.

“I have Link. In the unlikely event any thugs are up this early, he’ll have no problem taking them out.” He’d already be able to shift. The security scan didn’t affect him as long as it did the rest of us.

Before she could argue, I strode off, Link running beside me. I stretched my wings, deliberately expanding them wide. If anyone was watching, there would be no mistaking who and what I was. Enemies of the Arcane were usually eliminated. It didn’t hurt to let people know which side I was on.

***

By the time I made it to The Fated Cupcake in Uptown, sweat ran down my back and my tank top clung to my sticky body. Ick. Why hadn’t I just accepted the air-conditioned ride? I could give a cold shoulder with the best of them, especially in climate control.

In spite of the sticky morning heat, I took a moment to savor the sight of my shop. The windows gleamed and employees bustled inside. A fair number of patrons scurried in and out of the plate-glass doors. Sure, it wasn’t a top-secret government paranormal protection agency, but what I did for a living made people smile. That was important, no matter how insignificant Phoebe made me feel sometimes.

Link gave a small yip as he rounded the corner, heading for the side entrance. I followed, a smile finally breaking through my irritation as I let him into my private office. The chilled air caused goose bumps to form over my thin wings, but the shiver came from the tantalizing smell of chocolate mixed with citrus-tinged magic. Now I was home.

I tossed the new assignment packet on my neatly organized desk and stared at it. Curiosity, tainted with a heavy dose of resentment, formed deep in my gut.

Double agent? I had zero training in that department, and my loving Auntie Maude knew it. And what did David—handsome, easygoing, freshly-turned-vampire David—have to do with it? I’d completely forgotten to inquire about his deal. What did the Void want with a vampire anyway?

A shudder crawled up my spine. Having my life drained from me would be worse than final death. As a faery that thrived on life magic, I couldn’t imagine anything worse than turning vamp.

The innocent-looking file sat in the middle of my desk, taunting me as my curiosity grew. I’d have to read it sooner or later. Better to give myself some time to process before meeting my new partner. The brass tabs on the flap pinched my fingers as I pried them back.

“Willow!” my assistant squealed as she burst in. “Thank goodness. I heard movement in here, and for a second there, I thought someone broke in to use your phone again.”

I’d put a strict ban on cell phones not long after I’d opened the shop. Mostly because the technology interfered with my magic. Not having to deal with constant employee cell-phone abuse was icing on the cake. Since my private line didn’t register with the main phone system when in use, some of the employees didn’t hesitate to invade my personal space.

“Since when does the morning crew sneak away for private phone calls?” I grinned. Em and Georgie—sisters well into their fifties—were both somewhat phone-phobic. We could barely get them to answer business calls.

Tami laughed, her chin-length, curly black hair bouncing with the motion. “Never. The added pressure must be frying my brain.” She ran over, throwing her arms around me. “I’m so glad you’re finally back. How’s your mom? And Talisen? Did you get a chance to experiment with any new magical herbs?”

“The short answers are: better, hotter than ever, and yes. I can’t wait to get back into the lab.” While I’d kept Mom’s herb shop running, I’d also worked on some new recipes, except for when I was hanging with Tal, staring into his gorgeous green eyes. The ones I tried not to drown in every time I saw him.

“You have that look again,” Tami accused.

“What look?”

“The one where your cheeks flush and your eyes go all moony.” She winked and pulled on my arm. “Come on, you have to see the progress Georgie made on the mural.”

Laughing, I dropped the envelope I’d been holding into the top drawer of my desk and allowed myself to be tugged out of the office, leaving Link snuggled against a blanket on his doggie bed.

Chapter Four

“Someone’s been hitting the Molten Muse awfully hard since I’ve been gone,” I declared, eyeing my employee.

“What?” Georgie’s face soured in righteous indignation. She scanned her slim, athletic body as if assessing it for the first time. “I beg your pardon. For every Molten Muse I consumed, I spent twenty minutes extra at the gym.”

“No wonder you have the body most thirty-year-olds weep for.” Amused, I tilted my head toward the wall. “I was referring to your amazing progress on the mural.”

On the wall opposite the display cases, Georgie’s unfinished whimsical depiction of The Fated Cupcake and two neighboring shops filled the space from floor to ceiling. A pair of college students sat at a sidewalk table, sipping Perk Me Up caramel milkshakes. Nearby a faery and fae fed each other a slice of Light My Fire spice cake.

I ran my fingers along the outline of a musician carrying a box of Molten Muse cupcakes—the store’s most popular seller. What else would you expect in a city dominated by creative types? Why wait for inspiration when a Molten Muse would do the trick in five minutes flat?

“Oh, Georgie, it’s just gorgeous. I love it.” I beamed. “Have as many Molten Muse cupcakes as you can stand, and when it’s done, I’ll whip you up a truckload of Willpower mints.”

“You’re going to have to come up with an addiction-buster creation to kick that habit,” Em, the fourth member of our day-shift team, quipped from behind us.

Tami hid a giggle as Georgie twisted around, glaring. “Glass houses and all that, little sister.”

“I’m not the one obsessed with the scale. So what if I’m a little fluffy? Pete isn’t going anywhere.” Em replaced an empty tray of Desire Dollops with a full one, winked, and disappeared into the back.

“I swear, she thinks all there is to life is getting and keeping a man,” Georgie said.

Tami flashed a wicked smile. “Isn’t it?”

Georgie rolled her eyes and turned her attention to a young man entering the shop. “What can I get for you today?”

Tami and I laughed and disappeared into the lab—my sanctuary. Custom-made shelves, integrated with growing lights and a complicated irrigation system, lined the walls along with various plants. I’d magically enhanced as many of them as I could before I’d left for California two months before. After an eight-week absence, the store was bound to be running low on some crucial ingredients. Sure, my exclusive recipes tasted divine, but that wasn’t what kept my clients coming back every week. Other shops in town sold tasty, enhanced edibles. But The Fated Cupcake had the best reputation, and I intended to keep it that way.

“Give me the bad news.” I grabbed my apron. “I know I have a ton of work ahead of me.”

Tami pointed to a long list pinned to the corkboard, her face pinched in sympathy. “It’s a good thing you came home when you did. We’ve been out of a couple of things for a few days now.”

“Okay, I’ll get right to work on it.” I took a deep breath, letting the life of my plants settle around me. The door made a soft click as Tami slipped back into the bakery.

The energy was different here than it was in Eureka, the northern California coastal town I’d grown up in. Mom’s shop was comfortable, but this felt like home. My lab radiated with an echo of my creative energy and felt right in a way no other place did. Working here brought me a sense of peace I hadn’t known since my brother died four years ago.

An aching loss squeezed my heart.

Remember to breathe.

Deep breath in, deep breath out. I concentrated on the calming motion until my pulse returned to normal. Only a few seconds this time. I was getting better at that.

I glanced at the corkboard, scanned the list, and then pulled a pair of mature wisteria plants onto my infusion island. With one hand on each plant, I closed my eyes, letting the life of the plant flow into my being. The sweet fragrance invaded my senses, making me almost drunk on its perfume. Nothing smelled as heavenly as wisteria. Just before I felt the last bit of energy leave the plants, I reversed the process, forcing my citrus-tinged magic back into the wilted vines. The blooms sprang to life, spreading their delicate flowers. I smiled, pleased with myself.

Carefully, I placed the plants in the augmented section and pulled a large pot of lavender. I hated the scent of lavender, but the herb was one of the best for Kiss Me chocolates. Once chemically altered by the Kiss Me recipe, the ingredient was virtually impossible to identify, thankfully, otherwise I didn’t think I could stand to offer the dang things. Which would be unfortunate, since they turned a huge profit.

Gritting my teeth, I wished I could take a Smell Be Gone tablet, but hindering my abilities would defeat the purpose.

Just get it over with.

Taking another deep breath, I placed my hands on the innocent plant and braced myself for the memories I knew would come. They always did.

The vibrant yet delicate energy from the lavender hit me full force, the scent almost buckling my knees as the sweetness turned fetid, tinged with death. Beau’s gutted image filled my mind, his unseeing eyes staring past me.

I shuddered, straining to maintain the flowing life force. The painful memories almost overtook me, but I shut them out of my mind and forced my magic into the plant. Slowly, the distinct lavender scent dissipated as my citrus signature masked it.

Shaking, I put the plant next to the wisteria and waited for the pain slicing my heart to fade. I’d never forget the horror of finding Beau butchered in our mother’s lavender fields, alone and left for dead. Clutching the counter, my nails pressed against the stainless steel until one of them snapped. I barely even noticed.

Four years later, and the case was still unsolved. I’d promised my mother I’d find the truth, even if the search took the rest of my life.

I probably could’ve found a suitable substitute for the Kiss Me recipe. My self-inflicted torture wasn’t necessary. But reliving Beau’s death kept the promise fresh in my mind, right where I intended it to stay.

“Willow?”

“Huh?” I started at the intrusion. No one ever dared bother me when I was augmenting plants. Not since the day I’d been interrupted in the middle of an alteration and lost a whole row of mature plants. My wrath had been enough keep the staff away permanently.

“Sorry! I wouldn’t interrupt, but…” Georgie held up a thick ivory envelope scrawled with calligraphy and sealed with wax.

“Mother of demons,” I whispered. “What does the Cryrique want?”

Georgie’s face paled. Her voice shook. “The guy bought three dozen Orange Influence chocolates before he handed me the envelope.”

“What? How the hell—”

“He had a permit!” Georgie yelped, backing up. Tears glistened in her wide eyes. “He did. I checked it, ran the number and everything.”

“It’s okay,” I said, trying for calm. Orange Influence contained a highly controlled substance, very effective in forcing people to do things against their will. Special permits were required for purchases, usually only given out to law enforcement and research labs. But vampires were never given permits. Never.

“It’s not your fault.” I sighed. “We’ve got to get a line on the messenger. We need to find out who he’s working for. If he’s got a connection to vampires…” I didn’t finish the thought. It was too horrible to even contemplate. I stuffed the message in my back pocket and guided Georgie out of the lab.

“Can you make a sketch of what he looks like?” I asked.

“Yes, but he looked like his picture.”

“I’m sure he did, however I’d like the details of a full sketch. With a license we only get a head shot.”

“In color?”

“Yes, please.” I touched Georgie’s arm. “Thank you.”

Some of the tension in the older woman’s shoulders eased, but the strain didn’t leave her face. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m happy to help.” She shivered as her frown deepened. “Vampires… with Orange Influence.”

“I know, Georgie, I know. I’m pulling the order and license and calling this in right away.” Anger flowed through my veins at the thought my magic could be used against an innocent. Please let this all be a mix-up.

Maybe someone on the street had handed the message to the guy as he walked in, and he wasn’t carrying the chocolate wedges off to Frenchman Street and into vampire hands. Gods, I hoped that was true. “Bring the sketch to my office as soon as you’re done, but don’t rush. Accuracy is more important.”

***

I fingered the thick, weighted envelope, grimacing at the blood-red wax seal. I supposed the old ones felt nostalgia for social etiquette of times past. But seriously? They carried iPhones just like everyone else. What was wrong with a phone call or an email? Of course, modern methods wouldn’t have been as dramatic.

Damn vampires.

I grabbed my antique silver letter opener and carefully broke the seal, trying not to alter it any more than necessary. If there were any lingering energy traces, I might need them later.

One elegant line was scrawled across the textured stationery.

Your honored presence is required at eight o’clock tonight at The Red Door.

Required, not requested. It wasn’t an invitation. It was a summons. And not one I could likely ignore. The Cryrique held political clout in the city. Pissing them off would only put me out of business.

Did this have anything to do with the Influence drug? My stomach turned. I was the only one in the city powerful enough to enhance the plants needed to create the narcotic. If they wanted an inside track, I was the logical choice. And the most obvious.

The phone rang, startling me out of my worried haze, and the note slipped from my fingers, landing on the desk.

Hopefully it was Phoebe with information on the messenger. I’d faxed the details to her a half hour ago.

I picked up the old-fashioned rotary phone. “The Fated Cupcake.”

“Ms. Rhoswen, you got my note, I presume,” a southern gentleman’s voice drawled.

My heart stopped. “Who is this?” I asked through clenched teeth.

He chuckled softly. “I understand you have something of mine.”

“I can’t imagine what that would be.” What the hell was he talking about?

“Not a what, a who, Ms. Rhoswen. Bring Davidson with you this evening. I look forward to our new friendship.” The line went dead with the unmistakable clatter of a phone coming to rest in its cradle. No iPhone for this vampire.

Davidson? David?

Why would the Cryrique think I had David? Phoebe said he’d cut a deal. He should’ve been home by now.

He cut a deal. Oh no…

With everything going on, I’d completely forgotten about my new assignment with the double agent. I yanked the legal envelope open and stared at the name of my new partner.

Davidson Laveaux.

“F’ing Maude!” I shrieked. With a start, Link jumped from a sound sleep, growling, his eyes glowing gold as he scanned for intruders.

“Sorry, boy. It’s okay. No one’s here but me.”

Link paced, responding to the anger in my voice.

I scanned the document, finding the classification. Sensitive: twenty-four hour detail. The Void wasn’t messing around. Whatever they were after, they meant business.

“Damn it all. How in the world am I going to spend twenty-four hours a day with a vampire?” A vampire who’d seen me naked on several occasions. I slumped in my chair, wishing I could turn the clock back thirty-six hours. Even if it meant being back in my mother’s house.

Heaving a sigh, I returned my attention to the file. What did David have to offer as a double agent, and why did Maude put me on the case? My only notable skill was locating vampires.

Then I turned the page and found my answer. Vampire Laveaux overheard a plot to abduct Agent Rhoswen. Reason unknown.

Chapter Five

I closed my eyes, fighting for control. So that’s what David meant when he’d said I was in danger. Damn Maude for letting me read the news in a freaking assignment report. The rasp of paper crumbling filled the room as I clenched my fingers around the directive.

“Rough day?” Phoebe asked.

I spun to find my roommate leaning against the doorframe. She’d morphed into Reese Witherspoon, à la Legally Blonde: long, slightly curled blond hair, a pink business suit, and perfectly manicured nails. I scowled. “You look ridiculous.”

“It got the job done. I now have a new informant with close ties to the mayor.” When I didn’t answer, she strode into the room and lounged in the chair on the other side of my desk. “You’re not still mad, are you?”

Her nonchalant attitude made my blood pressure rise. “Did you get my email?” My words came out clipped. Of course I was still mad. My best friend had insulted me and taken Maude’s side.

Phoebe nodded, ignoring the tension in the room. “I’ve got someone working on it. You really think the vamps are after Influence?”

Rolling my shoulders, I stifled a sigh and slumped back into my chair. “I’m not sure, but better safe than sorry at this point. Any chance we can speed up the background check?”

She shrugged. “It isn’t considered a priority, but I can call in a favor if you’re that worried about it.”

I sat up straight. “Not a priority? To who? Vampires may be using Influence. Influence I created. It’s a pretty damn big priority to me and any potential victims.”

Phoebe studied me for a moment, then tapped a message on her phone. “I know you’re upset, and I’m still at the top of your shit list, but something else is bothering you. What’s going on?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it has something to do with being forced to spend all my days and nights with a vampire for God knows how long.” And being at the top of some vampire’s most-wanted list.

“Not all vampires are criminals, Wil.”

“Look at you, being all politically correct. When’s the last time you befriended one?”

She shrugged. “I have vampire friends.”

I snorted in disbelief. “You have vampire contacts. And you haven’t slept with any of them.”

“That’s true.” Her phone beeped. She scanned the message and then typed a short response. “We won’t have info on your messenger until tomorrow morning. The tech working the case said the Influence registrar didn’t get back to him and now the office is closed for the day.”

“Perfect,” I said, my voice flat.

“Wil,” Phoebe said carefully, softening her voice. “I’m sorry about this morning and for letting Maude blindside you. I was worried you’d go in full steam and rail against her. Which I’m not denying I’d love to see, but today I needed you levelheaded. Or at least as levelheaded as you can be around your aunt.”

Her tone, more than the words, got my attention. I exhaled as the pent-up tension faded away. “I’m sorry, too. You were only doing your job. I wasn’t even mad anymore by the time Link and I got here. But after I got that phone call and read about my new assignment, the anger came rushing back.”

One dark eyebrow rose. “Phone call?”

“F’ing vamps.” I hadn’t filled Phoebe in on the details. “I got a letter and then a phone call.”

After I recounted the day’s events, Phoebe sat back, looking thoughtful. “If the messenger does work for the vamps, then picking up the Influence was pretty damn sloppy if they intend to keep buying it from you. Did you check the buyer’s history?”

I nodded. “He’s been in a couple of times before. Both were months ago. You’re right, though. If he’s aligned with the vamps, he just fucked up royally. But there’s a bigger game being played here, and I have a feeling the Orange Influence is only part of it.”

Phoebe nodded. “I agree. Let’s form a game plan for your meeting with the Cryrique tonight. There’s no way I’m letting you go to the fang den without backup.”

“I’ll have David.”

Phoebe rolled her eyes. “Right, ’cause that’s comforting.”

“You think they’ll let you in uninvited?”

“Hell yes, I’ll get in.” Her face scrunched up in righteous indignation. She placed a hand over her heart and leaned back. “Your lack of confidence pains me.”

***

The Arcane building cast long shadows as the sun set on the city. I didn’t even see David until Phoebe stopped the car and he appeared in front of us. His unnatural vampire energy settled on my skin. Ugh. How long would it take to get used to the heavy sensation always coating my aura? A few days, weeks? Never?

He stared at us, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips.

“You know you can’t smoke that around me,” I reminded him, trying but failing to keep the judgment from my tone. He’d never smoked before. Aside from smelling like a rank fire pit, cigarettes had zero consequences now that he was immortal. But they did affect me. My lungs constricted in protest at the mere thought of breathing the foul pollutant.

Rolling the tobacco stick between two fingers, he sent me a self-satisfied smile. “Even unlit, I knew you couldn’t resist chastising me.”

I bit my tongue to keep from engaging him again. Smug bastard.

“We have places to be. Get in,” Phoebe ordered.

He didn’t move from his spot against the brick building. “Which one of you is going to contain the wolf?”

“How did he know?” I asked Phoebe. No one outside of the Void was supposed to know about Link’s true nature. He’d never shifted in front of David before. There’d been no reason to. David had been mortal. The Shih Tzu snarled silently, pressing his little body against the privacy-tinted window.

“Smell, most likely.” Phoebe reached back, grabbed Link, and handed him to me. He flailed, trying to break free.

“Calm down, Link,” I soothed, running my hand down his back until he lay in my lap. “Good boy.” I sent David a calculating look. “I’ve got him. Get in and start talking.”

David strode around to Phoebe’s side and slid in behind her.

Link growled and pressed forward. I barely caught him, my arms weak from David’s vampire energy weighing against them. Link lay on the center console, his face sandwiched between the seats, teeth bared.

“He doesn’t like you very much,” I said.

“He’s not the only one,” Phoebe said.

I ignored her. “Answers, David. Now, or I’ll let Link change.”

He shot me an amused look of disbelief. Under any other circumstances his skepticism would be spot on, but today had been a very bad day, and my body was still sore from the night before. It wouldn’t take much for me to turn Link loose.

“I mean it, Laveaux. If we’re going to be partners, I want to know everything. Who’s after me, and when and where did you hear about it?”

“I didn’t plan to keep anything from you, Willow.” A faint crease of worry touched his brow. If I hadn’t been studying him, I might have missed it.

Did he really care what happened to me? That’s stupid. Of course he cares. We dated for over a year. He turned into a vampire, not a monster. But just because he doesn’t want to see you dead doesn’t mean he wants you.

The thought brought on a rush of painful memories. I pushed them aside, resolve hardening my heart.

He sighed, the human gesture looking very out of place on his now-chiseled features. Vampires didn’t sigh. They didn’t even need to breathe. “I don’t know who. One of my boss’s contacts informed him of a plan to abduct you. I overheard the conversation and wanted to warn you.”

I leaned back against the window, my brows furrowed in confusion. “But you were surprised to see me last night. What were you doing there?”

“Looking for Phoebe. I was going to tell her.”

“And you just happened to know where I was going to be?” Phoebe asked “Yeah, right. Sounds suspicious, Laveaux.”

David’s intense gaze bored into mine, and for a moment I wondered if he’d even heard Phoebe. “I didn’t know where she would be,” he said to me. “I was on my way to your house when I saw her car. Then I saw you sitting against the oak with your suitcase like you were checking into the cemetery. I was going to meet you at your house, but then you went tearing off onto a rooftop. I couldn’t leave you there by yourself. Don’t you understand?” He paused and leaned forward. “Your life’s in danger.”

The concern in his voice brought fresh tears to my eyes. I blinked them back. When had I turned into such a blubbering idiot? “I’m an agent of the Void. I can take care of myself.”

“Sure, after you let the cemetery drain your energy. And then were almost taken out by a master vampire. Yeah, you looked like you were doing fine.”

Smart-ass. Who was he to judge? Suddenly a question I’d been holding back came rushing out. “Why did you volunteer to be a double agent against the Cryrique? That’s a good way to get dead… I mean really dead.”

“I can handle it.”

“The same way you handled not getting turned?” I said it to piss him off, anger bubbling in my chest at the way he dismissed my concerns. He’d left, and now he wanted to protect me—and worse, spend twenty-four hours a day together for however long I was stuck with him. And he couldn’t even do me the courtesy of acknowledging the danger he’d put himself in on my behalf.

Sadness clouded his midnight-blue eyes. “It was my choice, Wil. I asked to be turned.”

His words silenced me. He’d asked to be turned. How? Why? He couldn’t have. Not my David. Sweet, gentle, always-there-for-me David. My mouth worked as I tried to form words. Finally I spit out, “When?”

He turned, staring out the window.

“David?” I whispered.

Phoebe glanced at me, her eyes wide with curiosity. I clutched Link and waited. When it became clear he wasn’t going to answer, I switched gears. “Do you think someone at Cryrique is after me? Is that why you turned double agent?”

Slowly, he turned toward me and shook his head. “I don’t think so. But they’re interested in you, otherwise why would they care? Vampires don’t usually involve themselves in other races’ business. The only way I could make sure you were safe was to get the Void to let me be your partner, and the only way to do that was to turn double agent.”

“And to save yourself from a murder rap,” Phoebe added.

“What?” I cried.

“I didn’t kill anybody, Phoebe, and you know it. The Void would never let me in if they thought I did.”

She didn’t look convinced. We both knew Maude was known to not only push boundaries, but to erase them altogether to get what she wanted. When I’d accidentally discovered the Influence formula—one I didn’t want to pursue—Maude learned of it and forced me into producing the stuff. She’d threatened to take the formula to a competitor, where I’d have no control over who used the dangerous concoction. I hated her for it. All my instincts said this situation had Maude’s greed written all over it.

David couldn’t be a killer, could he? My stomach rolled. I snuck a glance at him. Impossible. The muscle pulsing in his jaw radiated with righteous indignation like it always did when Phoebe suggested something outrageous. Relief swept through me. Part of my David still remained inside his new persona.

“Have you eaten?” I asked, trying to appear normal. As if asking my ex if he needed blood was any kind of normal.

David flinched.

“What? You have to eat, and we have somewhere to be in an hour. We need to know if we’ll have to stop for you to feed.”

Phoebe parked the car in front of our house and twisted. “Well, do you?”

“No. I’m fine.”

“Good,” she said. “We don’t have time anyway.”

“Where’s he going to sleep?” I asked Phoebe as we all filed out of the car.

“Somewhere with no windows.” She unlocked the front door and deposited her bag on a distressed side table in the entryway.

“We don’t have any rooms without windows. You’ll have to charm one of them.” I eyed David, who stared warily at Link. He’d started snarling again as soon as the vampire entered the house.

“Link, that’s enough! Go.” I pointed toward the stairs leading to the second floor.

The Shih Tzu shot me a look of disgust and quit growling, but didn’t move. I sighed. It was progress.

“Sure we do,” Phoebe called from the hallway.

“Huh?”

“We have a windowless room. It’s upstairs.”

“No we… Crap! You mean my walk-in closet?”

“That’s the one,” she quipped.

“Oh, no. David isn’t staying in my room. What would I do with all my clothes?”

“Your closet isn’t exactly your room,” Phoebe reasoned as she walked back into the living room carrying a handful of defense charms.

“But he has to walk through my room to get to it.” I folded my arms over my chest. “It isn’t practical.”

Phoebe opened her mouth to reply, but David interrupted by clearing his throat.

“What?” we said at the same time.

“Since I sleep during the day, it shouldn’t be a problem if I occupy your closet. If you don’t mind, of course. I would feel much more comfortable there than in a room that has windows… even if they are charmed to block light.”

Phoebe grinned. “Don’t trust me, huh? Smart vampire.”

“Trust isn’t the issue. Spells and wards can be broken. I’d prefer to not be caught unaware, especially since I’m now in a volatile situation.” He caught my eye and waited.

I threw my hands up. “Fine. But you’re going to buy me one of those freestanding closets in the meantime.”

David nodded his assent.

Phoebe laughed, then sobered as she checked her watch. “We’ve got a meeting to plan for.”

***

“This way,” David said, leading me past a line of patrons waiting to get inside The Red Door—the most famous vampire jazz club on Frenchmen Street.

I followed, keeping my distance. It was one thing to go to the meeting together; it was entirely another to act friendly about it. He was a vampire, after all.

Vampires. What was I doing here? Unease ran through my limbs, making me fidget with the glass bracelet I wore on my wrist. Through my worry, I barely noticed David’s vampire energy. I paused. Why didn’t I feel as though I were underwater? David was right in front of me, and the club had to contain at least one other vampire—the one we were meeting. Was David’s proximity dulling my senses? God. What else was going to go wrong?

David nodded to the bouncer and we walked in unchecked.

“Huh,” I mused, trying to put everything else out of my mind. “The door isn’t red, after all.”

“You’ve never been here?”

I shook my head. Vampires never caused trouble on Frenchmen Street. The profits from tourists ensured humans were kept safe. Phoebe and I’d never had a reason to work in the area.

“The club is named for a state of being, not the color of the door.”

“Good thing, since it’s blue.” I wanted to ask what he meant by “a state of being,” but the band kicked in, and I didn’t want to yell. Instead, David led the way to a secluded table in the back.

“Now what?” I shouted.

“We wait.”

I sat, scanning the smoke-filled room for Phoebe, but I didn’t see her anywhere. Of course, she had to be disguised. She could be a middle-aged chain-smoker with blue eye shadow downing scotch. Unless I looked carefully, I’d never know.

Besides, I had Phoebe’s new magically enhanced bug—a sterling silver brooch in the shape of a beetle—in my pocket. Somehow it transmitted everything it heard to another beetle, and Phoebe assured me whatever happened, she’d know about it. It was the same one she’d planted on David when she’d taken him in for questioning. Since he was knocked out, they hadn’t forced him through the security radar. They’d let Phoebe search him. That was how she’d known about his deal.

Please let her be close by. Tension pulsed through my core in time with the bass. I longed for a couple of shots of my magically enhanced spiced rum. The mundane stuff wasn’t nearly strong enough to combat the massive waves of anxiety making my wings tremble.

Two songs later, the sax player of Unstrung Blues launched into a slow, sad melody. David stood, holding a hand out. “That’s our cue.”

Great, a death march.

I rose, walking past his outstretched hand. I’d made the mistake of letting him touch me once. It wouldn’t happen again.

He dropped his hand, confusion flickering over his features. We stood uncomfortably for a moment, then he nodded toward a poorly lit hallway. “That way.”

I took the lead, peering through the dark, smoky lounge, still fruitlessly searching for Phoebe. As I turned to enter the narrow hallway, a cold, dull ache riveted through the small of my back. I flinched and took several steps, putting plenty of space between me and David.

Son of a… How many times before had he reached out to guide me? Before, when he hadn’t been a vampire. When the gesture seemed natural. I forced myself to meet his eyes and immediately regretted it. Something very close to pain flickered through them before they turned cold with that uncaring expression vampires were known for. I swallowed. Why did that upset me so much?

“Sorry. It won’t happen again.” He clasped his hands behind his back.

“It’s not…” What could I say? It’s not you, it’s me? It was him and the fact that he’d turned vampire. I couldn’t bear his touch, no matter how gentle. Memories of what used to be filled my mind, making my heart break again.

“Let’s go,” he said, his tone matching his expressionless features.

“David.” I held out a hand, intending to catch his arm, but snatched it back at the last moment.

He stared at my hand, then met my eyes in an unflinching gaze.

“I’m sorry. It’s not you. I mean not you, personally. It’s…” Gods, can I ever finish a sentence?

“Forget it. Follow me.” He opened a door I hadn’t noticed, revealing a steep set of stairs, and started to climb.

Chapter Six

Guilt made me drag my feet up the wooden steps. My rejection of even a small touch must have made me seem petty. Prejudiced, even. I took a deep breath and focused. He couldn’t have thought I’d just accept his new identity. I mean, faeries and vamps don’t mix. Ever.

I stared at David’s long legs and realized something was off. Well, more off than the fact I was headed into a vamp lair. His energy was back in full force, clinging to me like static, but I still couldn’t feel any other vamps. Who exactly was I meeting? A corporate lackey? Now I was irritated. All the drama of a written invitation and an ominous phone call and I didn’t even rate a face-to-face with the boss.

David rapped twice on the lacquered oak door. After a few moments it swung open. No one stood on the other side. It had to be magic. How else would the door open on its own? Vampires didn’t possess the type of power to produce spells, but that didn’t mean they didn’t have a witch on staff. I wished there was some way to warn Phoebe.

David stepped aside. “Ladies first.”

Every nerve in my body screamed to stay put, my feet as heavy as cement blocks. The last thing I wanted to do was turn my back on a vampire, even David. But I couldn’t bear to see his cold, dead stare when he realized I didn’t trust him.

I flashed a smile, praying it looked sincere, and forced myself to walk into the room. The vampire energy swirled so strong my lungs seized in protest. My knees buckled. I clutched the back of a velvet settee and steadied myself. Either my gift was way the hell off, or the vamps had found a way to conceal their energy.

Panic coiled in my stomach. What if my power was malfunctioning? And right after I’d caught the attention of the most powerful vamp corporation within five hundred miles.

Worst. Timing. Ever.

No. They had to be using a concealment charm. Their energy weighed me down like a two-ton anchor. But why? Did they know I could sense them? My wings twitched, ready for flight. It took every ounce of self-control to not spread them in a display of weakness.

A teenage male wearing a custom suit rose from behind the mahogany desk and moved to stand in front of the behemoth mass of gleaming wood. He leaned back, oozing confidence and casual grace. The boy… no, not a boy at all. He was a vampire. An old one, judging by the way he commanded the attention of everyone in the room. He held his hand out in greeting. “Ms. Rhoswen. I am delighted you were able to accommodate my late invitation.”

Amused. If I had to choose one word to describe his demeanor, it would be amused. As if I’d been summoned for sheer entertainment in a game of predator versus prey.

I’d be damned if I was going to let him intimidate me. Boldly, I reached out and clasped his hand. A mind-blowing, icy numbness snaked up my arm. I ground my teeth together and forced myself not to flinch. Not even when he bent and pressed his cold, hard lips to my fingers.

“What a pleasure it is to meet New Orleans’ most-prized faery,” he said.

Prized? Since when?

I gently withdrew my hand from his grip. I was desperate to clutch it to my chest but let it fall helplessly to my side. How long until the frostbite wore off? I tilted my head, considering him. “I’m sorry. I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.”

A knowing laugh escaped his wide, angular mouth. “Of course. Pardon my lack of manners.” He held out an arm to a gorgeous blonde, who slid easily into his grasp. “This is Pandora, and those two over there are Carter and Tanner.” The blonde nodded a hello, her attention barely wavering from her man. The other two vampires continued to stare at me, saying nothing.

“And of course you already know Davidson.” His lips twitched. “I understand you two have history.”

I raised my eyebrows but said nothing.

He laughed. “Of course, that isn’t my business.” His tone implied it was very much his business. And just like that, the amusement faded, and his true colors shone in full spectrum: domineering, impatient, dangerous.

David stepped forward. “Willow, this is my boss and maker, Eadric Allcot.” He gave a slight nod and stepped back.

“You have nothing to fear, Ms. Rhoswen. You’re an invited guest. No harm will come to you this night,” Allcot drawled.

This night. What the hell am I doing here? “That’s good, since I’m not really fit for consumption, as you probably already know.”

The room went silent as my words sank in. It wasn’t exactly a secret I was the creator of Sunshine, a drink I’d created to discourage vampire bites. The potion made faery blood impossibly bitter and unappetizing. Too bad it didn’t work for humans; it might have saved David. Or not, since he’d asked to be turned. Allcot held my gaze. The intensity made my skin crawl and one wing twitched involuntarily.

His laugh started as a chuckle, then blossomed as his companions joined in. “I knew I’d enjoy our meeting.”

Tired of the theatrics, I straightened my spine and got right to the point. “Why did you summon me here, Mr. Allcot?”

His smile disappeared as he narrowed his eyes. “Bored of me already?”

Shrugging one shoulder, I dug my nails into the velvet settee. “I could say I’m dying to know what you want from me, but we both know it isn’t true. Maybe we should just get down to business.”

David cleared his throat, shifting slightly so he ended up almost brushing my arm.

He always was protective.

“Relax, Davidson. Your girlfriend is safe,” Allcot said.

David nodded once, but didn’t move.

I opened my mouth to deny the association, but caught myself before I blew his cover. Double agent, remember, Willow?

Allcot said something into his companion’s ear and gave her a slow, sensuous kiss, which she returned with vigor. With one last lick of her bottom lip, he sent her off toward the other two vampires, who’d been watching in rapture. I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. The whole thing made me long for a hot shower.

“Very well.” Allcot turned his attention to me. “Since it appears the niceties are over, I won’t waste any more of your time. It has come to my attention that my young one here,” he said, nodding his head toward David, “is now working with the Void. And you in particular.”

My breath vanished, and I had trouble refilling my lungs. What. The. Hell? “What makes you think that?”

“He told me.”

Every muscle in my body ached to turn to David. To lash out and maim him. But what if the teenager vampire was bluffing? “Why would he do that?”

“Because he knows where his loyalties lie. Do you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Not everyone is as they seem. You’d be better served if you employed more caution with those you keep close.”

I clenched my fists to keep from slapping the righteous, self-important look from his face. “Are you being cryptic on purpose, or have you completely bought into the master of the universe persona you have going on?”

His eyes turned dark gray and he lowered his voice. “Be careful, faery. You’re here at my whim.”

“I am well aware of that fact, vampire. What do you want from me?”

Allcot picked up a glass paperweight and tossed it from hand to hand. I couldn’t help but wish it would drop and smash his toes. No such luck. He cast me a calculating look and replaced the art on his desk. “Information. It has come to my attention another vampire has turned his focus to you. I am aware Davidson has signed on to help you track him down. I want to be kept informed.”

“Why?” I asked, careful to keep any suspicion from my voice. It was highly unusual for vampires to care what happened to faeries. The two races tended to ignore each other.

“To eliminate them, of course.”

“Uh, okay, but why would you involve yourself in my affairs?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Orange Influence. And Davidson here has a fondness for you. He’s under my care. I’d like to keep him happy.” Allcot sent David a loving smile, making my stomach churn.

I moved from behind the settee and faced the master vampire. “Does the messenger who delivered the letter today work for you?”

David followed, taking up position beside me.

“No.” Eadric’s steady response left zero opening to judge if he was bluffing.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

David shifted uneasily again. I bet no one ever questioned Allcot. Well, there was a first time for everything.

“You don’t. We’ll have to learn to trust each other.”

“I don’t trust—”

“Vampires? What about the lovely Davidson here?” Allcot’s eyes gleamed as his gaze shifted back and forth between us.

“I was going to say easily. I don’t trust easily.”

He stood, his six-foot-two frame towering over me. “That makes two of us, Agent Rhoswen. We’ll have to see what we can do to overcome that.”

“I don’t understand why you’re helping me.” I studied him, trying to see through his layers of armor. “You know I don’t sell Influence to vampires and wouldn’t under any circumstances.”

“Of course.” His expression shifted from arrogant jackass to one of concern. “But if you’re captured and tortured, the knowledge of how to reproduce it could be obtained.”

I fought the urge to take a step back. Is that what this was all about? A power play to get the Influence recipe? It took more than ingredients to get the drug to work, but in the right hands…

A small shudder ran through me. There was a reason the narcotic was heavily regulated. Was he worried one of his enemies might get hold of it? “Why do you care so much?”

“I have my reasons.” He stepped closer, staring me straight in the eye. “Aside from information on what you find out about the rogue vampire, I’m offering my protection for free. It seems a fair trade, does it not?”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “And what if I don’t agree?”

“You will.” The vampire retreated and relaxed against his desk, the amused expression once again transforming his face back into the young teenager I’d mistaken him for.

Stifling a sneer, I clenched my teeth. Arrogant son of a bitch. “How can you be so sure?”

“You wouldn’t want anything to happen to Davidson, would you?” He waved a careless hand in David’s direction.

“Are you threatening me?” Would he really hurt one of his own? Sick sociopath.

“A threat?” His eyes narrowed in a flash of anger. “My dear, if I was threatening you, you’d know it.”

And I did. The hard, uncaring look on his face told me he was capable of almost anything.

“I protect what’s mine. No one but me harms my property. If you don’t agree, I can’t let Davidson continue working with you. It’s your choice.”

This was my chance to get rid of David. I could refuse, and he would vanish from my life again. But if I did, would Eadric kill him, torture him, or simply send him away? I had no way of knowing. What I did know is Eadric wasn’t messing around. So what if he wanted info on a vampire? What was it to me? Especially if he was correct and the vamp was after Influence. I still wanted to understand his motivation, but he’d made it clear he wasn’t talking.

“Fine, but I want your word you won’t harm David and that the messenger today doesn’t work for you.”

“I’ve already stated both to be true, but I’ll say it again. You have my word.”

***

The vampire pressure had been so heavy that when I finally made it to the landing on the stairs, I stumbled. If it hadn’t been for my wings, I’d have crumpled at the bottom.

David led me to the table we’d shared an hour earlier. “Wait here. I need to grab some things before we leave.”

“But—”

“It’s fine. You’re under Eadric’s protection now. No one will bother you.”

He left before I could protest further. The absence of vampire energy almost made me giggle in relief. Gods, how would I deal with the constant ache? I ordered a green tea and in record time, a steaming cup sat in front of me.

I glanced up and was greeted with a friendly smile from the beautiful waiter. “Mr. Allcot wishes to extend his sincere gratitude.”

“Um, thanks?” I scanned the room looking for the teenage lookalike but didn’t see him. Of course not, I’d feel him first.

“In addition, he asked that I inform you that all items on the menu are complimentary for as long as you work for him.” The waiter bowed and left.

Work for him? Is that what he thought? I hadn’t agreed to that. High-handed asshole.

Vampire energy brushed my skin, familiar and repressive. I tensed, expecting Eadric. But it was his consort instead. She stopped at the edge of the table, her blue eyes big and round, blond hair flowing down her back in a thick sheet.

“You’re his sister, right? The one they killed in the lavender fields?”

My heart stopped beating. A few moments went by before the organ began to pump again. “You knew Beau?”

She shook her head. “I only met him a few times. Someone told me he had a twin. It took me a while, but then it hit me where I knew you from. You share most of the same features. He was such a pretty man.”

I nodded. “Everyone always said so.”

Pandora transformed her glamorous face into a work of pure sympathy and said, “I just wanted to tell you how sorry I was to hear of his death. I liked him. Too bad the vampire wasn’t caught.”

I stood up, nearly knocking the table over. “What did you just say?”

Pandora took a startled step back. “Just that I liked him. He was a good guy.”

“No, about the vampire not being caught? A vampire killed my brother?”

“You didn’t know?”

Chapter Seven

“What happened?” Phoebe asked from the porch of our house. Her hair was brown this time, styled in a short, asymmetrical bob. She wore a miniskirt and four-inch platform heels. The tourist barfly ensemble was a staple in her collection of disguises.

I pushed past her through the front door.

“Willow!” Phoebe yelled.

“Give me a minute.” I ran up the stairs, leaving her to deal with David. Damn him, the double-crosser. Double agent, my ass.

I stopped, scanning my room. Hadn’t Phoebe plugged my cell phone in somewhere? There. The white power cord snaked out from under the desk. With trembling wings, I powered it on and hit the speed dial.

Pick up, pick up, pick up. Voice mail. Always the frickin’ voice mail. As if I had any room to talk. I hadn’t even thought of my phone since I’d landed the night before. Had I only been home twenty-four hours? Double damn.

At the tone, my words rushed out. “Talisen, where are you? It’s about Beau. Information and a lead. Get your ass down here.”

I ended the call and noticed a missed text message. It was from Talisen. Glad you made it safe. Call me soon so I can hear that beautiful voice of yours.

He’d replied moments after my text the night before, just after the battery died.

“Stupid phone.” I tossed it back on the desk and headed for the bathroom.

When I reemerged, Phoebe was leaning against the doorframe. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

“I just found—” My breath hitched and I forced a swallow. “—found out a vampire killed Beau.”

Phoebe’s expression softened. “I know, I heard.” She pointed to the magically enhanced silver bug pinned to her formfitting button-down shirt.

“Why Beau?” I choked out, unable to comprehend why a vampire would kill him. Back then, in California, I hadn’t even known we’d met any. They didn’t exactly frequent the coastal faery lands.

Phoebe reached out and hugged me. “We’ll find out. I promise.”

I pulled back and straightened. “Damn right we will.” This wasn’t the time to break down. I had a job to do.

“I’m all in. You know that.” The tiny witch stood tall, her shoulders back and fire blazing in her black eyes. Fierce determination lined her face. Beau had always said the feistiest ones came in small packages.

Our eyes met and an unspoken agreement passed between us. We’d find answers to the questions the Arcane hadn’t been willing to ask. Coincidence, that’s what the officials had said. But dying in the same field and at the same age as your father twenty-three years later wasn’t a coincidence; it was a fucking pattern.

If they’d ruled both deaths a murder, maybe someone would have looked harder. Unfortunately, our dad’s death was listed as an accident. But after seeing both death reports, I wasn’t convinced. Not at all. And now I had a lead.

I flexed my wings as I glided toward the stairs. “Let’s go. We have a vampire to interrogate.”

***

Phoebe stood in the middle of the living room with her hand on her hip. She stared at David, who was sitting stiffly in a wingback chair. “Someone want to tell me what the hell happened back there?”

“You know as much as I do.” I paced the living room, the sound of my clunky boots echoing off the high ceilings. “You heard what they said.”

“No, actually, I didn’t.” She turned and pointed to the beetle still pinned to her chest. “The bug cut out for about an hour. I was ready to bust in, but then I heard you talking to David again right before the woman showed up to ask you about Beau.”

I blinked. “Damn it. The concealment charm. Phoebs, they had the whole room cloaked. I couldn’t feel anyone except David until we joined them in Allcot’s private room upstairs.”

Phoebe stiffened and then rounded on David. “How?”

Confusion flickered over his handsome face. “I don’t know what the hell either of you are talking about.” His gaze landed on me. “What do you mean you couldn’t feel anyone but me? Is the Void tracking vampires now?”

“No.” Not technically. Oops.

My ability wasn’t exactly public knowledge. Just perfect. Maude was going to have a shit-fit when she learned I’d leaked the information. The thought suddenly filled me with a gleeful defiance. I tilted my head to one side. David was my partner now. He would’ve found out sooner or later. Shrugging, I uttered the words I’d been sworn to keep secret, “I have a vampire spidey sense.”

“Excuse me?” David scooted to the edge of the chair. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know, spidey sense.” I tapped my temple. “I know when vampires are around. I should’ve felt Eadric and his groupies long before we entered his office. But I didn’t. Which only means one thing—a concealment charm.” I strode across the room, stopping right in front of him. “And you’re going to tell us where it came from and why they’re using it.”

I glanced at Phoebe. She nodded once and cut her eyes back to the vampire.

David leaned back and said nothing.

What did it take to get a reaction out of the guy? I’d confessed a potentially dangerous talent, and he didn’t even dignify it with a response. Asshole. “I’ll assume that means you aren’t important enough to be in the know.”

He glared, a muscle pulsing in his jaw as he clenched his teeth.

“Looks like you hit a nerve, Wil.” Phoebe pulled out a cigarette, rolling it between two fingers the way she always did when working out a problem.

“Guess so.” I took two steps and crouched, staring David in the eye. “But you can and will tell me how it is Allcot knows about the agreement you made with the Void to be a double agent.”

“What?” Phoebe demanded, taking a place beside me. She straightened her spine, making her frame appear much taller than her five-foot-two inches. “Someone better fill me in before our guest finds himself with a nasty sunburn.”

She held up her agate. I frowned. Right then I’d like nothing better than to fry David myself. Double-crossing, low-life coward who couldn’t even break up with me in person. I’d deserved an explanation, dammit. Not a hasty text. Coward.

I filled Phoebe in on the night’s events and when I finished we both focused on David. Phoebe pointed to her agate. “You’ve got five seconds to start talking.”

He held her gaze, then quirked an eyebrow, a tiny hint of a smile touching his lips. “This is between Willow and me.”

Phoebe snorted out a laugh. “Arrogant bastard. Agent Rhoswen is my partner. Where she goes, I go and all that shit. Now start talking. I’d think you’d know by now I don’t issue idle threats.”

David’s face turned stony. “Unfortunately for you, Agent Rhoswen is no longer your partner. She’s mine, as of sometime this morning. There’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for tonight’s events. However, I will speak to her about them in private.”

Phoebe’s arm rose, her face flushed in anger, light pulsing faintly from the agate. All it would take is one word, and David would be out of commission for days, if not weeks. I clasped Phoebe’s wrist, deflecting the growing rays of artificial sun.

“Phoebs,” I said, exhausted. “As much as I’d like to see him crispy fried, I do need some answers. Maybe it’s better if I fill you in later?” The beetle bug was still in my pocket. Whatever David told me, Phoebe would hear it.

She took a deep breath, pointedly not looking at David. “Fine. I’ll be upstairs in the kitchen if you need me.”

“Thanks.”

David watched Phoebe round the corner to climb the stairs, a trace of smugness flashing on his pale face.

“Knock it off.” I crossed the room to grab Link’s dog brush and cutting shears. The mats from his two-month-long grooming hiatus weren’t going to take care of themselves. I eased onto the couch, sitting cross-legged. Link jumped up and settled onto my lap, ready for his brushing.

“I’m listening,” I said without looking up.

Silence, except for the worry of bristles through Link’s fur, filled the room. Determined to wait him out, I concentrated on finding and trimming mats. If it hadn’t been for his vampireness pressing down on me, I could have almost put him out of my mind. Almost.

The familiarity of the situation set my nerves on edge. How many times had we sat together, sharing a comfortable silence? I swallowed a hollow laugh. At that moment a bikini wax would have been more comfortable.

“I owe you an apology,” David said so quietly I barely heard him.

Damn right he did. “Way to state the obvious.”

“For the way I left things, I mean.”

Oh, that. “I don’t want your apologies. I’m over it. I want answers. And I want the truth. Who are you really working for?”

“But I—”

I leveled a glare at him, stopping him mid-sentence.

He shifted, sitting up in the chair, his elbows resting on his knees as he leaned forward. “Fine, we’ll discuss it later.”

Irritation spread through my limbs. I shifted as my wings spread unconsciously. Why was he acting as if we still had a relationship? I hadn’t heard from him in over two months. If he thought he could just pick back up after he’d tossed me aside, he’d either forgotten who I was or he hadn’t ever known me at all. And turning vampire wasn’t an excuse. People turned vamp all the time and didn’t abandon their loved ones. Especially people like David. Loyal, caring, protective David.

I frowned, pushing the thoughts away. It didn’t matter.

“Answers,” I said.

He leaned back into the chair. “Relax, Wil. There’s no rush.”

I narrowed my eyes, a torrent of obscenities forming on my lips.

David nodded to Link. “He’s going to shift if you don’t control your agitation.”

Link jumped off the couch, his eyes gold. He was vibrating and moments from shifting. I could let him, but if he decided to attack David, I wasn’t sure I could stop him. My agitation fed Link, and he wasn’t old enough to control it. I took a deep, cleansing breath, tucked my wings close to my back, and waited. After Link visibly calmed, I turned my attention back to David. “Start talking or next time, I’ll let him have you.”

He glanced at Link. The dog settled on the carpet, keeping his eyes trained on the vampire. “All right. What do you want to know?”

Why you broke up with me. “Do you know anything about my brother’s death?”

He shook his head. “I don’t. And if I did, I’d do everything in my power to get you the truth of what happened.”

The familiar sincerity in his voice shot pangs of regret through my heart. I forced myself to ignore it. “Fine. Why did you tell Allcot about your deal with the Void?”

David stood and moved in front of me. He kneeled, his blue eyes staring intently into mine. “There’s only one reason I agreed to be a double agent.” He reached out as if to take my hand but seemed to think better of it and pulled back.

“To save your ass?”

His face transformed, full of worry. “To protect you. And to do that, I need Eadric’s help.”

***

“Do you believe him?” Phoebe asked from her spot at the kitchen table.

I grabbed a slice of pizza and shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Which part?”

“I don’t see how he’d know anything about Beau’s murder since he wasn’t a vampire then.”

“True.” Phoebe sipped from her favorite solid-black coffee mug.

“But he works for Cryrique, one of the most powerful vampire corporations in the world. He could’ve heard something. Or found out something.”

“I doubt he has those kinds of connections,” she said.

I stared at my plate. Phoebe had a point. Being a newly turned vamp meant he’d have entry-level status. No one tells the new kid secrets. “You’re right.”

She reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “At least now you have a place to start.”

The steel I found in her eyes somehow strengthened my resolve. Phoebe would exhaust every lead, no matter how obscure, until we found Beau’s killer. She had a brother she’d lay down her life for. What she didn’t know was how soul-wrenching it was to lose one. I prayed she never found out.

“We’ll get answers,” Phoebe said. “I promise.”

I gave her a slight smile. “Damn right. But if the blood-sucker in the other room thinks I believe a word he says, he lost his mind in the change.”

Phoebe’s eyebrows rose. “The blood-sucker?”

Raising an eyebrow of my own, I tilted my head. “Since when do you stick up for David?”

“I don’t. But he was important to you once and vice versa. Don’t you think it’s at least possible he told Allcot about being a double agent because he’s trying to protect you?” She tapped her fingers on the table. “Think about it. If his boss found out he’d been hiding that information, David would be dead and so would you. This way he can claim loyalty to Allcot while controlling the information he passes to him.”

“You really believe that?”

“What I believe isn’t as important as what you believe. But I do think it’s possible.”

“So I should give him the benefit of the doubt?” Skeptical didn’t even begin to describe my tone. I didn’t for a minute believe David had any loyalty to me or any reason at all to worry about my safety. If he cared, where the hell had he been? And to claim he was only protecting me? Right. Going double agent and working two powerful entities against each other was a surefire way to end up shackled to a boulder at the bottom of the Mississippi. Not that it would kill him now that he had changed. But it would hurt. A lot.

“A good agent considers all angles,” Phoebe reasoned.

“Whatever. I still can’t trust him.” I stifled a yawn.

“Go get some rest. I’ll clean up.”

“Thanks, but I won’t be able to sleep with him awake.”

Phoebe retreated into the heart of the kitchen, pulled a bag out of the freezer, and then reached for a grinder above the refrigerator. “If you’re going to keep vamp hours, you’re going to need a little stimulation.”

I grinned, spotting the Fated Cupcake logo on the package of Mocha in Motion, a blend of coffee and cocoa beans infused with natural energy magic. Guaranteed to keep me awake for hours, the stuff was better than speed and not at all addictive. It was one of my more brilliant creations.

A few minutes later, with an on-the-go cup in one hand and my phone in the other, I found David in the living room. “Let’s go.”

He looked up from a battered book. “Where?”

I grabbed my keys. “Work.”

Chapter Eight

David hovered over my shoulder as I unlocked the door to my bakery. My inner vampire detector squeezed my chest, and it started to throb.

I turned. “Can you give me some space?”

He shot me an irritated look but backed up a few paces.

Despite him moving away, the pain intensified, making me wince. Something was very wrong.

“What is it?” David took a step closer but froze when my knees buckled.

“I can’t breathe,” I wheezed. “What are you doing different?”

“Nothing, I—”

A blond-haired male figure jumped from the roof, landing inches to my right. I stumbled backward, barely avoiding a collision with David.

Instead, he reached out, catching me by the shoulders, his vampire reflexes steadying me. I barely recognized the sting from David’s vampire touch before he shoved me out of the way and leapt in front of me, snarling.

My arms burned and I struggled to inhale, but that didn’t stop me from stepping forward to stand next to David.

“What are you doing?” he asked me, his voice low.

“Finding out what this vampire wants.” I turned to the stalker. “Want to tell me what the hell you were doing on my roof?”

The vamp reached out, nearly connecting with my arm, but David jumped between us, throwing a punch that sent the intruder scrambling back.

My wings twitched. Holy vampire wars. I backed up, deciding David could take this one. No way was I getting mixed up in some crazy vampire crap.

My stalker straightened, black eyes slanted as he stared David down. “Step aside, young one. That faery is my property.”

“Property?” I laughed and started coughing when I couldn’t get enough air in my lungs. In vampire language, property meant humans who had been turned or were slated to be turned into vampires. Otherwise known as children. “Faeries can’t be turned. It’s physically impossible.”

“Willow, go inside,” David said. He glanced back in my direction for just a moment, but long enough for me to notice the flicker of fear crossing his features.

“Not without you.” I took a step closer, unwilling to leave him. It was stupid. I didn’t have any physical advantage against either of them. I didn’t even have Link. We’d left him at the house.

“Now,” David warned.

The tone of his voice had me reaching for the unlocked door, but his vicious growl made me spin in shock.

He leapt, catching the other vampire by his neck. A loud snap crackled through the night, and David sank his teeth into the broken neck of the howling vampire.

Time stood still. I watched in horror as blood seeped into David’s mouth. The other vamp, despite his broken neck, grappled for purchase, clawing at David’s hands. David gripped tighter. The attacker gurgled, his eyes popping out of his chiseled, white face. His body spasmed and finally went limp.

David took one last gulp and threw the vampire backward. “Don’t ever come near her again.”

The vamp stumbled, but his quick feet kept him from sprawling out into the deserted street. His head flopped to one side, crooked and unnatural.

Disgusting. I made no attempt to hide the horror that no doubt was written all over my face.

The vamp’s eyes stared right into mine. With a slow smile, he brought both hands up and in one quick movement his head was sitting on his shoulders right where it should be. He adjusted it slightly to the left. His smile blossomed to a grin. “You didn’t think it was that easy to kill a vampire, did you?”

I gaped. Of course I knew a broken neck didn’t kill vampires. I just hadn’t known it wouldn’t hurt more… or at the very least wound them for longer than a few minutes.

“Leave,” David snarled.

“For now.”

“I’ll kill you next time.”

The blond vampire’s eyes turned from black to red as he glared at David. “Not likely.” He half-bowed in my direction. “Soon, my little faery princess.”

Before either of us could respond, he vanished into the night.

“Who was that? And why was he calling me his little faery princess?” My wings fluttered, and I rose a few inches off the ground.

“I think he works for the vampire who targeted you for abduction. That was his way of making sure I knew he was laying a claim.”

“But faeries can’t turn vampire,” I insisted.

David shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. They want you. That was their way of staking their territory.”

“I’m not anyone’s territory.” I curled my hands into fists as my wings fluttered faster.

David held the door to my shop open. “I’m not the one you have to convince.”

***

Yawning, I grabbed my phone and checked for new messages. Again. Not one phone call or text since the night before. I tossed it back on the desk and shuffled into the kitchen.

Damn it, Tal. Where the hell are you? Worry inched its way into my chest. He never went anywhere without his phone. And I couldn’t imagine him ignoring my message. If anyone was more dedicated to finding the truth of Beau’s death than I was, it was Talisen—the one man I knew I could count on. The familiar ache I’d lived with the last four years blossomed, and I had to fight down sheer panic.

He’s fine. Someone would have called if…

I couldn’t finish the thought. If anything happened to him, it would be like losing Beau all over again. I shook my head. No sense in being melodramatic; he wasn’t the one in danger. He’d call as soon as he could. He’d better.

Rummaging through the fridge, I scoured for something to settle my stomach. The Mocha in Motion had kept me up all night while I worked in the lab at The Fated Cupcake, but it left me queasy. Or was that caused by watching David drink the blood of another vampire?

The blood trickling down David’s mouth kept flashing in my mind, and I passed on the waffle Phoebe offered to cook.

Steel-cut oats would do the trick. I hoped. With the microwave set to high, I skipped the Mocha in Motion and settled on a cup of herbal tea—the regular kind, no magic. I needed a clear head to think. While my enhanced goodies didn’t necessarily impair brain function, they did sometimes give me a high, accompanying whatever magical ability they were supposed to enhance. Because my magic was used in the ingredients, the high usually came in the form of an adrenaline rush, causing me to overlook important details. Details I needed to focus on before David woke up.

I glanced out the window, noted the late afternoon sun, and opened the case file Maude had given me the day before. I scanned the document, my attention narrowing in on David’s statement. A rumor has been circulating in the vampire community of a plot to abduct Agent Rhoswen. No concrete suspects. Why would any vampire want to abduct me? I didn’t taste good, thanks to my Sunshine drink. Influence? Was that it? My favorite band—Incubus for a Day—started singing from my room, interrupting my thoughts. “It’s about time, Tal.” I ran for my iPhone and sighed when I read the screen—it was my roommate. “Hey, Phoebs.”

“Hey, yourself. I’ve got the background info on your Influence customer.”

“Hold on.” I hustled back to the table and picked up a pen. “Okay, shoot.”

“Good news or bad news first?”

“Good.”

“His Influence permit is valid. He works part time as a research assistant at the college.”

A weight I hadn’t realized existed lifted off my chest. That was good news. “Okay.”

“He’s also an independent courier. He opened his business sometime last year.”

More good news. “That explains why he was delivering a handwritten message. Looks like he was multitasking.”

“Maybe,” Phoebe said with a heavy dose of suspicion.

“What?”

“He’s also a file clerk at Cryrique.”

***

“Wake up!” I demanded, using my toe to nudge the limp vampire.

Link jumped in front of me and growled at David.

I let out a hollow laugh and backed off but didn’t close the closet door. “I need answers, Link. I can’t afford to sit around and wait for the dead to rise.”

My dog stared me down as if processing my words. He didn’t understand what I’d said, but he did very well at interpreting moods. He set his paws and shimmered as he shifted into full wolf form. It wasn’t a surprise considering the amount of agitation spiraling in my system.

Moving in, I tried to nudge David again, but Link cut me off, blocking me from getting near the vampire.

He was right to be wary. I didn’t know when or how David would wake up. The sun was moments from setting. Did dusk act as some vampire internal alarm, or did they wake on their own when they were good and rested? He wouldn’t get the chance if I had anything to say about it.

It was eerie how still he was, lying there as if he was… well, dead. Creepy. Why would anyone choose to be turned after seeing that? Especially David. It was a concept I couldn’t wrap my head around. He’d never fit the profile of questing for eternal youth. He’d even talked about growing old, sitting on his front porch with grandkids at his feet. What had changed?

Maybe he fell for a vampire.

That’s why they all turned in the romance novels. Could a warm-blooded male be expected to resist the eternal beauty? Is that why he broke up with me? The thought made me want to punch him.

Whatever. He’d turned. I needed to get used to it.

“David. Nap time is over.”

His eyelids flickered and my internal vampire alarm went off, only this time the sensation brushed against me, light and airy.

That was different. For the first time I noticed I hadn’t been aware of him while he slept. I stopped mid-step and studied him. Was that always the case? In the few years since I’d developed my ability, I couldn’t remember sensing one during the day. But then I wasn’t out patrolling for them, either.

“What’s wrong?” he growled, leaping to his feet.

“We’re going out and you’re coming with us.”

***

According to the file, Lester Daniels, AKA the messenger, had worked for Cryrique for over two years. Even though he was only a lowly file clerk, I didn’t believe for one moment Allcot hadn’t known Lester worked for him. Vampires like him made a point of knowing everyone they employed, right down to their cleaning crew.

“Is this the one?” I pointed to the dark shotgun house in a rundown block of Lower Carrollton. The overgrown vegetation blocked most of the crumbling path leading to the front door.

David nodded and took the lead. Link followed with his nose to the ground.

I watched them go and took a moment to settle before reaching for my magic. If any other vampires were around, I wanted to know about it. A ball of energy in my core spread out, searching as I focused. David filled my senses. Acknowledging him, I stretched farther. Nothing. My vampire radar remained quiet. Good.

I hadn’t expected to find another, but after the night before, I had to check. It wasn’t known vampire territory. This area hadn’t been touched by Katrina and wasn’t anywhere near Frenchmen Street or Midtown, where the vast majority of their kind dwelled.

David and Link had disappeared. I traced their trail toward the distressed front porch. Peeling paint and rotting stairs greeted me. Neglected, just like so many other old houses in the city.

I scanned the overgrown yard, seeing nothing in the shadows. Maybe they were inside already. I raised my hand to knock. Link’s wolf howl echoed from inside the house. I froze. Then, without thought, I tore into the house, following the sound. “Link!”

“Back here,” David called.

A table crashed to the floor as I ran, dodging tattered furniture and piles of old magazines. A growl sounded from the next room. I skidded to a stop in the tiny kitchen at the back of the house. Link stood in the corner, hackles raised and teeth bared, hovering over a crumpled form on the floor.

I rounded on David. “What did you do?”

He pulled out his cell phone and tapped the screen.

“David!” I stared at his back as he retreated to the other room, his phone pressed to his ear.

“Bastard,” I muttered and crouched next to Link, getting a better view of the victim. The shock of red hair and pale face matched Lester’s Influence ID perfectly. With a shaking hand, I reached out to check for a pulse.

“Come on.” My sweaty fingers slipped off his cold, clammy skin. Panicked, I turned his head and leaned in to check his breathing. Then I saw the bite marks. Angry tears burned my eyes as I stood. David hadn’t done this. Lester had been dead for hours.

Link continued to guard the body, pacing back and forth as if to protect the man.

“Cool it, Link. There’s nothing we can do for him.”

Link whimpered and came to sit by my feet. I searched for my own phone and swore when I came up empty. It was probably among the clutter on my desk. Again.

David reappeared, stepping next to me. “We need to go.”

“Give me your phone.”

To my surprise, he handed it over without protest. I took a step sideways, giving myself some room, and then scrolled through his contacts, found the number, and hit send.

“Davidson, I didn’t expect to hear from you again so soon,” the vampire drawled.

David hissed in a breath and grabbed for the phone. Ready for him, I fluttered to the other side of the room, near the ceiling.

“It’s Willow.”

A pause, then Eadric chuckled. “Ah. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

“We need to talk.”

“Davidson is with you, I presume?’

“Yes.” I spared a glance at my partner and nearly winced at the fury vibrating through him. It didn’t help that Link had shifted and had him cornered.

“And did he not advise you against calling with such demands?”

“He didn’t have a choice.”

“I see.” A lilt of amusement touched his voice. “How could I pass up such a pleasant offer of your company? I’m at my club. I’ll be available for the next hour.”

“Fine.” I hung up and called the Arcane about the body. They’d want to investigate.

After giving the investigator the address, I slipped David’s phone in my pocket and landed beside my wolf. “Link, back off. David isn’t going to hurt me.”

I hoped.

Link retreated with his hackles still raised. The look on David’s face made me question my earlier statement. The scowl and the tension in his arms suggested he’d like nothing better than to rip my wings off at that very moment. Instead, he turned his back to me and stalked out of the house.

Chapter Nine

I sped down St. Charles Avenue with David fuming in the passenger seat and Link snarling in the back. Stomping on the gas, I willed the lights to stay green. If the tension got any thicker, one of them would snap. Then what? I couldn’t let David hurt my dog, even if he was only protecting himself. I rolled down the window, hoping some air would help.

It didn’t.

David’s growing agitation sent my internal vampire alarm into overdrive. Adrenaline filled my veins, making me shake. “Cool it, David. You’re worse than Link.”

David growled. Actually growled.

And that’s when Link lunged… in full-on wolf form. His gray and white mass filled the space between the seats as he twisted with his enormous jaws bared. David’s pale arm shot out, slamming the wolf into my side. Pain pierced my ribs. I sucked in a sharp breath, struggling to keep control of the wheel.

“Link, no,” I cried, but he let out a furious howl and lunged for the vampire again.

Snap! The seat crumpled backward. David scrambled into the back seat, kicking at Link.

I swerved to a stop, barely missing a large oak tree. “Stop it, both of you!” I threw my door open and jumped out to run to David’s side of the Jeep.

Neither paid any attention to my demands. David’s left hand clutched Link’s neck, pressing the wolf against the opposite door. One wrong move, and David’s arm would be wolf food. Horrified, I ran to the other side of the Jeep and yanked the door open.

“Link, David, stop!” I cried, unable to do anything but watch in horror as the pair tried to kill each other.

Link twisted free of his grip, simultaneously slashing with his razor-sharp claws. Bright red blood seeped from David’s shoulder. He roared, his vampire fangs seeming to elongate, though I wasn’t at all sure that was possible. Link, being a wolf, lunged for the open wound. David countered the move and slammed him against the back window. Link yelped and shrank back before shimmering into puppy form. He fell into a heap, vampire blood dripping from his tiny Shih Tzu paws.

David tore from the Jeep, his image blurring past me. When he finally stopped, he stood half a block away, hidden in shadows.

Heart pounding, I started after him, then stopped and climbed into the car to check on Link. He lifted his head at the sound and whimpered.

“Ah, Link. What were you thinking?” I picked him up, cradling him in my arms. “Poor puppy, you just need time to learn to control your impulses. It isn’t your fault.”

He licked my hand and snuggled closer.

“You can come back now. He’s too weak to shift again,” I called.

David didn’t respond.

“Seriously, it’s safe.” I tucked Link back into the Jeep. Blood dripped from the broken passenger’s seat. How badly had Link wounded him? I used an old sweatshirt to wipe the blood from his paws and cleaned the seat as best I could before looking up.

I spotted David a few feet away. “Are you all right?”

He glared. “You think I’m scared of your dog?”

“Well…”

“You have a lot to learn, Willow. Your wolf can do some damage, but he’ll never survive in a fair fight with a vampire. Learn to control your temper or you’re going to get him killed.”

I crossed my arms over my chest, meeting his steely gaze. “This is my fault? You’re the one who actually growled. You should’ve known it would set him off. Honestly, growling?”

He lowered his voice. “I’m not human anymore. Remember that next time you deliberately piss me off.”

Of course he wasn’t human. The evidence was overwhelming. But what the hell was he talking about? Piss him off? “What?”

“Using my phone to call Eadric. Do you have any idea how dangerous this game is you’re playing? He does not care for you. If you become a liability, he will have you eliminated. And I’ll be powerless to stop it.”

“Allcot’s not going to harm me. He knows I work for the Void and they’re investigating him. If I go missing, there will be hell to pay.” Right? Maude would make sure of it. She was a power-hungry, controlling, evil witch of a faery, but she wouldn’t stand for anyone offing her Influence-making niece. I was too valuable. That much I knew, but did Allcot?

David closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he leveled me with an intense stare. “So naïve. If Eadric wants you dead, it will happen, and the trail will never lead back to him. I know I’ve lost your trust, but on this, please, listen to me.”

Sadness formed a bubble around my heart as I shook my head. “How can I trust anything? A boy died today. One who worked for Cryrique and bought Influence yesterday. I can’t let that go. You know that. If there’s a connection, I have to know about it. The Arcane has to know, and my only lead is your boss. Are you going to help me?”

I held my breath and waited. I’d still go if he said no, but for some reason I really wanted him by my side. Why was that?

He frowned. “I committed to a job. I’ll see it through.”

It wasn’t exactly what I’d hoped to hear. Six months ago, David would have been outraged by the day’s events. He would have been the first one backing me up on my quest for justice. Instead, I was left with a cool, calculating, almost uncaring David.

Still, having him with me when I confronted Allcot was better than going alone. “Fine, but you’re driving. I want to make sure Link doesn’t wake up and attack again.”

***

Eadric lounged on the velvet settee with Pandora draped over his lap. Her mid-thigh-length red silk robe gaped open, showing round, ample cleavage usually only obtained by the copious help of a Wonderbra. Were perfect breasts a perk of turning vampire or had Pandora been blessed in life prior to her death? Maybe she’d been augmented. Were there any doctors who performed vampire breast implantation?

“Agent Rhoswen, how kind of you to join us this evening.” Eadric slid his hand along his companion’s thigh. “Shall we make room for you on the settee?”

Pandora giggled. It sounded ridiculous coming from the flawless-faced goddess.

I cleared my throat. “Uh, no… thank you.”

“How unfortunate for us.” He caught my eye and bent his head, grazing his teeth along the curve of Pandora’s breast. She shivered and pressed closer to him.

Heat crawled up my neck as I tried to focus. The altercation between Link and David had left me frazzled and the seduction scene wasn’t helping. I turned to David for support, but he stood frozen, his gaze locked on the couple in front of him.

Great. “I’m sorry for interrupting, but a situation has, uh, arisen that cannot wait.”

A low chuckle rumbled from Eadric’s throat. “I find myself in the very same predicament.” He cast a glance down Pandora’s robe before flashing a wicked smile.

More heat burned my face, and I fought for composure. Someone had died. I needed answers, not an introduction to vampire sex games. “You told me Lester Daniels didn’t work for you.”

Eadric didn’t look up from his exploration of Pandora’s now-naked upper half. “He doesn’t.”

I focused on the wall behind the couch, trying desperately to avoid watching the scene in front of me. “Was he working for you when he delivered the message to my shop yesterday?”

Eadric groaned. Involuntarily, my gaze locked on the couple, narrowing in on Pandora’s neck where Eadric had bitten her. His tongue darted out, licking a droplet of crimson staining his lips.

Where was the eye bleach? I literally could not tear my gaze from Pandora’s throat. Two bright pink puncture wounds stood out against her pale white skin, the bite marks already healed over. Did humans heal that fast when bitten? I doubted it.

“Would you like to find out?” Eadric asked.

“Huh?”

“What it’s like to be bitten.” His piercing stare burned into me as if I were the only person in the room. “You seem so… interested.”

Had he heard my thoughts? That myth wasn’t true was it? No, I screamed with my mind and waited. When he didn’t react, I shook my head. “My blood wouldn’t be tasty.”

He laughed. “True, but I can’t resist a woman in obvious rapture.”

I took a step back and crossed my arms. That was enough. “Look, Allcot. A man died and I’m here for some answers. Was Daniels working for you when he delivered your invitation?”

He sat up straighter, a trace of the hardness I’d sensed the night before returning. “Yes.”

I hissed in a sharp breath. “Our relationship isn’t going to work if you lie to me.”

“I didn’t lie. He was already dead by then.”

Silence hung in the air. When I found my voice it came out low and dangerous. “You had him killed. Why?”

“For you.”

“What?” Without thinking, I took two steps forward.

David cut me off. He’d been so quiet I’d almost forgotten about him. “You don’t want to do that,” he whispered to me.

“I think I do.”

“You don’t.” He reached out and pinned my arm next to him. I stifled a cry of pain as the limb went numb.

Allcot abandoned Pandora and stood. His white button-down shirt had lost its buttons and hung loose over his rumpled black slacks.

“Let go,” I said through clenched teeth.

David hesitated and when I sucked in a ragged breath, he released me.

“Don’t ever do that again,” I warned and then turned to Eadric. “Why would you do such a thing?”

For the first time, we had his undivided attention. His gaze shifted back and forth between me and David. “Isn’t that interesting?” he said in an amused tone. Then he met my eyes. “As I said before, you are under my protection. Lester was caught selling Influence to vampires. He was eliminated.”

I gaped. “You can’t just kill people. We have laws. He could’ve been charged. Interrogated.”

Eadric shrugged one shoulder. “This way was less messy. He’s been taken care of. You’re welcome.”

“Wel…welcome?” I fought to regain control of my speech. “You arrogant son of a demon. How could you—”

“That’s enough.” David shifted, facing me as if to shield me from interacting with Eadric. “We came for answers, now you have them. It’s time to go.”

“Your girlfriend seems less than pleased,” Eadric drawled and sat down, pulling Pandora back into his lap. “How can we remedy the situation?”

“Don’t go killing anyone else, you sick—”

“Willow!” David stepped forward, forcing me back toward the door.

Movement blurred, and a moment later Eadric stood just behind David. The vampire’s eyes hardened. He stalked in a slow circle as if tracking his prey. I swallowed the last of the obscenities clogged in my throat.

“Goodnight, Father,” David said, his back still to Eadric. “We’ll leave you to your activities this evening.”

“We are not finished, my son.”

“Eadric, I’m bored of this.” Pandora stood and let her robe drop, every unflawed inch of her bared. “It’s always business all the time. You promised tonight you’d remind me of why I stay faithful to you.”

His unflinching stare finally broke, and he turned his attention to the sex goddess across the room. “Of course. My apologies, my love.” His voice turned low and dangerous. “Davidson, do not bring her here again without an invitation.”

I fumed silently as we wound our way through the blues club. My skin itched and my muscles ached after the constant exposure to vampires for forty-eight hours. Had Maude manipulated the whole situation just to torment me? Not the dead human part. She wouldn’t go that far. Would she? No, but she would partner me with David just for spite.

When we’d almost made it to the Jeep, my wings fluttered, and I rounded on David. I placed my hands on my hips, hovering a full foot taller than him. “What the hell is going on?”

David stepped to the side, reaching for the door.

I cut him off. “We’re not leaving until we have this out. Why the holy hell did you choose to turn vamp, and for the love of all fae, why did you call Allcot your father?”

He flinched and in a low voice said, “Can we discuss this in private?”

“No. You’ll talk now and I will listen.”

He crossed his arms. “This is not the place.”

We stayed locked in a staring match until I finally threw my hands up and fluttered to the driver’s side. “Fine, but before the night is over, you’d better start talking.”

We rode in silence back to the lower Garden District. I parked in front of my house, opened the door for Link, and followed him across the street to Coliseum Square Park. I kept a close eye on him, worried the altercation with David had harmed him in some way. Other than keeping his tail between his legs, the Shih Tzu appeared to be fine. “You’re okay, buddy. After a night’s sleep, you’ll be good as new.”

Link lifted his head, acknowledging my voice, then lifted his leg and watered the nearby tree. He kept his head low and slinked back to the house.

Just like a man to sulk when things don’t go his way.

David waited near the car, no doubt keeping an eye on me in the park. Irritation heated my skin. I hated he was watching me and hated even more to find myself grateful. Link and I spent a lot of time in the park alone, but tonight he wasn’t in any shape to protect me. David was.

I stalked past him. I’d reached the top step of my front porch when something moved. Reflexively my wings spread, and I shot up, banging my head on the overhang.

“Ouch!” I clasped my hands over the knot already forming and tried to focus.

A tan hand with long, thin fingers reached out, clasping my arm. Normally instinct would have sent me flying several yards away, but the familiar, easygoing smile transfixed me. I squeezed my eyes tight, trying to dislodge the illusion. He wasn’t real. Hallucination was a symptom of a concussion, right?

I opened my eyes to forest-green eyes twinkling with laughter.

“It’s about time you showed up. I’ve been waiting for hours,” he said.

I blinked.

“Earth to Willow. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“Why? Are you a vampire, too?”

Talisen’s beautiful face pinched in confusion. “Huh? Are you okay? Did you knock your brains out with that gorgeous display of klutziness I just witnessed?”

“Tal? You’re here? Damn, you’re here.” I threw my arms around him, and he rewarded me with a bone-crushing embrace.

“Of course I’m here,” he said, releasing me. “You called. I got on a plane.”

“But you never called me back. I even kept my phone on and with me. See?” I dug in the front pockets of my jeans and frowned when I came up empty. Oh, right. It was still on my desk. “Um, I thought I did anyway.”

“You’ll never change.” He laughed, then sobered and nodded over my shoulder. “Who’s the bodyguard?”

I glanced back at David and made a face. “No one important.”

Chapter Ten

Clutching two cups of my special spiced rum, I joined Talisen on my bedroom balcony. “Here.”

He wrapped one of his big hands around a mug and eyed the deep purple bruise on my arm. “What happened?”

The concern lining his face touched me deep in my core. My kick-ass-and-ask-questions-later bravado vanished, and I started to shake.

Talisen gently tugged my hand, pulling me down next to him in the cushioned wicker love seat, his arms encircling me into his safe embrace. “Shh, it’s okay, Wil. Everything will be all right,” he whispered, stroking my hair. “I’m here now and not going anywhere.”

Unable to hold it in any longer, I choked out a sob and sank into his strong arms. God, two crying jags in less than two days. What the hell had I come home to? We stayed huddled together, Talisen murmuring soothing words until my eyes finally dried.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, wiping my face with a tissue. “I didn’t mean to do that. I couldn’t…”

He smiled. “It’s okay. That’s what big brothers are for.”

Since Beau’s death, Talisen had tried to fill the empty hole my twin had left. But no matter how close we got or how much I cared about him, he could never take Beau’s place. He knew it. I knew it. Both of us wanted to believe otherwise.

I mustered a weak smile. “Thanks.”

A sense of peace started to ease through me as Talisen cupped my cheek. His lips quirked into a lopsided smirk. “Of course, as your brother, I don’t think I should have the sort of thoughts I’ve had about you from time to time.”

I laughed and leaned back. “Way to ruin a touching moment.”

He shrugged and a lock of sun-kissed, light brown hair fell across one eye. “Anything to see that gorgeous smile.”

My heart skipped a half beat, the way it always did when he started flirting, even though I knew he didn’t mean anything by it. Tal behaved the same way around all women. He was an equal-opportunity flirt. The moment was so familiar, so comfortable, I slid off his lap and leaned against his shoulder, curling my fingers in his. “How do you do it?”

“What?”

“Make everyone around you trust you completely. Look.” I pointed to his feet. “You even have Link snowed.”

Talisen glanced at the Shih Tzu and reached down to pick him up with his free hand. Link licked his face once before settling on his lap. “If you recall, I bribed him with copious amounts of raw beef when I was here last spring. As for you and the rest of the females you’re no doubt talking about, it’s obviously my good looks and irresistible charm. Not to mention the magic-infused eilat stone I plant on anyone I want to exert my powers over.”

I started searching my pockets. Talisen was a fae gifted in crystal magic. An eilat stone could hold his power and wield any kind of energy he wanted to infuse it with. When I came up empty, I narrowed my eyes at his amused expression. “What? It’s not like you haven’t done it before.”

He shook his head, his lips twisted once again into a smirk. “When we were twelve.”

“Yeah, well, I haven’t forgotten.” One summer day, I’d followed Beau and Talisen the two blocks to the beach. At first I’d kept my distance, spying on them, convinced they were there to practice water magic, which we were all strictly forbidden to do without supervision. But after watching them throw a baseball for half an hour, I finally emerged and demanded they let me play.

They refused. When I wouldn’t leave them alone, Talisen suggested I cool off in the ocean… naked. An odd, complacent sensation had washed through me, and I’d instantly started unbuttoning my dress. Thank goodness Beau had stepped in, demanding Talisen revise his command. The last thing Beau wanted to see was his sister naked. I still ended up in the fifty-degree ocean, freezing my wings off. And my dress had been ruined.

“You deserved it,” he said.

I snorted. “Probably, but if you two hadn’t ditched me all the time, I wouldn’t have been nearly as annoying.”

“Again, we were twelve.”

“Yeah.” I sighed. If I could have Beau back, I’d gladly relive the times when he and Talisen had tormented me relentlessly as only a brother and his best friend could.

“I miss him, too,” Talisen said quietly, stroking Link.

“I know.”

We were silent for a moment. Then Tal lifted Link off his lap and set him on the ground. Shifting to catch my eye, he caressed my fingers, still clasped in his. “Now tell me, what has you so depleted?”

“Huh?” It took me a second to register he meant my energy level. Tal had a healing gift. He’d probably known as soon as we’d hugged I wasn’t one hundred percent. “Oh, I’m just tired. It’s been two very long days.”

He raised a skeptical eyebrow and passed me my cup of spiced rum. “Start at the beginning.”

I took a long sip. What could I say? My work at the Arcane was classified. Leaking information to an outsider wouldn’t get me fired; it would get me locked up. But only if Maude found out about it. I tilted my head, gazing at the man I trusted most in the world. The only one besides Beau I’d ever truly given my heart to. I didn’t give a damn about Maude or the Arcane. With the information I’d learned, I needed to tell him for my own sanity. Needed him to know about my secret life, especially after learning a vampire had killed Beau. I could never live with myself if I kept him in the dark and that’s all it really came down to.

I took a deep breath. “I can sense vampires.”

Once I started, I didn’t give Talisen a chance to speak. The words poured out, starting with the unexpected discovery of my new talent, my induction to the Arcane, Maude swooping in right after I signed my contract, the threat to my well-being, being partnered with David, and on to the discovery of Daniels’s death.

“See.” I stared at my clenched hands with anger and helplessness consuming me. “If I hadn’t discovered the Influence, that kid would still be alive. Damn Maude! This is exactly why I didn’t want to produce it.”

Talisen lifted my chin up with two fingers, forcing me to look at him. “Because you were afraid a dumb kid would get messed up with vampires over it?”

“Yes.”

He frowned, his lips forming a thin line.

“Okay, not exactly. I never wanted to produce it because it’s dangerous. Forcing people to do things against their will is evil. You know how I feel about that.”

“You think someone forced this kid to get involved with vampires?”

“No, that’s not what I meant.” I stood and paced the balcony. “Something I created resulted in the death of someone just starting his life. Allcot even said he killed the kid to help me.” Though Eadric must’ve had his own reasons for ending Daniels’s life. He was entirely too self-serving for me to believe otherwise.

Talisen leaned back in the loveseat, casually draping his arm across the back. “Wil, how is this different from drug dealers using cold medicine to make meth?”

I opened my mouth, but he cut me off.

“It isn’t. Influence is important to law enforcement. Think of all the criminals they’ve caught by using it and all the innocent suspects who’ve been exonerated due to your drug.”

He was right, and I knew it. Influence was used in criminal trials and by court order. It wasn’t a truth serum per se, but when used, if the witness was ordered to tell the truth, they did. A lot of falsely convicted criminals had been released after it went to market.

Talisen continued. “And what about its uses for hospitals? It’s used to help calm patients, get them to follow doctor’s orders. Your drug has been a miracle breakthrough in natural weight loss.”

Also true. One prescription of Influence, followed by an order to follow a strict diet, and people didn’t have to have invasive surgery to lose weight. They did it on their own and in the meantime established healthy habits.

“That’s different. All those people choose to take Influence under careful supervision so they aren’t taken advantage of.” I stopped pacing and crossed my arms. “You aren’t talking me down from this one. I’ll still blame myself, no matter how you spin it.”

He sighed. “You can’t be held responsible for the mistakes other people make. You don’t think this kid knew he was playing with fire when he went to work for vampires?”

“Not all vampires are evil.” I winced, realizing Phoebe had made the same argument just yesterday.

“No. But I’m sure he knew dealing Influence wasn’t the safest career move.”

I hated when he was right. Everything he said was true. But I couldn’t help feeling responsible. What if Daniels had been forced into it? Threatened, or just desperate enough for some reason or another. I didn’t want any part of it. The world survived before Influence, it could survive without it.

“You can beat yourself up all you want,” Talisen said. “But the truth is, Influence exists. It isn’t going to go away. Other faeries and witches are already trying to duplicate it. Hell, the university is working on something similar. If you bow out, you’ll have no say in how it’s controlled.”

Maude had made that all too clear when she’d forced my hand into producing the drug. My lovely aunt had even copied the formula and had come up with her own recipe. A deadly version, if the administrator wasn’t careful. That alone had been enough to convince me.

“I know. But it doesn’t make it any easier.” My voice cracked with emotion.

Talisen rose and pulled me into another hug. This time his left arm found the deep bruise gracing my right side. “Ouch.”

“I’m sorry.” He pulled away, his forehead creasing as he frowned. “You’re really hurt.”

I wrapped my arms around myself. “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing? Is that what you call this?” he asked, gently pushing the sleeve over my elbow.

“It was… David,” I stammered and squeezed my eyes shut. When I opened them again I met Talisen’s blazing eyes. I rushed to explain. “But it’s not his fault. I mean, he didn’t mean to do it.”

Talisen stared at me in horror. Suddenly he yanked the door open and stalked across my room toward the stairs. He’d almost made it to the first step before I caught him. “Wait!”

“Are you kidding me?” His voice rose with each word. “When did you turn into the whimpering victim? I cannot believe this. It’s not his fault? He didn’t mean to?” He spat the words out.

I grabbed his arm. “Let me speak before you go all crazy macho fae on him.”

He gritted his teeth and pulled away.

“Please, Tal. Give me a minute, and then if you aren’t satisfied, I promise you can stake his ass to the wall if you see fit.”

That got his attention. He turned back, arms folded. “One minute.”

A jagged breath escaped my lips. “It really isn’t his fault. He doesn’t know he hurt me.”

His face turned to granite.

“Holy hell. I’m doing a terrible job at explaining. Look, I told you I can sense vampires, right? Well, there’s something else. If they touch me, even just brush up against my skin, it hurts like I’ve been beaten with an iron wrench.”

“An iron wrench?” he asked in disbelief. His eyes narrowed as if he was trying to determine if I’d lost my mind.

I nodded and crossed my arms over my chest. A wrench on its own was bad enough, but an iron one? Yeah, iron sucked the life energy right out of me. Double whammy. “I got this bruise tonight,” I said, pointing to my arm, “while David was trying to protect me from doing something stupid at Allcot’s place. He held my arm down so I wouldn’t touch something. He didn’t intend to hurt me.” I raised my arm for inspection.

Talisen leaned closer. “Jesus, Wil. He doesn’t know his touch does this to you?”

“No. I didn’t want the word to get out to any other vamps.”

He nodded and tugged me toward my bed. “Good. Lie down. I have something with me that can heal this.”

“Healing crystals?” At his nod, I laughed. “Didn’t I already tell you crystals are for amateurs?”

“And once again, I’m going to make you eat those words, Rhoswen. Now let me get to work.”

I fluttered to my queen-sized bed in the enchanted oak and waited while Talisen scaled the trunk. Fae spent a lot of time in the woods. Climbing for him was as natural as flying was for me.

“Show-off,” I muttered, lowering myself onto my stomach.

“Can’t let you think I’m going soft.” He produced a canvas bag and rummaged through it until he found his crystal of choice. Amethyst.

I smirked. “I should’ve known. The cure-all.”

He leveled me with a glare. “Do I question what materials you use to concoct your edibles?”

“All the time. Wasn’t that you who bugged me nonstop in my mother’s lab the whole time—?”

“Okay. You’ve made your point.” He shifted, catching his foot in the comforter and losing his balance. His hand made contact with my back as he stabilized himself.

I hissed in a sharp breath, pain seizing my already battered spine.

“Sorry, did I hurt you?”

With my eyes squeezed shut, I shook my head.

Talisen said nothing and shifted again. I opened my eyes to find his shut tight and his arms stretched out above me, his beautiful hands clutching two dark purple crystals. Watching him draw on his magic was fascinating. Power seemed to glow beneath his skin, giving him an ethereal tan, his muscles tightening as he focused.

The graceful strength of his body heightened his natural beauty, and I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d ever looked even half as good as he did when he worked his magic mojo. I always envisioned myself resembling a day laborer in the fields while I tended my plants. Judging by the amounts of soil I washed from my hands, face, and garden apron, I knew my suspicions were close.

His hands came down, lightly caressing my back. “What happened?” he asked again.

“Huh?”

His fingers glided back and forth underneath my wings, barely touching the tender area. “Willow.” Impatience laced his tone.

Crap. “Another vampire incident.”

“David again?” He barely concealed his anger.

“Yes, but I already told you it wasn’t his fault.”

“You either need to tell him about this new… ability or stay the fuck away from him. Your whole left side is beat to hell.” His fingers slid under my shirt, leaving traces of tingling magic on my skin.

I shivered as goose bumps rippled down my arms.

“Sorry,” he whispered and increased the pressure of his touch. “Didn’t mean to tickle you.”

“It’s okay.” Telling him I wasn’t ticklish didn’t seem like the best idea under the current circumstances. Talisen had healed my injuries more times than I could count, but being with him, alone and on my bed, evoked fantasies I hadn’t entertained since we were teenagers.

Stop it. Talisen is like a brother. Sort of.

Not really, but he’d been Beau’s best friend, and that meant we’d never explored the harmless flirtation we’d shared for the last nine years. I knew if anything ever went south between the two of us, Beau would’ve taken my side. It’s what twins did. It wouldn’t have been fair to risk their relationship when Tal was never serious about anyone for longer than a month.

I figured he’d never made a move for the same reason. Now that Beau was gone, a romantic relationship was still out of the question. I never wanted to mess up the closest connection I had to my brother.

I just needed to remind my traitorous body of that fact. And soon. Talisen’s healing touch sent shivers of desire through my sexually deprived body, and I swallowed the moans rising from the center of my being. Forget the bruises. I wanted to feel his hands everywhere.

In my lust haze, I became aware of his fading magic as he moved on to a full back massage. My breath quickened and my wings tingled. His fingers kneaded steadily down my spine. Unable to hold back, my wings flickered in pleasure.

He chuckled, low and satisfied, moving his fingers from my back to glide delicately over the tips of my wings. I arched my back and flexed, pressing the sensitive tips into his touch.

“Excuse me,” a strangled voice interrupted.

Link bounded in from the balcony, growling and pacing in front of my door.

“Crap,” I mumbled and sat up, adjusting my shirt back in place. I’d been so engrossed with Talisen, I hadn’t even noticed David approach. In fact, I barely felt him now. Had Talisen’s magic dulled my senses? No, the tension between us moments ago had been anything but dull. I was just worn out. A good night’s sleep in my oak would cure me. “What?”

“Phoebe called. She needs us to meet her in Midtown ASAP.”

“She called you?” I jumped down and strode to the door.

He nodded toward the desk. “Check your phone. She says she tried you first.” He glared over my shoulder. “Looks like you had other things on your mind. I’ll meet you downstairs after you compose yourself.” David stalked back out of the room, his boots echoing on the stairs.

I glanced down and winced. A button had come loose, exposing more than a little bit of cleavage. The see-through lace bra I’d chosen that morning wasn’t helping matters. “Damn it.”

Talisen laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“You. You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

“Stop. Just stop. This is your fault.” I stomped toward my closet. Then I remembered David had emptied it and changed course toward the freestanding canvas wardrobe in the corner. Talisen watched as I picked out fresh jeans and a tank top, my standard autumn uniform for hunting vampires. “Stop staring.”

“Can you blame me?”

I rolled my eyes but smiled as I locked myself in the bathroom. Goddess help me. Having David and Tal in the same house wasn’t a good idea. Not a good idea at all.

Chapter Eleven

The last thing I wanted to do was share a car ride with David and Talisen. But what was I supposed to do, leave Tal at home? Not a chance.

“Come on.” I tugged Talisen down the stairs.

David started to protest, but I cut him off as I climbed in the Jeep. “Link’s coming and Talisen keeps him calm. With your current mood, I think it’s necessary. No one wants another incident.”

It wasn’t a lie. Talisen really was the only other person besides me that put Link at ease. God, I hoped no one else realized all it took was a few slabs of raw meat. But controlling Link’s mood wasn’t the only reason I’d insisted on including Talisen. I dreaded being alone with David after what he’d witnessed, even if it was mostly innocent.

Innocent. Right. Who knows what would’ve happened if David hadn’t barged in? Why did I even care what David thought? Hell, he’d dumped me.

He’d. Left. Me.

I had nothing to feel guilty about. My stomach clenched, tying itself in knots. Yeah, no guilt here. David settled in the hastily repaired passenger’s seat, Link and Talisen in the back. “Did you fix that?” I asked David, eyeing the seat.

“Yes. While you were busy with your... friend.”

I gritted my teeth and put the Jeep in gear, trying to ignore the mounting tension.

“Make a right,” David said.

I slowed. “Can’t. That’s a one-way street.”

“Oh. Right. Go left.”

Apparently I wasn’t the only one preoccupied. After I navigated the turn, I glanced in the rearview mirror. Link lay curled up in Talisen’s lap. I smiled at the image of my two favorite men. Link had never taken to David like that. It should’ve been a warning. What could I say? My dog was a better judge of character than I was.

Several blocks later, David pointed to the opposite side of the street. “It’s the next house on the left.”

I pulled to a stop but didn’t kill the engine as I eyed the two-story Victorian. Shutters covered the floor-to-ceiling windows on both levels. “This is the middle of vampire territory.”

“I know.” David climbed out of the car and took off toward the house. Talisen followed him with Link in tow. I killed the ignition and scrambled to catch up.

“Tell your friend he isn’t welcome here.” A muscle pulsed in David’s jaw.

“Says who?” I stopped in the middle of the walkway, hands on my hips.

“I do.” David produced a key and unlocked the solid oak door. In typical New Orleans flair, a scrolling fleur-de-lis was carved right in the center. “You and your wolf can come in, but he stays outside.”

“What?” I raised my voice to a decidedly unladylike level. “Who put you in charge, and where’s Phoebe?”

“Here,” she said, appearing in the doorway wearing a leather micromini, a silk halter top, and thigh-high stiletto boots. She completed the look with platinum board-straight hair that covered her naked back. What was with the hoochie outfit?

She waved at Talisen. He gave her an appreciative nod as he admired all her exposed skin.

“Sorry, Tal. Official business and all that crap.” Phoebe threw him her keys. “Take my car and meet us back at the house.”

I frowned. “But—”

“It’s okay.” Tal draped an arm around my shoulders and squeezed. “Now that I know Phoebs is here, I can rest easy you’ll be safe. See you back at your abode.” He brushed his lips against my temple and then strode off.

David narrowed his eyes, a scowl firmly in place. Yeah, he’d loved that little PDA. Not.

Link watched Tal speed off, a forlorn look on his doggie face.

“What’s going on?” I snapped my fingers, and Link instantly jumped to my side.

David stood on the porch in stony silence, studying me as if he was peeling back the layers of my emotional armor. The violation made me want to wrap my arms around myself for protection. But I forced myself to relax and turned to Phoebe.

She threw me a dirty look. “Damn you and your phone. Don’t make me call David again.” She lowered her voice as if to spare David’s feelings, but there was no way he couldn’t hear her. Not with his vampire powers. “You know I can’t stand that guy.”

He didn’t even flinch.

“Right.” I cleared my throat. “Sorry, it won’t happen again.”

Phoebe didn’t even have the decency to hide her rolling eyes.

I threw my hands up in defeat. “I said I was sorry. Will you please tell me what in holy hell is going on? Whose house is this?”

“It’s mine,” David snapped and strode inside. “If you two are done insulting me, we have a vampire to question.”

“I wasn’t… never mind.” Nothing I said would change his mood after the night’s events. “What vampire?” I asked, following the pair into the house. Neither acknowledged my question.

A scream started to bubble in my throat. I gritted my teeth together, holding it back. If they weren’t going to talk to me, why did they bother making me tag along? Damn David and this stupid assignment.

I glanced around, taking in the tastefully decorated living room. Period antique tables and an ornate hutch from the eighteen hundreds were intermixed with newer, modern-day settees and armchairs, giving the room an elegant but useful feel. When had he acquired this house?

Five months ago, David had lived in a one-bedroom bachelor-pad apartment, complete with garage-sale furniture. Someone else must have decorated this place.

The walls showcased contemporary paintings, rich with New Orleans history and architecture. The place begged to be featured in Southern Living magazine. Only the white metal casings from the motorized blackout window coverings screamed vampire lair. When closed, nothing penetrated the patented metal sheet.

I followed Phoebe into a large library. The walls, packed floor to ceiling, housed everything from rich leather-bound books to contemporary science fiction. Not a romance novel in sight. Somehow that knowledge lightened my heart… until the soft, feminine voice filled the silence.

“David,” a sleek redhead purred. “It was thoughtful of you to bring entertainment. You know how I like variety.” She sipped from a pewter cup, the contents leaving a tinge of red on her lips.

Disgusting.

The female vampire held the cup toward David, but he ignored it and fixed her with a glare. “Clea. Why are you in my house? Uninvited.”

Her perfect porcelain brow wrinkled as she tilted her head to one side. “Ah, don’t be like that,” she cooed. “You’ll ruin all the fun. Besides, you don’t want to disappoint your playmate.” She cast Phoebe a sidelong look, leering at my friend.

“Don’t fuck around,” he snapped at her. “You won’t like the result.”

“Such language, young one.” The vampire vixen waved one finger in a shame-on-you motion. “You don’t want me to tell Eadric you’re being ungracious to a guest, now do you?”

David let out a hollow laugh. “You seem to be under the impression you have the upper hand here.”

She rose from the chair, her face transforming from fake innocence to outraged hatred. “How dare you—”

“I’d sit down if I were you,” David warned.

“Or?” She crossed her arms and glared.

“I’ll let the witch fry you.”

Phoebe held up her sun agate and smiled sweetly. “Sorry, Clea. I don’t take nicely to those who try to Influence me.”

“What?” My whole body went rigid with shock. She’d tried to Influence a witch?

Phoebe shook her head and whispered, “I’ll fill you in later.”

A flicker of understanding, followed by rage, crossed Clea’s face as she realized Phoebe had set her up. The moment passed and she assumed a bored expression. “Please. You were begging for a taste.”

“Where’d you get it?” David asked Clea, ignoring my outraged glances.

She shrugged.

David stepped toward the bookshelves closest to him and rested his hand on a thin leather spine. “Perhaps you’d prefer different accommodations.”

Clea leaned forward, rested her chin in her hands, and fixed him with a sneer. “Don’t tell me you have a secret vampire dungeon?”

“Something like that.”

Her smile faltered as they locked eyes.

“How do you feel about sunrooms?” David asked.

She visibly relaxed and leaned back in the chair. “I have yet to see one I can’t muscle my way out of.”

“There’s a first time for everything.” He pulled the thin book forward. I glanced around, looking for a secret passage or doorway. Nothing moved or revealed itself.

Clea laughed and stood. She stalked slowly toward David. “What’s Eadric going to say when I tell him about this pathetic attempt at intimidation?”

“Nothing, since you’ll be nursing a full-body, third-degree burn… if you survive.” He launched himself, meeting her halfway in the middle of the massive room. I fell back, flattening myself into the bookcase behind me. Link hovered at my feet, already shifted and growling.

They spun, moving so fast I couldn’t tell who had the upper hand until Clea smashed against the wall and David pinned her there with his hands around her neck.

“Last chance,” he said. “Where’d you get the Influence?”

Clea spit in his face. “Fucking faery lover. You think I don’t know who she is? We all thought since you’d turned, you’d finally come to your senses. Guess we were wrong. Now get the fuck off me before I tear her to shreds.”

“Such confidence for someone in a position to get her neck broken.”

“Breaking my neck won’t stop me.”

David let out a low, sinister laugh. “I know, but it will hurt. A lot.”

“Sadistic bastard. Too bad you’re such a waste. We could’ve had a lot of fun exploring that tendency.” She turned her head and licked his hand. “Would have been nice to know last week when I had you in my bed.”

I had to fight off a gagging reflex. David had been with her?

“Shut up,” he hissed.

“Oh, don’t want the little girlfriend to know all about who you’ve been doing while she pined away for her lover? What difference does it make, David? You know she won’t have you now that you’ve turned vamp, and you didn’t even have the decency to tell her before Eadric ordered you to—”

In one swift motion, David snapped her head back with a sickening crunch. Her head flopped to the side at an unnatural angle.

I pressed my back against the bookcase, trying to get as far away from the scene as possible, and ignored the stabs of pain shooting through my pinned wings. My knees buckled, refusing to support me. I struggled to stay upright. This was the second time I’d witnessed such violence from David. When we’d been together, he’d been sweet, gentle, loving. Now he was a monster.

David didn’t say a word as he dragged a struggling Clea to the opposite side of the room.

I caught his tight expression in a full-length mirror just before he pushed the antique frame. The whole thing swung open, revealing a glassed-in sunroom. He hadn’t been bluffing. One of Clea’s red, patent-leather heels flew across the sunroom as he tossed her inside and slammed the mirror shut.

“Security glass?” Phoebe asked.

David nodded, running his fingers along the top of the mirror. The reflective surface evaporated, revealing Clea writhing in pain from her broken neck.

“How long will it take for her to recover?” Phoebe peered through the clear glass.

“Not long, since it looks like she fed recently.” He glanced at the pewter cup. “Unless you drugged her.”

She shook her head. “Not for a lack of trying though. Damn vampire had a grip on her drink tighter than this leather skirt.”

David’s gaze traveled the length of her body. “Nice disguise.”

Phoebe preened. Actually preened.

“Stop it!” I shouted. “Just stop. Since when do you two work together? And what in the name of Lilith is going on? I swear, if someone doesn’t start talking soon, I’m going to sic Link on both of you.”

Phoebe stared past me with her eyebrows raised high.

I glanced over my shoulder to find Link back in Shih Tzu form, curled up on a throw rug. “Damn it!”

Phoebe put an arm around my shoulders and pulled me from the room. “If you’d had your phone turned on, I would’ve already told you.”

A low growl rumbled from my chest.

She laughed. “I’m just sayin’. Come on. Let’s get something to drink, and I’ll fill you in. David, holler if that vamp so much as twitches.”

He mumbled his agreement.

Phoebe led me to a pristine, high-end kitchen, outfitted with restaurant-quality appliances and solid black marble counters, a pleasant contrast to the slate-gray painted cabinets. The décor would have been cold if not for the pop of red shelving behind a section of glass doors. Not a thing was out of place.

Of course it wasn’t. Vampires rarely ate solid food. They could, they just didn’t need to.

Phoebe pulled out a chair from the breakfast table and nudged me toward it. I sat, focusing on the napkin holder and the half-full salt and pepper shakers while she headed for the refrigerator. I imagined David sitting with his morning coffee and laptop as the sun highlighted auburn streaks in his dark hair. The image unsettled me almost as much as seeing Clea’s snapped neck. That person was gone. Our days of lazy Sunday mornings were over. I had to get out of here. Standing, I knocked the chair back in my haste. The resulting crash reverberated through the house, and before I turned around, I sensed David behind me.

“Go away,” I demanded.

Silence ensued. If it hadn’t been for my vampire senses, I’d have thought he’d actually left.

Taking a deep breath, I righted the chair and sat to wait for Phoebe. Two could play the ignore game.

“Are you all right?” David finally asked in a low voice.

“No, David. I’m not.” I didn’t turn to look at him. “You just broke a woman’s neck so the rest of us wouldn’t hear about your intimate affairs and whatever orders you have from Eadric. Turning vampire doesn’t change someone’s nature that much. So, no. I am not all right. Not at all. I just found out a man I thought I loved is a raving, murdering lunatic!”

“Willow!” Phoebe exclaimed from across the kitchen. “Clea’s a vampire. She can’t die from a broken neck.”

“Let it go,” David said, steel in his voice. “She’s entitled to her opinion.” He retreated, and a moment later a door slammed, making me jump in my chair.

“Wil,” Phoebe said with a sigh.

“I can’t believe you’re taking his side,” I accused.

“I’m not, but—”

My glare silenced her. She took slow deliberate steps in my direction as if waiting for me to cool down. Finally she handed me a bottle of juice and sat in the chair to my left.

Suspicion rose as I studied the bottle. Pomegranate juice. My preferred nonmagical drink. The one David had once claimed tasted like rotten grapes. “Did you bring these?”

Phoebe shook her head. “It was the only beverage in the fridge.”

Odd. Had David stocked his kitchen specifically for me? I shook the bottle and then nodded to Phoebe. “Spill it.”

She leaned back and stretched her legs. The miniskirt rose, revealing a splash of hot-pink silk. She caught my pointed look, grimaced, and wrapped a sweater over her bare thighs. “Work hazard.”

“Why are you dressed like a high-priced call girl?”

“I’m in disguise.”

“Obviously.”

“Hunting a vampire.”

I held my hand up in a stop motion. “Can we drop the buildup for once and just get to the details?”

“But that’s my favorite part.” She pursed her lips into a pout, then grimaced at my exasperation. “Fine. I was investigating your case and David told me Clea had been asking questions about you. I’m pretty sure she targeted him for information. Anyway, any vamp interested in a faery is unusual, so I started with her. Then she tried to Influence me and here we are.”

My heart started to race. “Do you think she’s the one threatening me?” I couldn’t imagine why—I’d never even seen her before.

Phoebe shook her head. “I doubt it. She seems more the type to deal Influence. I called you, but we all know what a useless waste of time that is, so I tried David. He said he’d pass you the message but also offered his place for questioning if I tagged her.”

Any vampire caught with Influence was breaking the law. As an agent of the Void, Phoebe was required to arrest her. I narrowed my eyes. “Why?”

“I figured it was as good a place as any. Turns out it’s better than I imagined. Did you see that sunroom? Talk about a handy vamp death chamber.”

“Yeah. Why do you think he had it installed?” Everything about him seemed so dark and violent now.

“No idea. It sure is convenient, though. This bitchy vamp has somehow got a hold of unsanctioned Influence. We need to find out how before Maude does, otherwise we’ll both be kept out of the loop. He offered a place and I took it. End of story.” She grabbed one of the bottles off the table and stalked out, heading toward the library.

I slumped. Phoebe was damn good at her job. I knew it better than anyone. But I couldn’t shake the feeling something other than goodwill was driving David’s cooperation. He’d disappeared for months. Now suddenly he cared?

I left my unopened juice on the table and followed Phoebe. Sulking in the kitchen while they interrogated Clea was unacceptable.

Just before I reached the library, an anguished moan followed by a frantic gasping sounded from the open door.

“Phoebe?” David’s concerned voice followed.

“Phoebs?” I ran.

The witch lay writhing on the floor, her hands clawing at her neck. Her wide, dark eyes bulged from her maroon-shaded face.

“What did you do?” I fell to my knees, covered Phoebe protectively, and verbally lashed out at David. “Did you bite her?”

“No! Jesus, Willow. I didn’t do anything. She took a drink of that juice and then fell.”

“The juice?” The bottle lay on its side in a puddle at Phoebe’s feet. I reached for it. The faint whiff of distilled cherries permeated my senses. I snatched my hand back. “Cherry Bomb,” I whispered before bolting across the room to my purse, which was lying next to Link.

Frantic, I dumped everything out in a heap on the floor and rummaged, tossing keys, receipts, and other clutter aside. Where was my pillbox? “It’s here somewhere. It has to be.” I cursed, checking each pocket and compartment. With everything emptied, I dug through the mess again and spotted my baggage-claim receipt from my trip home. “No. No. No. This is not happening.”

David had stayed at Phoebe’s side, trying to keep her from hurting herself further as she convulsed on the floor. “What are you looking for?”

“The antidote. It’s in my pillbox, but I couldn’t fly with it. It’s sitting on my dresser.” I ran to Phoebe’s side, scanning the room. “Did she have a purse?”

He didn’t answer.

“David! Did she bring a purse?”

“I don’t know. Check the desk.” He smoothed Phoebe’s hair back, trying to soothe her.

I jumped up, swallowing a frustrated scream. “Damn it! Where is Phoebe’s emergency kit?”

Please let her be as prepared as she usually is. If not, I’d have to risk my own life to save her. The search of the desk came up empty.

There was only one other option. I’d have to extract the Cherry Bomb from her manually. Then I’d be the one burning from the inside out. My heart sped up and a thin sheen of sweat covered my entire body. I had a slight chance of surviving the poison. Phoebe didn’t.

“As soon as I reverse the effects, get me home,” I ordered David.

“You can’t—”

“Just do it, David!” Between my tree and Talisen, I was almost positive I’d be okay. I kneeled beside Phoebe.

Link barked. Right next to him was a thin black jacket. Phoebe’s.

I snatched it up, searching the inside pockets first. Right away my fingers brushed against a cool metal box. “Thank you, God!” I cried, ripping the pocket as I yanked the box out. I jimmied it open. Right there in the middle sat the deep purple pill I’d been looking for.

“Move.” I shoved David over as I collapsed at Phoebe’s side. Tilting her head toward me, I spoke clearly. “Phoebe, I have the pill. You just need to open your mouth, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

Tears streamed down her face. Oh, Goddess help us. Phoebe did not cry. Ever. Not from physical pain and certainly not from emotional pain. But some things are too awful to bear. Being eaten from the inside by the magic-enhanced drug, Cherry Bomb, was one of them.

Phoebe managed to open her mouth just enough for me to tuck the pill under her tongue. There was no hope of being able to swallow it. The intense burning caused by the poison would make that impossible. I’d formulated the pill to melt rapidly under the victim’s tongue. It also made it easier to administer in advanced cases when the victim had already passed out. Phoebe wasn’t far from that point.

“How long does it take to work?” David asked, looking skeptical.

“A few minutes. It’s already started.”

“She’ll live?”

I turned hard eyes on David. “Of course. Why? Were you hoping for something different? Is that why you laced the drinks in your fridge with flesh-eating drugs?”

He sat back, his expression horrified. “You think I did this?”

“You offered your house to Phoebe. The drinks were in your refrigerator. How else did they get there?”

“You’re being ridiculous. I haven’t even been here for over a week.” He leaned over to inspect the bottle. “Pomegranate juice? Does that look like something I would buy and keep around on the off chance I could lure a mortal here?”

I wasn’t convinced. “You were quick to offer us your house. Quick to take Maude’s deal. You know we both drink it. You didn’t offer it to us, but maybe you were waiting until later. After we’d interrogated your girlfriend, you could’ve tried to off Phoebe. Or both of us.” I unconsciously scooted over to Link.

The wounded look on David’s face made him look as if he’d been shot. “I cannot believe you’d think those things of me. You know me, Wil. Does any of that sound like something I would do?”

No, it didn’t. My confidence faltered. But nothing I’d learned about him since I’d gotten home made sense either. “I thought I did. Know you. But the David I knew wouldn’t have turned vampire, and he sure as hell wouldn’t have kept it from me.”

“I told you I’d explain when the time is right.”

He held my gaze, but I turned away and whispered, “I don’t trust you anymore.”

Phoebe stirred and a few moments later she sat up. “Ouch.” She looked around. “What happened?”

“The juice was laced with Cherry Bomb,” I said.

“Fuck me. No wonder I feel like my insides have been charbroiled.” She pulled at her skirt, which had inched up, and winced.

“It’ll hurt for about a week, but you should be okay. Or did you want to go see a Healer?” I grabbed her hand and squeezed lightly.

“No. No Healer.”

I smiled. Phoebe would have to be dying to consent to a Healer. Then I sobered. She had almost died. “I could call Talisen.”

She shook her head and climbed to her feet, wobbling with the effort. Taking a few careful steps, she moved to sit in a chair. “Thanks, but not now. I’ll have him check me out when we get home. Right now we have a vampire to deal with.”

I rolled my eyes. Phoebe never let anything get in the way of the job.

“I could use something to drink, though.” She bit her lip, still pale. “I don’t suppose you know if there’s anything to drink here that’s safe?” she asked David.

He shrugged helplessly. “I haven’t been here.”

“Wait just a second,” I demanded. “You aren’t even the least bit suspicious David planted the Cherry Bomb?”

Phoebe’s eyes widened in surprise. “No. Why should I be?”

“It’s his house. He’s a vampire. He… he doesn’t like you.”

“And I don’t care much for him.” She glanced at David. “Sorry. Nothing personal.”

He shrugged.

My fingernails bit into my palms. “Since when did you decide to take his side?”

She frowned. “I’m not taking sides. But we need David to sort out this mess. If he wanted me dead, he’s had a few days to make a move. Spiking pomegranate juice on the slim chance I’d pick one up is lame. David’s smarter than that.”

I fumed, irritated they’d used the same argument. “Someone tried to kill someone. If it wasn’t for us, then who?”

Neither of them said anything.

I rounded on David. “Who else do you bring here?”

He shook his head slowly. “No one. At least not anyone mortal.”

Phoebe shrugged, a bit of color returning to her cheeks. That juice had to be meant for one of us. Most likely me. It was my favorite drink. David was my ex-boyfriend. I was the one with a death threat. Someone really did want to kill me. Or at the very least scare the shit out of me.

“We’ll make a list of possible suspects when we get home,” Phoebe said. “After we question the vamp.”

I blinked, unable to process her lack of urgency. “Whatever. I’ll take Link and go get you something to drink.”

Phoebe smiled. “I’d appreciate it.”

“Let’s go, Link.” Not bothering to conceal my frustration, I wasn’t surprised to see him change to wolf form. It was just as well. We were in vampire territory.

“And get me a pick-me-up bar if you can,” Phoebe called.

“Fine.”

Twenty minutes later, Link and I returned to find David and Phoebe sitting close on a leather couch, their heads bent in conference. With David’s enhanced hearing and Phoebe’s tracking skills they must have heard me enter. I set the snacks on the desk and waited. Animated and engaged in their conversation, Phoebe appeared perfectly normal. No one would’ve guessed she’d almost died thirty minutes ago. Tired of being ignored, I bit back a snide remark and cleared my throat. “Would you like me to play good cop or bad cop?”

Phoebe grabbed a bottled water and nodded thanks. “Neither. We’ve got this.”

“I suppose I’m just a liability then. Maybe I should wait in the car.”

“You can if you want,” Phoebe said.

I clenched my teeth and stalked to the mirror, studying the female vamp on the other side as she tentatively tried turning her newly healed neck. “Forget it. I’m not going anywhere.”

Phoebe mumbled something I didn’t catch.

“I’m going in,” I said.

Before I could locate the lever on the window frame, David appeared and clutched both of my wrists. “You can’t. She’ll kill you.”

The agony made my vision blur as pain seized my muscles. I twisted free as I stepped back. “A simple ‘wait a second’ would have done the trick,” I spat. “Fireballs. That hurt!”

“I barely touched you.”

“You obviously haven’t gained control of your strength yet,” I lied, rubbing my wrists.

David frowned as he gazed at the fresh bruises already blooming on my flesh. “Jesus. Sorry.” He reached out, no doubt intending to inspect his handiwork, but I skirted sideways toward the glass.

“Fine. I won’t go in unescorted, but don’t think for a second you’re leaving me out of this party.” I pointed to the lever. “Open it. I want to know who that vampire got the Influence from.”

Chapter Twelve

“Hold on a minute.” David smiled and flicked a switch on the wall. “No need to let her out just yet.”

Clea’s head snapped up. She sprang to her feet and flew at the door, her fists pounding on the reinforced glass. “David, you son of a fucking washed-up vampire lord! Who the fuck do you think you’re messing with? Let me out of here. Or I’ll slice up that pretty faery of yours and stuff the remaining parts down your throat.”

I shot David a look of disgust. “She’s lovely. I can see what you saw in her.”

Clea kicked the glass, making it vibrate, and turned to me. “Shut up, bitch.”

“Witty, too.” The switch David hit must have turned on an intercom.

He ignored me and spoke into a tiny speaker camouflaged in a miniature painting. “What makes you think I’m letting you out? I apologize if I left you with the impression I’m less than competent. Or did you think since we shared blood I would be bound to you?”

I gaped.

What? They’d shared blood? Only mated vamps did that, and it created a powerful bond. Mates shared a passion unimaginable to any other beings. Or so I’d been told. With that passion came overwhelming, all-encompassing lust, love, and pain. But never betrayal. David could torture her all he wanted, but if they were mated, he’d never kill her.

David met my eyes and shook his head ever so slightly.

What did that mean?

Clea moved closer to the glass, her chin lifted and hip jutting out in defiance. “You’re bound to me, you fucking prick. I can feel it right now.”

Phoebe moved, situating herself next to David. “Sorry, honey. You lose. It’s a spell.”

Clea’s face turned a pale shade of gray. “It isn’t. We’re mated.”

“No,” David said softly. “If you hadn’t been so high last week, you would’ve realized I never drank from you. I told you that vamp dust would kill you someday. Looks like your time just arrived.”

“You did!” she screeched. “I feel your presence in a way I didn’t before.”

Phoebe turned to David. “Damn, she’s slow. Didn’t I just tell her it was a spell?”

David nodded. “I think she’s having trouble processing.”

Our prisoner wasn’t the only one confused. Why had Phoebe worked a bonding spell? And when? I’d left them when I went to the store, but as far as I could tell, they hadn’t let Clea out of the sunroom. What were they up to?

Clea’s eyebrows pinched together as she considered him. After a moment, her expression cleared. “You’re lying. You wouldn’t go through the trouble of creating a bonding spell if you’re planning to kill me. Seems I’d be more likely to cooperate if I thought I was going to die.”

David shrugged. “I had hoped for better cooperation. If you really thought we were mated, you wouldn’t be as keen on killing me.”

Phoebe leaned in. “I cast it right before he arrived. Tricky, huh? You remember the sex-appeal spell you asked for? Well, I didn’t quite give you what you asked for.”

Her lips moved in a silent expletive.

“Now you’re seeing reason.” David smiled. “Let’s make a deal, shall we? You answer our questions, and I’ll consider letting you see another moon.”

Clea glared at David, her eyes blood-red with fury. “You’re crazy if you think I’m going to cooperate with you, junior. I don’t give a fuck who your sire is. Eadric will not stand for this traitorous bullshit. You kill me, and you’ll be dead by sundown tomorrow. Although, it’d be worth it to see your ugly ass in hell.”

“Who do you think sent me?” His predatory smile made me take an involuntary step sideways. Who was this new David? Cold. Calculating. Frightening. “Eadric is just as interested in your extracurricular activities as my companions are,” David continued. “If you don’t start cooperating, he might be inclined to come down here and torture it out of you himself.”

Clea didn’t break eye contact. Only the slight sag of her shoulders indicated she was starting to believe.

David’s smile turned indulgent. “Why were you asking me about Ms. Rhoswen?”

She laughed. “That’s what you want to know? You’re an idiot.” The vamp eyed me. “Sorry, honey. I was trying to figure out how to get him into bed. I wanted to know if we’d need to work out a threesome.”

I suppressed a gag. She was truly atrocious. It was a good thing she was behind glass. David looked like he’d stake her if he had half a chance.

“Okay, that was TMI,” I said. “Now, where did you get the Influence?”

Clea stared at her bare feet in silence. One of her red Jimmy Choos lay abandoned near the door. The heel had broken, presumably when David had thrown her in. Poor innocent shoe.

“It’s simple, really,” I said. “All we want to know is where you got the drug.”

“I can’t say.” Her voice wobbled. “They’ll kill me.”

“Newsflash, sweetheart. You’re dead anyway,” Phoebe said.

Clea clamped her mouth shut. Finally, David spoke. “I have no problem leaving you there until the first rays of daylight start to burn your retinas. I’m sure that will get you talking, but I might be too pissed off by then to worry about what happens to you.”

Clea pulled back, shoulders stiff with anger, and then she spat at the glass. The blood-tinged saliva splattered and one mucus-like string dripped down.

“Classy.” Phoebe wrinkled her nose.

David glanced once at the gob of spit before raising his indifferent gaze back to Clea.

Her lip curled and she kicked the glass once more.

“I’ve got a call to make.” David turned and closed the door with a soft click.

The vamp inside the sunroom hung her head.

“He’s gone,” Phoebe said, tapping the glass to get Clea’s attention. “I don’t blame you for not talking to David. Between us girls, I agree with you. He’s a low-class, sick piece of shit. I’m ready to dust him myself, but if I do, it’ll cost me my job. So, I’m just biding time.”

“The fucker broke my shoe,” Clea said as she pouted and glanced at her feet.

“Reason enough to end his sorry existence.”

I settled into a black leather armchair beside Link and wondered how long David planned to let Phoebe try her good-cop routine. Clearly, they’d worked out a plan while I’d been gone at the store. It wasn’t in Phoebe’s nature to be soft on a vamp.

Clea’s face turned dreamy. “I’d like to truss him up with a hook through his heart and watch his blood run dry.”

Phoebe chuckled. “That has appeal, but how about nailing his feet to the floor while using a wench to stretch his arms until the bones separate? That sounds much more painful to me.”

“While stabbing him with a red-hot poker.”

I blanched as the pair continued to one-up each other in the gruesome department.

Phoebe turned somber. “Too bad we won’t get a chance to implement any of those ideas. Well, not on David anyway. I’m going to write down the one involving wasps though. I had no idea vampires were allergic to them. Of course, wasps aren’t night creatures, so how could I have known?”

Clea’s head snapped up. “Don’t be ridiculous. Just let me out and the two of us can take David tonight.”

“I can’t. I’m under orders to keep him alive. For now.” A long blond lock from Phoebe’s wig fell into her eyes as she shook her head, expression pained. She slowly ran one hand along the silver frame of the door. “Besides, this entry is tuned to David’s energy. He’s the only one who can open it. But if you tell us who you got the Influence from, he’ll let you out. He has no other reason to see you dead.”

“I’ll kill him for this. One way or another.”

Phoebe’s lips quirked. “You need to work on your poker face. If you give him reason to believe you’ll kill him, he’ll never let you out.”

The library door swung open and David strode in, tall and dark, brimming with power. Link jumped to his feet and growled. I didn’t even bother trying to soothe him.

David ignored him and came to a stop beside Phoebe. “Any progress?”

She shrugged and took a seat in the leather chair next to me. “Some, but I’m pretty sure she was waiting for you to appear before spilling the dirt.”

Clea hissed.

“Or not.”

“Fine.” David moved to the other side of the room and sat behind a massive banker’s desk. “I have some paperwork to finish. If she isn’t in a talkative mood when I’m done, we’ll lock up and send a cleaning crew in the morning.”

“You bastard,” Clea spat.

When he didn’t respond, she ran through a litany of colorful expletives.

“Impressive,” I whispered to Phoebe. She nodded in agreement and picked up a travel magazine from the mahogany end table.

David traveled?

After a while, Clea calmed and mumbled something.

“Excuse me?” Tired of being an observer, I stood and moved to the glass door.

“Fuck.” She ran a nervous hand through her mussed hair. “I got the Influence from Daniels. Lester Daniels.”

“When?” I asked, holding my breath.

“Early this morning, about an hour before daybreak.”

I caught David’s eye before asking, “Was that before or after you murdered him?”

“What?” she demanded with what appeared to be genuine surprise. “Why would I murder my supplier?”

“No idea, but he’s been dead for a good twelve hours. So you either saw him right before his death, you murdered him, or you’re lying and you didn’t get the goods from him. Which is it?”

She blinked, moisture gathering in her eyes. “Those bastards. I told him to watch his back.”

Whoa. Since when did the vamp bitch have feelings? My lips formed into a shocked O. The vampire actually cared about a human? It wasn’t totally unheard of, but I wouldn’t have pegged Clea as the sensitive type.

I stepped closer and leaned against the glass, my tone gentle. “Who did it?”

She shook her head and a pale stream of pink tears slid down her cheek. “It had to be someone from the inside.”

I waited while the vampire collected herself. Then our eyes met, my blue ones imploring her red-tinged green ones.

“It’s your fault, you fucking sellout.” She pointed a long, elegant finger in my direction. Her deep plum nail scraped against the glass. “You and everyone else associated with the fucked-up corruption of the Arcane. I told Lester to not trust any of you. Now look where it got him. Dead. Fucking dead.”

“Are you implying Daniels had associations with the Arcane?” Phoebe asked, moving to stand beside me.

“How do you think he got his Influence license?” Clea sniffed.

“He worked for the university,” I said. “The research department.”

“That’s what they want you to think. You of all people should know how they cover their tracks.”

I glanced at Phoebe and an unspoken acknowledgement passed between us. The vampire could very well be telling the truth. The Void branch of the Arcane moved without boundaries. We couldn’t rule out the possibility someone we knew and worked with was trafficking Influence. But why would they? Agents of the Void could get a license easily if they had just cause.

Clea stepped back and sank into a white wicker chair, the pink tears flowing faster.

“Crying won’t help you,” David said, ice in his tone.

The vampire sobbed and mumbled something incoherent.

“What did she say?” I whispered.

Phoebe tilted her head. “I think she apologized to Daniels.”

“Why?”

Phoebe shrugged, unfazed by the sobbing mess in the sunroom. “Maybe she’s holding something back. David, how long until sunrise?”

He stood and joined us. “A few hours.”

“Good. After she’s done with the hysterics, we can get to those torture techniques we discussed earlier.” Phoebe turned to study Clea. “Maybe then she’ll remember what she isn’t telling us.”

“Whoa!” I stepped between them and held up my hands. “I can’t allow torture.”

“She’s a vampire.”

“So is David.”

Phoebe pursed her lips. “I’m not above torturing him if he gets out of line.”

David growled.

A snarling wolf leapt in front of me, teeth bared as he forced David to take a few steps back.

David’s eyes flashed red, a sure sign he’d lost all patience. “Call him off before I end this permanently.”

“Good luck with that. Link wouldn’t be an easy opponent even if a witch and a faery weren’t here to help him.” Phoebe turned to me. “How long do you think it would take the three of us to disable your boyfriend?”

“Damn it, Phoebe. No one’s fighting anyone.” I took a step forward and snapped, “Down, Link.”

David’s lips curved in satisfaction.

It took every ounce of willpower I could muster to not rescind my command and let Link do his worst. “If you ever threaten my wolf again, that pretty vampire face of yours is going to need reconstructive surgery.”

David stared at me, then his eyes crinkled slightly.

“I’m not joking, David. Consider yourself warned.”

His face cleared, and I knew he didn’t believe me. Why would he? Vampires had super-healing abilities. He had no reason to feel threatened.

I turned my attention back to Clea. In the time we’d taken to have our petty argument, no one had been paying attention to the prisoner. Now she stood with a small knife aimed directly at her heart. Where the hell did that come from?

“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice steady.

“I know there’s no way you’ll let me live, and I refuse to spend the last moments of my life in service to any of you.” She inched the knife slowly and deliberately into her chest.

“No!” I cried, grasping the frame of the door, searching for the secret opening. My finger caught and the enchanted glass shimmered. Before either Phoebe or David could stop me, I leapt through.

Clea watched me through already deadened eyes, the knife a quarter of the way in her chest. Once it passed through the heart, she’d be gator food. “I knew the witch lied. You could’ve let me out at any time.”

“Did you expect us to?”

“No, but I had to try.”

High-heeled boots clattered on the tiled floor, and I knew Phoebe had moved to stand right behind me. “How about we make a deal? You tell me everything you know about the Arcane and the Influence, and I’ll make sure you live and neither of them hurts you.”

Clea studied me, her expression lined with skepticism. “You’re full of shit. Without your enhanced edibles, you’re useless. You must think I’m an idiot. If they decide to kill me, there’s no way you’re strong enough to stop either of them.”

“You underestimate the power of this particular faery,” Phoebe said, her voice hard. “If she wants you to live, you will.”

It wasn’t a total blatant lie. My power went beyond infusing plants and baking. I could manipulate just about any living thing, which meant I could exert some control over Phoebe if I wanted to. David was another story. Technically, he was dead. My life magic wouldn’t do anything but be sucked into the ether. Complete waste of time.

The air seemed to move behind me and I spun, coming face to shoulder with David.

Clea hissed and something silver clattered on the floor. The knife. She must have dropped it after yanking it out of her own chest. Clea tackled me, and I slammed into David, my entire torso erupting into a burning inferno from the vampire energy. David grabbed me, trying to shove me away, but Clea’s rock-hard limbs trapped me between them. They each grabbled, trying to choke the other one. My ears rang in time with a loud, piercing scream, and only when I gasped for air did I realize the sound had come from me.

I jerked in agony, vaguely aware of Phoebe chanting in the background as the vamp fire intensified. Pain overrode my brain, my world spinning as lightbulbs exploded behind my eyes, and though I knew I was in the crossfire of a death match, everything went weirdly silent.

My world slowed to a dreamlike state and my life force left me. Was this really how I would die? Trapped between two vampires intent on killing each other? Of all the stupid—

A brilliant flash of white light flared. The two vamps froze and fell away from me. I crumpled, landing sprawled on the hard tile floor, its coolness easing the fire from my limbs. Blinking, I stared blindly into the dark twilight of predawn.

A shadow hovered over me. “Wil?”

I opened my dry mouth and tried to swallow.

“Wil,” Phoebe said again.

“Yeah,” I croaked.

“Thank the gods. Can you get up? We need to get back inside.”

“Hmm.” I didn’t move.

“I think the door is going to seal. You have to get up.” Phoebe tugged on my arms.

A tingling of comprehension worked its way into my consciousness. I lifted my head, clamping my hands over my temples as dizziness threatened to claim me.

“Crawl,” Phoebe demanded.

I obeyed, placing one knee after the other as if I’d been force-fed Influence. When I breached the door into the library, I flopped back down, my head landing on something solid. Pain lanced through my cheek and I flinched. My eyes swam, fighting for focus.

“Lie back,” Phoebe said.

I turned my attention toward her soft voice and my eyes cleared. “What happened?”

“I dusted them.”

“Good.” I closed my eyes, allowing Phoebe to place a pillow under my head. “Where’s David?”

“Shhh. Just relax. I’ll get you some water.”

The floor creaked as Phoebe left the room. I lay motionless, waiting. A few moments later my eyes popped open. Wait, what did Phoebe say? I dusted them. Them? As in both of them?

“David!” I shouted, sitting straight up, my eyes locking on the limp male form crumpled on the floor.

Chapter Thirteen

I half-crawled, half-dragged myself to David’s side, tears blurring my vision. Peering down at him, I wiped them away. His slack face grossly contrasted with the wide, shock-filled eyes staring past me at the ceiling.

“No!” I threw my hands down on his rock-solid chest, pounding furiously as if I could pump life back into his still heart. “You can’t die,” I sobbed. “I forbid it.”

Resting one trembling hand on his cold cheek, I gently tilted his head back with the other, determined to force air between his tight lips. I locked my mouth over his and my lungs constricted, straining with pressure. But my effort was met with a solid wall of resistance. I just didn’t have enough strength to fill the concrete lungs of a vampire.

Vampire. Vampires don’t breathe. Nor do they have beating hearts. As the realization crossed my panic-stricken mind, I slumped, laid my head on his statuesque body, and whispered, “We weren’t finished.”

All of the anger and resentment I’d harbored since David stepped back into my life fled. Why had I been so mean, so judgmental, about his life choice? Now he’d never know I hadn’t stopped loving him.

None of that mattered. He was dead. My heart thundered in my chest and blinding fury took over my senses.

I wouldn’t let him go. Not like this.

I sat up and rested my hands lightly on his chest. He really was gone—the contact no longer pained me—but I had to try. No matter how futile the effort. I closed my eyes and imagined David as I knew him before, muscular and tanned from his oil-rig job with softer, less-chiseled features and an easy smile. I bent down to place a soft kiss on his closed lips, catching a trace of his familiar, faint woodsy scent still clinging to his silk shirt.

A single tear spilled as my breath caught and my heart seized. If my magic failed, I’d never again hear his deep laugh or peer into his midnight-blue eyes. Unacceptable. I’d find a way, even if it killed me.

Trembling, I forced in a steadying breath and let my senses take over. The granite shell beneath my hands radiated with emptiness, barren of any tendrils of life. I pushed my will deeper, searching, until finally a whisper of something familiar washed over me.

“David,” I said softly, barely daring to believe a tiny piece of him still existed. It wasn’t life energy, but something remembered, a recollection or shadow. I didn’t care. It was something.

The sensation slipped through my magical grasp. I dug deeper, struggling to force my magic through David. A part of him was in there. I’d just touched a piece of his energy.

“Come on,” I pleaded. Sweat rolled, stinging my already-damp eyes. I shut them tight and pulled my magic back, wrapping it around my heart, the place most concentrated with faery magic. Then I poured every ounce of love, fear, disappointment, and even the anger I carried for the vampire back into him on a wave of desperation.

My head swam with emotion as I registered the slowing of my heartbeat, but I held tight and forced the magic into him. The stream of power resisted, and I pushed harder, only managing to straddle the magic between my heart and David’s soul.

It wasn’t going to work. His soul was gone.

Beau’s face flashed in my mind. “No!” I wouldn’t survive another loss of someone I loved.

I barely noticed Link press his Shih Tzu body against my thigh as I wrapped my arms around David, pressing my chest to where his heart would be. A pale green cloud of magic swirled, engulfing us both. I didn’t have the strength to keep forcing my will into him. Unwilling to let him go without a fight, I built a mental barrier in my mind, one solid glass block at a time. Once the last piece was in place, if I severed my magical link, the power would have no choice but to latch onto the one it was created for. In theory, anyway.

It worked with animals. At least that’s what I’d learned in all the reference books. But I’d never tried it before, and David was a vampire. Ruled by death, not life. With my wall one block short of being mentally constructed, I severed my magic and finished the barrier. My strength waned, weakening my mental wall as my magic strained to return to me. “No! Go to David,” I huffed out.

Blackness crept into the edges of my vision. My hands started to numb, and I knew I’d soon pass out, or worse. The plan wasn’t working.

“Willow! What the hell are you doing?” Phoebe demanded, reentering the room. The door slammed with enough force to rattle the bookcase.

Startled, I let my wall crumble and the magic slammed back into me, overwhelming my senses with all the emotion I’d poured into it. My heart swelled with love while simultaneously shooting out darts of pain. Tears welled in my eyes and adrenaline made me tremble.

“Saving him,” I shot back. Stubbornly, I leaned down and placed both hands on David’s cheeks and whispered, “Take what I give you, for it is all I have.” I pressed my lips against his and forgot everything as I forced my magic-filled love into his being.

The sensation crashed like a wave flowing in and out, siphoning small amounts at a time from me into the vampire. The resistance vanished like a dam had broken, and everything I had rushed into him in a startling whoosh.

I froze and opened my eyes to David staring at me, confusion and wonder lighting up his face.

“What happened?” he rasped.

“You died,” I said and the room faded to white.

***

I sensed the familiar weight of Link’s body on my feet and pried one eye open.

“Good morning.”

Turning my head, Talisen came into sight. He sat against the wall, dark circles rimming his usually bright green eyes. It was then I noticed the lush leaf canopy overhead and realized we were in my room, on my bed.

“It’s morning?” I asked, peering through the dim light.

“Afternoon, actually.”

“Oh.” Someone had closed my blinds, blocking the sun. I turned my attention to Link, who had moved to my chest. “Keeping an eye on me?”

“He’s not the only one.” Talisen gestured toward the door and Phoebe, standing inside the frame.

“Hey,” I said in a small voice. Her narrowed eyes and thin, tight lips didn’t bode well for the looming conversation.

She nodded and left without saying a word.

“Shit.”

“She’ll get over it.” Talisen scooted closer, his kind eyes reassuring me I hadn’t totally fucked up. “Can you sit up?”

“Not with Link on my chest.” I tried to smile, but it felt more like a grimace.

“Down, Link,” he commanded.

To my astonishment, Link scrambled to his elevator. When it was a few feet from the floor, he jumped down and sat obediently at the foot of my oak tree. Wow. He didn’t even do that when I told him to get off the bed. It was the one place he thought he was truly the alpha in this partnership of ours.

“How’d you do that?” I sat up, then clutched my pounding head with both hands. “Ugh.”

“Nearly draining your life energy will do that to you.”

“I… Where’s David? He’s alive, right? I mean, I saw him alive. Did it work? Did I save him?”

Talisen gazed at me, his eyebrows pinched. After a moment he nodded. “He’s alive, as much as a vampire can be alive, I guess.”

I sighed in relief and slumped down.

“Wil?” His quiet, serious tone radiated with concern.

Uh oh. I cut my gaze away, avoiding eye contact, and stared at his big hands resting on my bed. A smooth black stone protruded from his fist. A worry stone.

Alarm bells went off. I sat straight up. “What’s wrong? He’s okay, right? I mean, I’m fine, or will be as soon as I get my strength back. Phoebe’s okay. Is it Clea? Did she get away?”

“Clea? Who’s that?”

“Oh. They didn’t tell you about her.” Of course not. It was Void business. “No one. Just a vampire Phoebe dusted.”

He nodded an acknowledgement, his fingers working against the stone. “I see. And did David get caught in the crossfire, or did Phoebe mean to dust him, too?”

I frowned. So Phoebe had filled him in on at least that part. Had she meant to kill David? Was that why she was so mad? No, he worked for the Void. She wouldn’t dust an operative, even if he was a vampire. “I’m not sure. I was standing between David and Clea when they started fighting. I’m pretty sure I would’ve died if she hadn’t stepped in.”

Talisen stilled his fidgeting fingers and reached out, gliding his hand down the side of my face. Time stood still as he peered into my eyes, intense and soulful. I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

“Damn it, Wil. Don’t… ever risk yourself like that again.” He leaned forward and wrapped me in both arms. “You’re okay?” he whispered.

My breath caught, and I choked down a belated sob. “Yeah. I’m okay.” My hands trembled and a shiver ran over my wings. It hadn’t occurred to me until I’d heard the catch in his voice that I’d been in serious trouble.

Talisen’s arms tightened. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”

I pressed closer, warm and safe in his strong embrace. A pit formed in my stomach. What had I done? Nearly killed myself to save a vampire. I started to shake in horror and clutched Tal, my fingers digging into his shoulders, holding on as tight as I could. I shouldn’t have risked myself. Not even for David, but I knew deep down I’d do it again.

Once I found the strength to pull back, he relaxed his grip and pressed his lips to the top of my head. “Want to tell me about it?”

“I don’t think I can,” I said into his chest, guilt clutching my heart. What would Tal do if anything happened to me? How would he survive losing me, after what had happened to Beau?

“You can tell me anything.”

Was that pain I heard in his voice? “No. I mean it was Void business. I don’t think I’m allowed to disclose the details.”

His body relaxed, and I almost smiled. “How about the magic and what happened with David, or is that too much as well?”

“I don’t know. But I have to talk it out with someone, because I don’t understand what happened. Phoebe has magical skills, but they aren’t like faes’. Her knowledge won’t help.”

Talisen searched my eyes, his gaze serious and intense. What was he looking for? “You can trust me with anything. You know that, right?”

Ah. He’d been searching for the link. Our common thread of trust. “Of course I do.” I took his hand and squeezed. “Sometimes I think you’re the only one.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Not Phoebs?”

“Oh sure. But it’s harder. She has strong opinions on everything.”

He laughed, and the sound helped ease some of my tension.

I smiled and flung the covers back, preparing to head to the bathroom. The shock of cool air-conditioning on my bare legs startled me, and I gasped, realizing I was wearing nothing but my tank top and black lace underwear. I scrambled to cover up as my face grew hot.

Talisen pretended mock innocence with wide eyes. “I didn’t see anything.”

I squinted. “Right. So you kept your eyes closed while you were healing my bruises?” After the scene at David’s house, I should’ve been black and blue. The only way I could be blemish-free was due to Talisen’s skills.

“Something like that.” He hopped off the bed and headed toward the door. “I’ll be in the kitchen making dinner when you’re ready.”

I nodded. Just as he was closing my door, I called, “Tal?”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

Link squeezed out the door just before Talisen shut it softly, leaving me alone.

Or so I thought. Twenty minutes later, I emerged fresh from the shower to find David sitting at my desk, dressed in black pants and a gray silk shirt. Not a hair was out of place. Impeccable as always.

“What the…?” I faltered and spun to the window. Sunlight seeped around the edges of my closed blinds. “How… I mean…” I shook my head and stared at him in confusion. Even though my room was dark, the sun was still up. He should’ve been dead to the world.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Usually it takes centuries to acclimate to daytime hours.”

I eyed my closet. “Did you just wake up?”

He turned his head to follow my gaze and hesitated before speaking. “I haven’t slept yet.”

My wings started to spread, lifting me off the floor as comprehension dawned. I hovered and then forced myself to land with a soft thump. I sank to the floor and gazed up at him. “No vampire your age can stay awake during midday.”

David nodded in a slow agreement.

“Then how…?”

He got up from the chair and settled on the floor in front of me. “You tell me.”

I straightened my spine. “You think I did this?”

“Didn’t you?”

“No!” It was impossible. Wasn’t it? My magic couldn’t change the basic makeup of a vampire. I couldn’t breathe life into death. Isn’t that exactly what you did? I mentally asked myself.

Tiny hairs rose on the tips of my wings, which fluttered involuntarily.

“Wil,” David said. Nervous energy shot through my veins at the familiarity of my nickname on his lips. “What happened?”

Tears burned the back of my eyes again, and before I could blink them back, one silent tear fell. The words caught in my throat, and I mouthed, “You died.”

“That’s what Phoebe said, but how is that possible? I’m right here.” He lifted one hand and studied it as if to make sure he really did exist.

I opened my mouth to speak, but a sharp knock at my door cut me off, followed by Phoebe barging in. “The director wants to see us.”

“When?” David asked.

“Now.”

“Okay,” I fluttered my wings and rose gracefully off the floor. “David, we’ll… uh, continue this when I get back.”

“David’s been summoned as well.”

My head snapped up. “Wait, how’s he going to go outside with the sun still up? And how does she know he’s awake?”

Phoebe eyed David. “You haven’t told her yet?”

“We didn’t get that far.”

I settled my wings, standing rigidly as a foreboding settled over me. “Tell me what?”

David’s eyes crinkled, and he visibly tried to dampen a smile threatening to break through.

“What? Tell me what?” I demanded again.

Phoebe glanced at David and frowned. “Sunlight doesn’t affect him at all anymore.”

Chapter Fourteen

“And Maude knows!” I cried. My heart stopped. Actually stopped. Now Maude knew I could alter a vampire. Maude, the one who’d found a way to manipulate me into producing Influence.

Not to mention all the other harmful pieces of unusual magic she’d somehow discovered and managed to get approved by the Void. How else could Cherry Bombs be allowed as sanctioned weapons? Anything that could melt a mortal from the inside should have been buried the moment it was discovered. Thank the gods I’d stumbled on an antidote. It had taken recreating the awful stuff and studying it for months, but I’d finally done it.

My blood pressure rose, kick-starting the frozen organ in my chest. I clutched Phoebe’s arm. “Who told her?”

She shook her head. “Not either of us. At least not at first. She knew when she called to summon us.”

“She must have a spy or surveillance on the house,” David reasoned. “I was outside for quite a while after we realized what happened. She demanded to talk to me, and I had no choice but to relay the details.”

“Do you have any idea what this means?” I asked Phoebe in a tight voice, my fingernails digging into my thigh.

She clutched my hand, eyes full of pity. “Yes, and I’m sorry.”

***

The muddy tang of the Mississippi River wafting in the open window lingered in my nostrils as I fumed.

“Wait a second,” Phoebe said. “You can’t hold them against their will.”

Maude leaned back, studying the three of us. Her casual pose smacked of victory. “I can. As you might recall, they both signed contracts. They belong to me.”

“No one belongs to you, you selfish, power-hungry, two-bit excuse for a faery,” I seethed.

“My dear niece, that is no way to talk to your auntie. What would your mother say?” Glee lit Maude’s eyes and her black wings twitched in anticipation.

I took two steps and leaned over the desk. “My mother will be horrified when she learns what you’ve turned into.”

Maude pursed her lips. “Then we’d best keep you here until you see reason.”

David, who’d been silent ever since Maude had announced the Arcane’s intention to sequester the pair of us until they’d exhausted a comprehensive set of tests, stood. “I cannot be party to testing from the Arcane. Eadric will not be pleased. You’ll have to excuse me. He’s expecting me.”

David opened the office door to a pair of guards, each pointing silver spikes at his chest. He turned a steely gaze on Maude. “Call them off.”

She shifted and crossed one ankle over the other. “We aren’t finished here.”

David eyed the guards, seemed to make a decision, and then closed the door and retreated to stand next to me. “How long will these tests take?”

She shrugged. “Until our scientists can replicate what Willow has achieved.”

I balled my hands into fists and placed them on my hips. “No. I will not consent to these tests. What happened was a freak accident that I have no intention of repeating.”

“Why do you need me?” David asked, ignoring me. “Seems you’d be better off using any other vampire.”

Maude nodded her agreement. “True, and that is on the agenda. But you must see testing your new abilities is in both of our interests.”

David sat, crossing one leg over his knee. To anyone else he would have appeared casual, unconcerned. They wouldn’t notice the tiny squint of his right eye. His one and only tell that he was seconds from losing his patience. Last time I saw that look was right before he’d fired one of the contractors who’d worked on his company’s oil rig. The guy had made one too many inappropriate remarks about tasting my faery bits. Yeah, those bits. The ones reserved for my boyfriend.

“I understand the Arcane’s interest in my situation, but I’m under no obligation to consent.” David nodded toward the door. “And you must know your guards can’t stop me if I decide to leave.”

“But you won’t.”

He smiled with mocking amusement. “What makes you think so?”

Maude jerked her head in my direction. “You won’t leave your girlfriend here unattended.”

David didn’t even spare me a glance. “You overestimate my affection, Director. Besides, Agent Rhoswen can take care of herself.”

The heavy weight of betrayal made bile rise in my throat. What the devil was David up to? He really wasn’t planning on leaving me here, was he?

Maude opened her mouth, shut it, then said, “You’re under contract. You know the consequences if you breach the agreement.”

“My contract specifically states my only duty is to protect Agent Rhoswen from any hostile vampires and to gather intel on my sire. Nowhere does it stipulate I would be used in your lab. However, I can’t think of a better place for Willow to be protected from my kind. You are in the business of bringing down rogue vampires, are you not?”

I gaped at David as he stood and strode to the door. He really did plan to leave me here, and after I’d saved his life. The bastard.

“I’ll be in touch.” He pulled the door open once again. “Step aside, please,” he said to the guards. “The director and I have reached an understanding.”

Maude’s face tightened, unable to conceal her growing anger. She gave a curt nod, and the guards retreated.

David stepped into the hallway, paused, and turned to meet Maude’s furious gaze. “Oh, and don’t damage my girlfriend. I wouldn’t like it.”

My aunt straightened, her wings spread wide. “Do not threaten me, blood-sucker. You have no idea the connections I have. One phone call and you’ll be just as dead as that vampire whore you were associated with.”

David gave her a wry smile but said nothing as he strode off.

I sat, stunned, staring at the now-empty hallway.

“What are you waiting for? Follow him.” Maude’s tight voice came out terse with fury.

I jumped to Phoebe’s side and we both headed for the door.

“Not you, Agent Rhoswen. You’re needed here,” she demanded.

Determined to give David a piece of my mind, I ignored her, but Phoebe paused. She turned. “Willow’s my partner. I’ll need backup if I’m to investigate a daywalking vampire.”

“And I told you last week she wasn’t your partner anymore. Her replacement is waiting for you in the conference room. Get going.”

I stopped in the doorway. Phoebe, halfway between me and Maude, turned and met my intense stare. Keeping eye contact with me, Phoebe said, “I’m sorry, Director, but that is unacceptable. I cannot in good conscience leave a fellow agent here to be studied against her will.”

“Do not push me, witch.”

My muscles tensed at Maude’s tone. I’d only witnessed her rage once before, and right then she was dangerously close to her breaking point.

Phoebe moved to stand in front of me, blocking me from Maude’s view. “I am well aware of the Void’s policies on studying abnormal gifts. Forcing someone to submit is illegal. Maybe if you take some time to formulate the studies you wish to conduct, Willow can look them over and make an informed decision. I’m sure she’s as eager to understand what happened last night as you are.”

“Phoebe,” I began.

“Right, Willow?” she said loudly.

“Yes, but—”

“She isn’t going anywhere,” Maude bellowed. “Guards!”

Out of nowhere, half a dozen Void security guards rushed in. Where had the other four come from? Surely a vampire warranted more muscle than a defenseless witch and faery. The magic neutralizers in the lobby had seen to that.

“Apprehend them both.” Maude pointed at Link. “And bind the wolf.”

One of the guards did a double take and started laughing. “That ankle biter is a wolf?”

“Link, run,” I shouted as I rammed my elbow into the side of one of the guards. He let out a surprised grunt and doubled over in pain. Link, unable to shift, growled a sad little dog growl but grabbed hold of the laughing guard’s leg and didn’t let go.

“Fuckin’ dog.” He spat and kicked him with his other foot.

Link yelped as he flew across the room but scrambled back up and launched himself at the back of his attacker. His jaws clamped down and the man roared.

I started to laugh at the Shih Tzu hanging from the guard’s backside, but another guard grabbed my shoulders and slammed me against the wall. My cheek met the brick, scraping along the rough surface. “Ouch!” I yelped. “That wasn’t necessary.”

A linen sack came down over my head, muffling my cries. Tiny pinpricks of light penetrated the tight weave, saving me from total blackness. I only heard one last yelp from Link and an agonizing groan I thought for sure came from Phoebe before someone picked me up and carried me off.

“Let go!” I screamed, writhing in my captor’s grip. “I’m an agent. I work for the Void. You can’t do this.”

The arms tightened around me, crushing my ribs. A voice I didn’t recognize spoke in my ear. “Sorry, Rhoswen. Director’s orders.”

“Get your hands off me!” I kicked, ramming my foot into something solid. Pain darted through my ankle and I groaned as it went limp.

“I don’t want to hurt you. This will be easier for both of us if you calm down.”

No way was I going to make this easy for anyone. Not everyone in the Arcane was corrupted by power. Someone would step in. They had to. The agents of the Arcane were the good guys. Of course, I had a bag over my head and my wings were crushed against the guard. How could the good guys rescue me if they didn’t know who I was?

Anyone who heard my screams would likely assume I’d been taken into custody for some wrongdoing. Not for unauthorized scientific testing.

That’s when a lightbulb went off. “My name is Willow Rhoswen, Agent Rhoswen from the Void branch, and my rights are being violated. The director wants to use me for experimental testing. Someone help!”

“Sorry, Rhoswen. No one’s here but you and me.” A door slammed shut and the guard plopped me down on a hard surface. A chair of some sort.

Pain seared up my tailbone. “Argh!”

Before I could get my feet under me, cool, smooth metal glided over my right wrist, followed by a quiet snick of a lock sliding into place. I jerked both arms up. My right wrist bounced back, shackled to the chair, but the left collided painfully with a mass in front of me.

“Oomph.”

I felt more than heard the guard tumble at my feet. Reflexively, I grabbed the linen sack and yanked. My eyes watered as the glaring bright lights blinded me. “My retinas! What’s with the lights?”

“It’s an interrogation room,” the dark-skinned fae mumbled as he got to his feet. “You didn’t have to hit me.”

“You handcuffed me.”

“Only because they could walk in at any minute and it would look suspicious if I didn’t.”

Hope blossomed and I stilled. Was it possible this guard could be on my side? I took in his solid, confident stance and met his kind, hazel eyes. “I don’t belong here.”

He frowned. “I know.”

“Can you help me?”

With a pained expression, he shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he croaked and moved toward the door.

“You can’t leave me here.” I tried to scoot the chair in his direction, but the front legs caught and it tilted forward. I slid to my knees. “They plan to use me as a lab rat.”

He stared down at me, eyes conflicted, and then took a deep breath. “I truly am sorry, but I have kids to take care of. If I help you, they’ll kill me.” The metal door closed behind him before I could respond.

I slammed my fist on the concrete ground, barely noticing the reverberating pain shooting up my arm. Damn it all to hell and back. I’d just lost my best shot of getting out unscathed. No doubt Phoebe would be locked up soon. And Link… oh, gods, Link. Would anyone think to check if he was okay? And if he wasn’t, would they get him help? Fear rushed through my veins. If those bastards hurt my Link, I’d kill them. Or at least spike their food with nettle sticks. The resulting month-long rash would teach them not to kick dogs… wolves, whatever.

For the next two hours I sat alone, staring at the ticking clock on the wall, waiting for my fate to be revealed. No one materialized to so much as even check on me.

After five hours passed, I started visualizing new and inventive ways to torture David. The asshole had sold me out. What on Goddess’s green earth had he been thinking when he’d told Maude about what had happened? Then he’d just left me to fend for myself. The rancid, no-good, two-bit, fanged loser. Less than twenty-four hours earlier, I’d saved his sorry ass. If I had to do it over again, I’d dust him myself. Now I’d have to hang him by his ankles and feed him his toenails for dinner. If he was lucky, he could lap up the resulting blood running down his legs.

Just as I envisioned dousing him in honey and unleashing a horde of fire ants on him, the metal door swung open.

Maude appeared in a white lab coat, carrying a clipboard. “Did you have enough time to clear your head?”

I stared at the door, refusing to engage.

Maude moved into my line of vision and pursed her lips. “No? Do you need more encouragement?”

Silence.

“I see. Maybe you’ve been too comfortable. That’s fine. I could use a few more hours to formulate our experiments.” She pushed an intercom button I hadn’t noticed and said, “Brockman, bring the straps.”

I jerked back and my eyes narrowed.

Maude chuckled, her cold eyes crinkling in amusement. “That got your attention. Would you like to start over?”

Through gritted teeth, I said, “You’ll have to kill me first.”

“Oh no, not me. Though the vampire might if you don’t behave.”

Chapter Fifteen

Blood rushed to my head. My wings flared, stiff with anxiety. If a vampire wanted to kill me, I’d be dead. With my magical ability neutralized, I was vamp food for sure. I didn’t even have any backup. Link and Phoebe were probably locked up somewhere. “You’re willing to let me die if I don’t cooperate?”

Maude opened the door, letting in a stocky agent holding leather straps. The white pentagram symbol on his badge identified him as a Void witch.

Oh crap.

He moved through the stark room, his face blank. In one swift movement he grabbed my right arm and secured it with another cuff.

“Hey!” I cried, kicking out. He sidestepped what would have been a painful blow to his treasured jewels and grabbed both my legs. Holding them tight with one large, unnaturally strong hand, he wrapped them with a leather strap, yanking hard until the edges cut into my ankles. No doubt his strength was magically enhanced. Powerless to stop him, I glared at Maude. “You’re a pathetic excuse for an aunt.”

She tugged at the straps. Forcing myself not to wince, I aimed a two-footed blow at her chest. With a disgusted snarl, she launched herself backward into a roll and landed on her feet. “Do that again, and I’ll have those legs chained to the floor.”

I clamped my mouth shut, pressing my lips together in a tight line. In my current state, I couldn’t walk due to the restraints holding my legs together. But at least I could stretch them out or maneuver into another position if need be. Risking further bindings wasn’t worth it just then.

“Considering your insubordination, it’s within my rights to have you killed, but I don’t think your cooperation will be a problem.”

My ankles throbbed, and I swore silently. “You’re awfully sure of yourself.”

A cat-that-ate-the-canary smile transformed Maude’s face. “I have information on your brother’s death.”

It took a moment for the meaning of the words to sink in. I struggled against the restraints as my wings fluttered in anger. I rose only a few inches before the wall chains jerked me back into my hard wooden chair.

“I see I’ve struck a nerve.” The metal door creaked as Maude opened it. “If you behave, I’ll consider filling you in.”

“Murderer!” I screamed as the door clicked shut. I didn’t know how or why, but suddenly I was convinced Maude was responsible for what had happened to Beau. If she hadn’t done it herself, she’d had a direct hand in it.

A variety of toxic plants flashed in my brain. For the first time in my life, I seriously considered magically concocting an edible poison. One I would force-feed to Maude with my own hands.

***

After hours of lying on the cold floor under bright fluorescent lighting, I had a plan. As gratifying as it was to fantasize about a Maude-free world, murder wasn’t in my chemical makeup.

But I could develop a neutralizing potion.

Something to render her harmless. Like shock therapy. And with a little help from my Truth potion and Influence, I’d have the ability to force Maude to incriminate herself. A vision of her in an orange prison jumpsuit sent a chill down my spine.

Maude’s life in lockdown would be worse than death. All the concrete coupled with the total absence of nature would drain her until she was a shell of her former self. She’d exist in a perpetual zombie state, withered wings and all.

I suppressed a shudder. Death would be kinder.

Time to focus, Willow. One way or another, Maude needed to be neutralized. But first, I had to get out of there.

If I had any chance of being released from my chains, I’d have to appear to cooperate. Fighting back would only get me more restraints, or worse—drugged. I made up my mind to be the model prisoner. The only thing left to do was wait for someone to appear.

I didn’t know how much time had elapsed, but when the door finally opened again, my dry throat ached and my eyes blurred from lack of sleep.

“Here.” A large man in a pale blue uniform squatted and held out a cup with a straw. “Drink.”

“What is it?” I croaked.

“Water. Go on.”

I shook my head, not trusting it to be drug-free.

“Please, Agent Rhoswen. You’ve been left here alone for hours. You must be thirsty.”

I turned and met hazel eyes. “Can’t. Could be drugged.”

“I promise you it isn’t. Please, take the water. I couldn’t help you before, but I can with this.”

Taking in his lean build and dark skin, I finally recognized the guard. “You brought me here.”

“Not out of choice. Now take the straw.” He moved it closer to my lips.

A faint scent of hand soap filled my nose as I sniffed, trying to catch a whiff of any potions or drugs. I shouldn’t trust him. He had, after all, told me he couldn’t defy the Arcane. But I couldn’t resist. With my throat screaming, I took the straw and drained every last ounce of the liquid and asked for more.

He nodded in approval. “I’ll be back.”

I tucked my bound legs up and pulled myself into a sitting position, ignoring the aches in my shoulders. Gods, what I wouldn’t give for a hot bath.

The door opened again. Maude walked in, holding a clipboard. “Good evening.”

It was evening? Did that mean I’d been there for over twenty-four hours? I squinted at the clock with blurred vision—a sign of dehydration. No luck. “Where’s Link?” I asked before I could stop myself. If he was chained in a kennel… forget about cooperating. Maude could go to Hell.

She tapped a pencil on her chart. “Didn’t anyone tell you? No, they wouldn’t have since I ordered you sequestered. Time usually does wonderful things for unsavory attitudes.”

I bit my tongue, unwilling to be baited.

“That’s good. I knew given enough time you’d settle down.” She barely concealed a smug smile. “Your shifter was released into Agent Kilsen’s care shortly after you were detained last night.”

Imprisoned was more accurate. “You mean Phoebe wasn’t detained also?”

“Why would she be? You’re the only one who refused to cooperate.”

What exactly happened the night before? Hadn’t Phoebe taken on a few guards while I’d fought my captors? I replayed the scene of Link leaping to my defense, but unless I was addled due to lack of food and sleep, I couldn’t recall Phoebe getting into the mix. Why hadn’t she fought for me?

Phoebe had to have a plan. And Link was with her. The black cloud hovering over my heart lifted. Help was coming. I had to be out of the restraints when the cavalry arrived.

“I see,” I said, trying to keep my expression neutral and failing as a cramp claimed my left shoulder. I cried out, unable to even cradle it for support.

“Not very comfortable, I see,” Maude said. “If you’ve decided to consent to the testing, I can have you released.”

“Okay,” I huffed.

“Excellent. Your guard will be in with dinner momentarily. He’ll release you then.” She didn’t bother to hide the self-satisfied smile.

You’ve won this round, Auntie, but the battle is far from over.

Moments later, my sympathetic but useless guard arrived. Once my hands were released, I spent a great deal of time rubbing life back into my muscles.

“Here.” He pushed a plate of fruit and a bran muffin in my direction. The fruit was on the verge of rotten and the muffin was stale, but I ate it all anyway. I needed whatever energy I could get.

“Do you have any protein bars?” I asked when he picked up the plate.

He frowned. “I don’t think you’re allowed special requests.”

“Oh, come on. It’s just a protein bar. I’ve barely eaten, and I’m starving. There are usually some in the conference room.” I widened my eyes and pushed my lips into a pout. “Please?”

He glanced around the room as if checking for witnesses, then nodded. “Fine. I’ll look, but I’m not promising anything.”

I smiled. “Oh, thank you… um… I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

He smiled back. “Billings. Henry Billings.”

The name fit his apologetic, meek persona. How in the world had he become an Arcane Guard? He was more suited for the accounting department. “Thanks, Henry. I owe you one.”

He grinned and hurried out.

It took a few minutes to get my legs untied, and by then the overwhelming urge to use the restroom had taken over. I scanned my empty, one-room cell and grimaced. The place was worse than jail.

A few minutes later, the metal door creaked and Maude stepped in with two new guards. “We’re ready for you. Behave and we won’t use the restraints.”

So much for my energy bar. “Restroom?”

“In a minute.”

I nearly wet myself right there.

Gods save me from this. I promise to be a better person.

Guards flanked me on each side, offering me no choice but to walk with them through the halls of the Arcane. Most of the labs had wide windows with sinister metal instruments surrounding examining tables. I imagined vampires, werewolves, and all walks of demons being dissected and studied on those tables. The Arcane was big on understanding anyone or anything who might be an adversary.

Was I the first faery to undergo such treatment? It was likely, unless Maude had uncovered another fae in town with unusual abilities. New Orleans just wasn’t home to many of us.

Maude stopped and motioned to a door marked Women. “You have two minutes. After that, the guards will come after you.”

I didn’t hesitate. After I finished my business, I frantically searched the tiny room for any opening. No windows or easily removable ceiling tiles or vents in sight. I suppressed the urge to slam a fist into the wall. Instead, I took my time washing my face and finger combing my hair. When the door popped open, I raised my hands in surrender and continued with my escorts.

At the end of the hall, Maude produced a key and turned to me. “Your testing will be done here. I’ll be monitoring from another room and the guards will stay positioned right outside, so don’t get any ideas.”

Maude pulled the door open and pushed me inside. I stumbled, barely keeping my balance with outrage clouding my brain. How dare she? I righted myself and then froze. The hair on my arms stood up as the overwhelming sensation of vampire hit my awareness. In reflex, I turned to flee, but the door shut tight with an ominous click. I knew without checking it was locked.

Sensing vampire movement, I dropped and rolled, only to hear chuckling from across the room. I stood and brushed invisible dirt from my jeans. His medium-length black hair covered his profile as he shook with mirth.

“What are you laughing at? It’s not like you aren’t locked in here with me.”

He leapt. In one swift movement, he closed the gap between us. His close proximity forced me against the wall, his fangs dangerously close to the vein in my neck.

I gasped. “I’m the inventor of the Sunshine potion. This won’t go well if you bite me.”

Careful to not touch me, he placed a hand on either side of my body. He leaned in, his sharp teeth raking against my skin, leaving trails of pain. I pressed into the wall, barely breathing.

Ouch. Even their teeth made me hurt. He had to know I’d taste horrible, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t or wouldn’t attack if he was hungry enough. How long had this one been locked up?

There was no way I was strong enough to fight him off. I had to try, though. I shifted, spreading my legs for a better stance.

His chest rumbled with laughter again while his mouth worked its way close to my ear. “It’ll be better for you if you follow my lead,” he whispered.

“That’s the last thing I intend to do.”

He pulled his head back and grinned. “Feisty. I can see why David keeps you all to himself.”

I moved. One fist shot out, catching him in the gut. Before he could recover from the surprise, I brought my knee up, aiming for his man bits. Vampires might appear to be made of stone, but even they had sensitive areas. Anticipating my move, he shifted and caught my leg before I could connect. He twisted and a moment later I lay face down on the cold concrete floor, my back blazing from his contact.

“Get off!”

“Oh, I am, sweetheart. I am.”

“Freakin’ perv. Let me up.” I struggled to keep the whimper from my voice. With his body covering mine, I feared I’d pass out soon.

Through the agony I barely noticed the hot breath in my ear until he whispered, “Chill out, Rhoswen. David sent me.”

“What?” I threw my head back, clocking him.

He swore and gripped me tighter. “Attack me one more time, and I’ll have no choice other than to hurt you,” he said, his voice still barely audible. “They’re listening and watching.” When I didn’t move, he rolled off me and raised his voice. “There we go, that’s a tame kitten. We’ll get along just fine after I’ve fed.”

My mind whirled. David sent him? Was that good or bad? David had just strolled out, leaving me, as if he didn’t give a damn. He hadn’t even tried to bargain for my right to leave. Was he trying to help? I grimaced. If so, it was way too late. Even if what the vampire said was true, what could he do? He was imprisoned, too. And now he was going to feed off me.

I clamped my eyes shut. Maybe I should let him do it and get it over with. He would anyway, eventually. A weight settled in my stomach. Had I really just considered letting a vamp bite me?

The thought of fangs in my skin made me queasy.

I sat up and eyed the vamp. “What’s your name?”

His lips curved into a half smile. “Getting friendly now? I like that.”

I gritted my teeth and sent him my she-devil glare.

His smile turned into a full grin. “Damn. I like a girl… uh, faery with attitude.”

“The name is Willow. And yours would be…?”

He shook his head, still grinning. “Nathan. Nathan Fuller.”

I gaped and then closed my mouth, remembering I was being watched. I’d heard about Nathan. David had talked about him. Hell, I’d even spoken to him on the phone once when I’d answered David’s phone. My eyes met his, and he gave me the tiniest of nods.

Maybe David did have a plan. Although for the life of me, I had no idea what it could be. He’d now gotten his girlfriend—or ex-girlfriend—and his supposed best friend locked up in the Void division. Escape would be impossible. Or at least highly improbable.

“So the easy way or the hard way?” he asked.

“Excuse me?”

“They want me to feed from you, and it appears we won’t be leaving this room until I do.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “What makes you think they’re ever letting us out?”

“I was told to feed, then they’d run tests. I don’t see any equipment here, so it seems logical we’ll get moved.”

“Who told you that?”

“Some faery in a white coat with black wings.”

“That’s Maude.” I sought out a camera in the corner and glared at the lens, knowing she could hear me. “She lies.”

He nodded. “They all do, but I have to eat anyway. I haven’t had a drop in five days.”

I scooted back in reflex. He must be really old, or he’d have lost control and taken me already. Five days was way too long to go without eating for most vamps.

He moved closer, slow and deliberate. “I don’t need much. It’ll be over before you know it.”

Fear kept me rooted to my spot. “But the Sunshine potion.”

“I know, little Willow. Don’t worry. I’ve tasted it before. It isn’t as bad as everyone makes it out to be.”

Crap, crap, crap.

His words pushed my fear into full on terror. He’d tasted Sunshine-tainted blood before. He didn’t mind? It wasn’t that bad? Had David really been best friends with a vampire for all those years? Is that why he’d turned?

One hand came to rest on my shoulder. Through my fear, I didn’t even register the pain it caused. His eyes stayed trained on mine, and when he gently guided me into a prone position, I didn’t resist. My mind had gone blank.

His head came down, the strands of his black hair creating a curtain, shielding our faces from prying eyes. He mouthed, “Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you.”

A faint no tried to work its way out of my mouth but died on my lips.

He’d already pressed his teeth to my neck. Oh, God. I could feel my vein pulsing against him. Thump, thump, thump. I squeezed my eyes closed and waited, knowing with one puncture my whole neck would be on fire.

Chapter Sixteen

I wasn’t wrong. It hurt. A lot.

Nathan’s fangs pierced my skin in one smooth motion. Liquid acid exploded, charring my insides instantly. His arm circled around me, forcing me closer.

Molten lava flowed through my neck, my chest, my back. I clenched my fists, frantically pounding against his shoulders in protest. My head swam and a vision of Phoebe’s sun agate entered my mind. One flash and the horror would end.

Screaming, I bucked.

Nathan dropped his hold and scrambled to the opposite wall.

I curled into a ball, whimpering as I rocked.

Slowly, the pain succumbed to a dull ache, leaving me battered and bruised. After a while I sat up, wincing with each tortured movement.

Nathan still sat against the wall, watching me.

“What?” I asked.

“What happened?”

My vision blurred as I glared. “You bit me and took enough blood that I probably need a transfusion. Or some orange juice at the very least.”

He frowned, studying me. After a moment his frown deepened.

“What?” I asked again.

“First of all, I barely took any blood from you. Way less than I normally would because, let’s face it, you don’t taste that good.”

“It’s the Sunshine potion.”

“Obviously. Second, you have a purple bruise right where I bit you.”

Fingering my neck, I carefully explored the puncture marks. Curiously, they didn’t hurt at all. How was that even possible? The rest of my body still suffered from his assault. I met his eyes and clamped my hand over the area.

“I don’t leave bruises,” he said.

“I bruise easily.”

“I can see that.” His gaze traveled over me from head to toe, lingering on sections of my exposed skin.

I glanced down at the black-and-blue marks visible in every spot he’d touched me and scowled. Perfect. Talisen had his work cut out for him. Again.

“Do you have some sort of disorder?”

Yes. A vampire one. I focused on the wall just above his shoulder.

A key rattling in the door drew his attention, and I was saved from further questioning as two guards walked in. I jumped to my feet, ignoring the screaming in my back.

The shorter one reached for my arm, stopped, and took a moment to study my appearance. “Whoa, looks like the vamp roughed you up. Shoulda played nice, I guess.”

I jerked back, bumping into the other guard.

“I’ll take her,” said the tall, lanky one.

“Whatever. I don’t need a hassle tonight, anyway. You, vamp. You’re with me. Don’t try anything stupid, or I’ll have to tag you.” Shorty crossed the room and pulled out a small gun designed to hold vampire tranquilizers.

“Don’t accidentally shoot yourself with that thing again,” Lanky said to his partner. “I have better things to do than take care of your sorry ass.”

Shorty glared and aimed the gun toward my guard.

Lanky snickered, gripping my arm.

“Hey!” I protested.

“Move it, sister.” He pushed me through the threshold and practically dragged me down the hallway.

“Where are we going?” I demanded.

“The director ordered tests.”

“I know that. Are we going to another lab?”

He ignored my question and turned left at the end of the hall. I knew this wing. There weren’t any labs here. But there was a stairway to the dank basement. It was rumored to be magically enhanced to stay dry despite the New Orleans high water table. I flared my wings as if they could somehow slow us down. The basement door came into view, and a familiar panic rose in my chest. They wouldn’t do scientific testing down there, would they?

They would if it wasn’t sanctioned.

I dragged my feet and stumbled.

“Keep up,” he barked. “I thought you fae were supposed to be graceful.”

“Not when we’re locked up for hours and then fed to vampires.”

He laughed. A bemused, casual laugh. It didn’t fit the don’t-mess-with-me attitude he had going on. “I guess that could make anyone feel off-kilter.”

“Off-kilter. That’s one way of putting it.”

His steps quickened as we neared the door. I scanned my surroundings, desperate for any means of escape. If I stayed, at best I’d have weeks of painful testing ahead of me. At worst, Maude would find a way to capitalize on whatever I’d done to turn David into a daywalker. It was the kind of power my aunt couldn’t resist. Maude would kill for it if she had to.

There had to be a way out.

Lanky stopped and positioned me between him and the basement door.

Now or never.

The guard fumbled with his massive key ring. Why the hell hadn’t I paid more attention when Phoebe tried to force me into those self-defense classes? What would she do? I mentally scoffed. Knowing her, she’d verbally bait him and then kick the shit out of his sorry ass.

I had no such skill.

Instead, I used the only strength I had. I stomped my foot down hard on his instep. He jerked his head up, eyes wide with surprise. I seized the opportunity to tackle him to the floor. My knees connected with the tile, and I swallowed the cry of agony caught in my throat. Flailing forward, I elbowed him in the back. Then, with a surge of determination, I thrust my burning wings and flew down the hall. My heart thundered, adrenaline fueling my flight.

“You bitch! Get back here or those wings will end up in a paper shredder.”

Yeah, right. Like that was going to convince me to turn around. I pumped my wings faster than I’d ever even attempted before and soared down another dark and empty hallway. Where was everyone? It must have been after-hours or the place would be teeming with Arcane staff.

Excited voices drifted from an open door. I cut to the left, ending up in a dim, narrow hallway I didn’t recognize. Trying to get my bearings, I slowed. All I needed was a way out. Every room offered nothing but abandoned stainless steel tables and old lab equipment. Not a window in sight.

Couldn’t a girl catch a break?

I whirled, intending to go back, but the loud clatter of heavy boots on the tile stopped me mid-flight. Heart hammering, I landed silently, darted into the nearest room, and tucked down beside the door, waiting.

The steady footsteps grew louder. I held my breath, trying to keep every muscle in my body completely still. As the footsteps moved on, I stifled a relieved sigh.

Then silence filled the hallway. One second. Two. Three. The clattering of the heavy boots resumed, moving in my direction. Oh, no. This was not happening. I hadn’t even breathed, let alone made a sound.

The noise stopped just outside my door. My heart pounded in my ears. Now what? I squinted through the darkness, searching for better cover. That was when I saw it. A stainless steel cupboard illuminated with a tiny streak of ambient light and a partial reflection of my shadow right in the middle of it.

Shit.

I rolled just as my tracker lunged into the room. My shoulder hit the floor, and I kicked out as a hand clamped over my ankle.

“Ouch,” my assailant huffed. “Willow, for God’s sake. Stop it.”

I froze and studied the guard in front of me. She wore the standard uniform of polyester pants and a crisp, white button-down shirt. Combined with the mousy brown hair and nondescript wire-rim glasses, I never would have recognized her had she not spoken. “Phoebe?”

“Yes, damn it. Hurry up before they find us.”

I scrambled to my feet and waited as Phoebe scanned the hall. “Why were you stalking me?” I asked her in a hushed tone.

“I had to be sure it was you. Now shush and follow my lead. We can’t afford to have you mess this up again.”

“Mess up? Again?”

“Shhh.” She grabbed my arm and marched me back down the hallway toward the basement door. When she spoke, her voice was deeper and tinged with maniacal glee. “One more stunt like that, and we’ll be forced to use the manacles.”

She grinned at me and kept up the illusion of dragging me along as we passed another guard, one I didn’t recognize.

“Looks like you could use some help.” He fell in step with us.

Phoebe glared. “Are you insinuating I can’t do my job? Just because Phelps is an idiot and lost her doesn’t mean I need someone breathing down my neck. Get back to your post. This one isn’t going anywhere.” Phoebe yanked my other arm, closing them behind my back as she propelled me forward.

“Watch it!” I complained loudly.

“Shut up. You’re lucky I’m letting you walk under your own power.” Phoebe yanked me back, and pain shot through my shoulder. If I hadn’t known better, I’d swear she was enjoying the act.

A trickle of doubt ran through my mind. Was Phoebe really on my side? She hadn’t said a word or tried to stop the guards from dragging me from Maude’s office.

Stop it! Of course she’s on my side. Why else is she disguised as a guard?

Phoebe was the one person I could trust besides Talisen. Whatever had happened earlier, she had obviously thought it was the best plan.

“Calm down,” the other guard said. “I’m not insinuating anything. Just thought you might want some backup.”

“I’ve got plenty of backup right here.” She tapped a tranquilizer gun on her hip. “Now get lost before I use it on you.”

“What the hell? Are you threatening me?”

“Damn straight. I don’t know you…” She peered at his name tag. “Fitz. All our asses are on the line with this one. High priority with the director, and I’m not taking any chances. So either you back off, or I’ll put you out. Your choice.”

“Fine.” Fitz held his hands up in surrender. As he retreated, he mumbled, “That witch needs professional help.”

I stifled a bubble of laughter, not daring to look at Phoebe. A moment later, Fitz disappeared around the corner.

“Come on.” Phoebe broke into a run, forcing me to use my wings to keep up.

“Where are we going?”

“Out.” Phoebe took a sharp turn and stopped in front of an emergency exit. She held me back, keeping me from bursting through. “I need to silence the alarm first. We stand no chance if it goes off.”

At least one of us knew what to do.

Phoebe produced a small bag from her pocket and pulled out a pinch of gray powder. Sprinkling it over a sensor, she chanted an incantation, waited a few seconds, then blew the dust away. A faint sizzle ran down the wire and ended with a pop.

“How did you do that without your magic?” It should be neutralized.

“Guards aren’t stripped of their magic.”

Right. They would need it.

“Now go!” she said and pushed me out first.

A blast of thick humidity hit me in the face, the stark contrast to the stale air-conditioning making it hard to breathe. I sucked the air down, trying to acclimate as I scanned the parking garage.

Phoebe bolted through the door right behind me. “What are you doing? Move it.”

“I don’t know where the car is,” I snapped, running to catch up.

“No car. They’re watching me. Someone is waiting a few blocks over.” A few feet from the exit, Phoebe pulled up short, holding her hand out in a stop motion.

I froze mid-step and almost knocked her down. “What is it?”

“Look at what we have here, boys,” Fitz said. “Nice try, Kilsen. You almost had me going there for a minute.”

The guard Phoebe had threatened was flanked by four other guards.

Phoebe stepped forward. “You think you and your wannabe agents can take me?”

He laughed. “It’s five to one unless you count the faery, but she’s useless and you know it.”

“Hey!” I cried, insulted, and peered around as my skin started to tingle. Someone else was coming.

“That just goes to show how stupid you are. I suggest you and your cronies step aside and forget you ever saw me, or you’ll regret it,” Phoebe said.

Fitz signaled and the guard clones spread out, blocking our path.

Phoebe pulled out her tranquilizer gun. “Last warning.”

Fitz’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not loaded. Besides, you can’t hit all of us at once.”

“I don’t have to.” Phoebe nodded past them. The one on the far right turned and gasped. No less than a dozen vampires stood behind them with David and Eadric at the center. All five guards brandished their sun agates, aiming them at the vampire gang.

“Oh, good. You’ve made it,” another voice called from behind us.

I whipped around and stared at Maude dressed all in black, emerging from a shadow.

What? She’d been expecting them. This couldn’t be happening.

“Tell your goons to back off,” Eadric said.

Maude quirked an eyebrow but waved a dismissive hand toward the guards. “Stand down.”

One by one, they each moved to stand behind my aunt. Eadric sent her an indulgent smile. “Thank you. We’ve got it from here.”

“Don’t rough her up too much, Eadric,” she warned. “We still need to finish our testing. But as a consolation, Kilsen is all yours. She was just a tool and of no consequence.”

Phoebe turned, her face pinched in anger. “You set me up?”

Maude laughed. “Don’t be a fool. Did you really think it would be so easy to penetrate my security? When it comes to my niece, you’ve never been trustworthy. Now I have my proof.” She waved to Eadric. “Get rid of her.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Eadric said. “Ms. Rhoswen, will you join me?”

I took a step back, met Phoebe’s eyes, then David’s, and finally turned to Eadric. “Why would I do that?”

“I’m asking you to accept my protection.”

Dread snaked its way through my limbs. I’d already accepted his protection, but now he was forcing me to acknowledge it publicly. Everyone would know he considered me one of his own.

My worst nightmares stood both in front of and behind me.

I gulped. “From what?”

“Not what, but whom.” He gestured to Maude.

“What do you think you’re doing, vampire?” In an instant, Maude hovered right behind me, her powerful black wings working up a wind. “I demand you live up to our agreement and apprehend these traitors.”

Eadric barely glanced at her. “Change of plans, Maude. You lose this round.”

“You were working with the director?” Phoebe shouted and rounded on David. “Goddamn you. I knew I couldn’t trust a blood-sucker. You were going to give us up? Fuck!”

He gave a small shake of his head as he kept his eyes trained on me.

“They’ve been playing both sides the whole time.” I met David’s gaze. “Haven’t you?”

He ran a nervous hand through his hair. “You don’t understand.”

“He’s only done what he thought best. Do not blame him.” Eadric moved toward me, his hand stretched out.

Maude hissed and grabbed my arms, dragging me back. “She’s mine. Of my own blood. You will not take her from me.”

I grunted and tried to twist from her grasp. She clutched tighter, digging her fingers into my flesh. “Let go, you evil bitch!” I cried, jamming my elbow into her gut.

She only grasped me tighter. Damn it if I wasn’t tired of being manhandled.

Eadric took a step. “You don’t want to test me, Director.”

A warm trickle of power brushed my skin as my aunt started to spin a spell. I struggled, trying to escape her grip. “No!”

Maude levitated, pulling me above the crowd with her. Something cold and dark prickled as Maude’s power intensified. I gasped, a chill turning my limbs numb. Whatever spell she was spinning, was bad. Probably life-ending bad.

The vampires swarmed and then scattered as flashes of light illuminated from the guard’s sun agates. Only Phoebe and David remained.

Maude chanted something in Latin. Panic took over. If someone didn’t do something soon, Maude would kill them all. “Phoebe!”

Her eyes narrowed as determination settled on her features.

My muscles started to seize as the chant grew louder. Phoebe’s mouth was working, but I couldn’t hear her. Unwilling to go without a fight, I did the only thing I knew to do. I opened myself up and took in Maude’s spell.

My entire body convulsed, fighting the curse. I briefly wondered if my plants suffered as much when I stole their life before I rejuvenated them.

The thought triggered an idea. I tensed as I reversed the energy and forced Maude’s magic back into her.

She jerked her hands away, sending me falling to the ground. If I hadn’t been focused on releasing something dark and painful, I might have remembered to flex my wings. Instead, I landed on one of the guards, arms and legs flailing. Rolling off, I huddled near a car, trying to make sense of the scene in front of me.

The vampire gang reappeared, quickly neutralizing the remaining guards. My aunt swayed above me, struggling to keep airborne. Her body dipped and, her face tight with concentration, she flexed her wings, stabilizing herself. She glanced down at me, hatred in her black eyes. “This is far from over.”

Before I could respond, she sailed out of the garage and disappeared around the corner. Phoebe took off at a dead run after her.

“Willow?” David said.

“Huh?”

He wrapped me in his arms and pulled me into a hug, resting his chin on my head. “Are you okay?”

I stiffened and looked up. “Your touch doesn’t hurt anymore.”

Chapter Seventeen

The aged water oak’s limbs created a cocoon around me and an illusion of safety from the vampires within the large Victorian mansion. My wrecked body soaked in the tree’s cool life force, slowly healing itself.

I’d been too drained to worry about where David was taking me after we’d left the Arcane parking lot. To his credit, he bypassed the house and led me straight to the majestic oak in the gardens. He hovered awkwardly until I shooed him away, then he disappeared. I hadn’t seen anyone since. Not even Phoebe, though I knew she had to be here somewhere.

They were probably all inside, discussing some new plan they had no intention of sharing. For days they’d been keeping me out of the loop. Phoebe had started investigating my case without telling me and even gone so far as to work with David to get information out of Clea. Hell, together they’d worked a spell on her. And who knew what David was up to? This was my life on the line. I’d been the one threatened. Not them. The least they could do was tell me what in God’s name was going on.

Forget them. All I wanted was Link, Talisen, and a hot bath. And maybe a little Chimney Bark. If there ever was a situation for a little indulgence, this was it.

Anything to stop the confusion swirling in my mind. David’s touch didn’t hurt anymore. A warm sensation, something eerily close to hope, blossomed in my chest.

Stop it. You’re not in high school. And I was mad at him right?

I squashed the traitorous desire. David was not mine. Not anymore, and he never could be. Fae did not get involved with vampires. Ever. I didn’t even know if this new development would last. Maybe Nathan’s bite had left me with a short-term immunity. Was that possible? No one could answer that question. I was the only faery I knew affected with the insane vampire curse.

A door slammed shut, and a moment later Phoebe appeared across the garden. Her wig was gone, revealing her spiky, black, one hundred percent Phoebe hairdo.

“Hey.” She sat on the grass next to me, tucking her jean-clad legs under her.

I picked at a blade of grass, staring up into the oak.

“Link’s at home with Talisen.”

I’d figured as much, but that was good to know.

“Maude got away,” she added.

I nodded. Of course she did. “Are we fugitives now?”

“Likely. If I’d caught her we could’ve brought charges. But there aren’t any witnesses except you, me, and Eadric’s vamps. Maude will have already built a cover story. To go to the Arcane now is suicide.”

I turned hard eyes on Phoebe. “What the hell is going on?”

“We should wait for David. I have questions, too.”

Barely restrained rage propelled me to my feet. “No! I want to know whatever it is you know. You’ve obviously been working with David. From the scene with Clea to the vampire Nathan to whatever is going on here.” I gestured toward the house. “The very fact you’ve been invited here after all the vampires you’ve apprehended over the years is ludicrous. Spill it.”

Phoebe’s brows lifted and her mouth dropped open in a sheer display of shock. Outbursts and temper tantrums weren’t usually my MO. “I’ve been trying to protect you.”

“Don’t you think things would’ve gone easier if I’d been in on the plan?” I straightened my shoulders and raised my chin in offense. How dare they treat me like I was just another human, too weak to fend for myself?

Phoebe rose, locking her gaze on mine. “I promise you, nothing I’ve done has been intentionally behind your back.”

I stared her down for a few beats, then sighed, too tired to argue. “Fine, but start from the beginning.”

“I already told you what happened with Clea. But speaking of her, I took the pomegranate juice bottles to the lab for testing a few days ago while Talisen was watching over you. The results are in: your fingerprints, mine, and a trace of carpet fibers.”

“Any idea where it came from?”

She nodded. “I sent David to check out Clea’s apartment. Perfect match.”

My eyes went wide. “We were her target?”

“Maybe. I’m not sure. I tagged her, remember?” She flopped down on her back and fiddled with a fallen leaf. “But I’m certain the poisoned juice came from her.”

And David knew her. Like knew her, even though he obviously hadn’t cared for her. What was I missing? “David has to know more than he’s letting on. They’d spent time together. Remember Clea said…” I didn’t want think about the two of them in bed together, much less say it out loud.

Phoebe studied me and her eyes narrowed. “You mean they had a relationship.”

Heat crawled up my neck and burned my cheeks. “No.”

“Yes.”

I swallowed and avoided her gaze.

She sat up, her eyes pinning me to the tree.

“Fine, yes.” I backed up against the tree for support. “But something else is going on, and I intend to figure it out.”

“Okay, but I still say he was just investigating the Influence.”

Maybe she was right. He could’ve been looking out for me. But that didn’t explain why he suddenly turned vampire sometime in the last three months, or why he didn’t even tell me about it, or why he disappeared from my life. In order to turn, he had to have some sort of relationship with Eadric. Powerful vampires like him didn’t turn just anyone. David had never told me about his long-term ties to the vampire world. He’d lied by omission. I had no reason to believe he’d told the truth about anything.

I stood, staring down at Phoebe. “Tell me what happened after Maude had me locked up.”

Phoebe closed her eyes, and I swear she was asking the Goddess for strength, or maybe patience. When she opened them, she put on her no-nonsense face. “If we’d fought, all three of us would’ve been locked up. Once I saw what Maude wanted, I knew she’d never let you leave. You knew it too.”

I didn’t respond.

“David, and I agree with him, walked out so he could formulate a plan to get you out safely. I followed his lead. The first thing he did was call Nathan, who apparently has spent time in the past investigating the Arcane. One of the ways he gets in is by volunteering for testing. I don’t know how he did it so fast, but next thing I knew, David said Nathan got himself recruited for Maude’s latest experiments, and based on Nathan’s intel, we formed a plan.”

“To bust me out?” And ruin our lives and careers?

“What else were we supposed to do? Neither of us was going to let you go through that.” Her eyes flashed with anger.

“Sorry.” I slumped. Her career was in greater danger than mine. I had the store; she only had the Arcane. “I should be thanking you, not biting your head off.”

“It’s okay.”

“Not really.” I gave her a small smile. “Thanks for busting my butt out of there.”

She laughed. “Any time.”

“All right, what did I miss?”

She pulled out her silver beetle bugging device. “I have it all right here, but there’s something you need to know first.”

Now what? The concern in her voice shot a dart of panic through my otherwise numb heart. “What is it?”

She took a deep breath. “Eadric is David’s adoptive father.”

I frowned. “I know. Eadric turned him.”

“No, Wil. I don’t mean vampire father. Eadric adopted David when he was ten. David has been a part of Eadric’s family for twenty years.”

***

An hour later, I stormed into Allcot’s house. Unfamiliar vampires lay draped over the ornate antique furnishings. No one moved, but every pair of eyes tracked me. I stopped in the middle of a sitting room, my hands balled into fits on my hips. “Where is he?”

A flawless teenaged immortal tilted her head. “Who are you lookin’ for, sugar?”

“Eadric.”

“He’s with his inner circle. You don’t want to disturb him.” She flipped her luxurious, Pantene-commercial brown locks over one shoulder and snuggled up to a Greek goddess who appeared twice her age but was just as striking.

“The hell I don’t.” I focused on the heavy vampire energy weighing on me and marched up the grand staircase, following the strongest concentration.

“Wait!” the teen vampire called.

“Let her go, Felice,” her companion said, stroking her arm. “David will take care of her.”

I clenched my teeth at the mention of David but was grateful the older vamp had other things on her mind. In my rage, I’d likely get myself bitten again if they tried to stop me.

At the landing I followed my spidey sense down the hall. Gooseflesh covered my bare arms as the energy pulsed around me. Just as it had during both meetings with the leader of Cryrique.

Eadric was close. Right on the other side of the closed double doors. I’d bet my store on it. Without knocking, I barged in and skidded to a stop.

Inside, the walls were draped in black silk, offset by snow-white carpet. At the center stood a luxurious canopy bed, trimmed with sheers that barely concealed the naked flesh of three vampires.

I stumbled back, my body knocking the double doors closed with a loud click.

A voluptuous redhead moaned under Eadric’s touch while another I recognized as Eadric’s consort, Pandora, peeked between the panels. “Ah, the faery. Eadric, you didn’t mention you’d invited such a lovely morsel.”

“I didn’t.” He lifted his head from Pandora’s neck to gaze in my direction. “But she’s welcome all the same. Willow,” he called, sounding amused. “Care to join us?”

“No… ah, no thank you.” I yanked the doors open. They slammed behind me. I leaned against the door and waited for my heart to start beating again.

“Willow?” David strode toward me from the opposite end of the hall, shirtless, his hair damp. “What the hell are you doing?”

His faint cypress scent reached me before he did. I held up a hand, keeping my distance. He looked too damned sexy, and my traitorous body was responding in a way my head did not approve of. I was mad at him, not to mention he was a vampire. “I intended to have a conversation with your maker—oh, I’m sorry, I mean your father.” I averted my eyes, feigning interest in the gleaming wood floor. “But he’s a little busy at the moment.”

“Uh, yeah. I imagine he is.” The irritation in his voice vanished, replaced by something close to embarrassment.

“Forget it. Eadric’s bedroom activities are of no consequence to me.” I stepped forward, shaking a finger at him. “But you have some serious explaining to do. What the fuck is going on, and why have you been lying to me?”

His shoulders stiffened as he took a deep breath. “Phoebe told you.”

I crossed my arms and glared.

“I…” He grabbed my hand and pulled me down the hall. “Let’s talk in private.”

His fingers squeezed mine gently, and despite my instinct to pull away, I couldn’t. There was no pain, only comfort and familiarity. Back at the Arcane, when I’d blurted his touch didn’t hurt, he’d only stared at me in confusion. Of course he had. He didn’t have any idea what I’d been talking about.

When we reached the opposite end of the hall, David paused to glance at our joined hands and gave me a curious look.

“What?” Butterflies danced in my stomach.

“You’re letting me hold your hand.”

The question in his tone made me try to pull away, but his fingers gripped mine.

He stepped closer, invading my personal space. “What did you mean earlier when you said my touch didn’t hurt anymore?”

“I… nothing.” Crap. No one was supposed to know about my intolerance to vampires.

Lifting my hand, he pressed it against the door and trailed his fingers over my palm. “Does this hurt?”

I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak. A ripple of unwanted pleasure ran down my arm, and I tried to pull back.

He held tighter and clasped my other hand. “But it did before, right? That’s why you kept pulling away?”

It wasn’t the only reason, but it was the main one. I nodded.

Dropping my hands, he stepped back, hurt showing in his deep blue eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Shoot. Now I’d gone and wounded a vamp. I sighed. “I don’t tell anyone. It’s not just you, it’s all vampires. Well, not you anymore for some reason. If word got out…”

He stared at me for a moment. Then he took a deep breath. “I see.”

I shrugged. What more was there to say on the subject?

David produced a key and unlocked the door. The modest sitting room was furnished with a leather couch and matching armchairs. I scanned the walls, noting the black-and-white landscape photography, and nodded. “This is your space, isn’t it?”

He glanced back in surprise. “Yes. My room is through there.” He gestured toward a connecting door. “How did you know?”

I felt my brows pinch as I stared at him with my you’ve-got-to-be-joking look. “I dated you for a year.”

His lips eased into a sexy half smile. The same one that made me say yes the first time he asked me out.

All my earlier anger returned, and I fought back the impulse to sucker punch him. “A full year, David. In all that time did you not once think it was appropriate to inform me you’d been adopted by a vampire?”

His smile disappeared and he took a step back. “I couldn’t. Just like you couldn’t tell me about your intolerance to vampires.”

I narrowed my eyes. “That’s not at all the same. My disability puts me in danger.”

“It is the same. We live in different worlds. Live by different rules. Revealing information has consequences.”

“Like what? Did you think I’d leave you? Judge you? Or think less of you? It’s not like you had a choice.”

“You don’t understand.”

I took two steps, stopping inches from him. “That’s the problem. You never gave me a chance.”

He stared down at me, his eyes intense, and sighed. “I did have a choice. How could I tell you I chose to live with Eadric? That I was forever bound to him?”

I shrugged. “So what? You were a kid. You can’t be held accountable. If the courts weren’t so corrupted, a vampire could never adopt a child.”

“Listen to me, Willow. It’s not like that.” David kicked a table leg, and a glass lamp shattered on the floor. “This is why I didn’t say anything. You’re so prejudiced when it comes to vampires. And then I was turned. What would you have said? I spent two months trying to figure it out, then I thought… Well, I figured it would be better to just let you think I didn’t care.”

I shuffled back, putting more distance between us. My chest constricted. “You didn’t… you were scared about what I would say?”

He turned away and nodded. “Yeah. I guess so.”

A knot eased in my stomach, and even though my head demanded I should be angry at everything he’d omitted, my heart said something else. He hadn’t stopped caring. If anything, he’d cared too much.

David stood there in only his jeans, looking sexy as hell, but his expression was lost. Almost dejected. The pain of whatever he’d gone through by straddling two worlds was clearly taking its toll.

I hesitated, wanting to wrap my arms around him, but still wary. A lot had happened. I’d been so angry at him for leaving me, for keeping me in the dark, for not being honest. At the same time, I understood—at least partially—why he’d kept me at arm’s length.

He turned to face me, hands stuffed in his pockets, shoulders hunched. I couldn’t help but still care about him. I took careful steps and slid my arms around his waist, resting my head against his shoulder. “I don’t know what I would’ve said if you’d told me, but right now I’m okay with it.”

His arms circled around me and after a moment, he bent and gently brushed his lips against mine.

The pain and stress of the last week took over, and I couldn’t stop myself from sinking into the kiss. The chill of his tongue on my heated mouth stirred an unexpected response deep in my center. Everything fled my mind except the feel of him. My David, familiar and yet new at the same time. I was tired of being scared. Tired of being hurt. Tired of letting everyone else control my destiny. All I wanted was to feel something good. To feel his body against mine. I moaned and pressed closer.

“Willow,” he whispered.

“Hmm?”

“This is probably not a good idea,” he said as his hands worked their way into my hair.

“You’re thinking too much.” I clamped my teeth over his lower lip and nibbled.

His breath caught short, and a second later he lifted me in his arms, carrying me toward his bedroom door. I gave him a wry smile and buried my head in his neck as he crossed the threshold.

The door slammed as David pressed me against the nearest wall. His lips were on me, sucking and teasing as they moved to nuzzle my neck.

“Careful. You don’t want to get bit,” a soft voice said.

David froze.

I twisted and spotted Allcot. All the anger I’d possessed earlier in the garden came roaring back. “You bastard!” I spat at Eadric, struggling to untangle myself from David’s arms. “Let me down.”

David kept an iron grip, not appearing to be bothered by my attempt. “Did you need something, Father?”

Eadric leaned back against the doorframe and shrugged. “Not at the moment, but your girlfriend appeared to want an audience with me. I can see she found a suitable way to occupy her time.”

“David,” I warned. He loosened his hold, and I slid to my feet. I stepped in front of him, glaring at Eadric. “Using your son to get to me, Allcot? How do you live with yourself?”

“Wil.” David rested his hand on my shoulder.

“Oh, right. You’re not alive.” I crossed my arms over my chest.

A slow smile spread across Allcot’s stony face. “She’s perfect, Davidson.”

Chapter Eighteen

I spun to stare at David, then shuffled to the side until both vampires were in my view. “Perfect for what?” My words came out clipped, my tone dangerous.

David closed his eyes. When he opened them, he glared at Allcot. “Agent Rhoswen is an upstanding member of the Arcane. She deserves to be spoken to with respect.”

The unexpected display of support helped ease a bit of the tension strumming through my muscles. It was the first time David had displayed even a hint of defiance toward his father. Though I had a feeling Eadric spoke to everyone any damned way he pleased. He was that powerful.

Allcot chuckled, rolling up the sleeves of his black silk shirt. Dressed in wool pants and shiny black loafers, he was completely unruffled. No one would’ve guessed he’d just risen from a ménage à trois moments ago. “I doubt after today’s events, the Arcane agrees with your upstanding-member analysis.”

The muscle in David’s neck flexed. “You know what I meant.”

My gaze traveled back and forth from father to son. Allcot, still standing against the frame, kept his cocky, devilish smile in place. Only the clenching of his right fist indicated he was annoyed at David’s reprimand. I had no doubt if any other vampire spoke to Allcot in that tone, they’d be snail food.

David kept his head high, his eyes trained on his father. He wasn’t backing down. If Allcot challenged him, I’d be in the middle of a vampire smackdown. Again.

Allcot straightened and stalked toward David, his electric power making my skin itch. Although David’s broad shoulders and height gave him the advantage, his father’s very essence dripped with danger.

“Hey, now.” I jumped between them, holding my arms out as if I could stop either of them from ripping the other apart. Look what happened last time I got between two snarling vamps. “There’s no need for this. I’m certain we’re all capable of a calm, rational discussion.”

Neither spoke, but Allcot stopped his progression toward us, raising one curious eyebrow. “Your loyalty to Davidson bodes well for your survival.”

“Father,” David warned again.

I did a mental eye roll. The testosterone in the room was enough to complete a sex change. “Can we go in the other room to talk?” I pointed toward the door. “I’m sure we’ll all be more relaxed.” I would be.

Allcot took a step back, bowed slightly, and swept his arm in invitation. “Ladies first.”

Vampire balls. Now I had to walk right past him. Gritting my teeth, I held my head high and strode through the door, praying he couldn’t sense the fear threatening to take over. The first rule of dealing with vamps: Never turn your back on them. Especially this one.

Allcot fell into step right behind me, close enough his cool breath chilled my ear. I shivered and kept walking.

Back in David’s bedroom, I heard the rustle of a wardrobe opening and prayed that meant he was putting a shirt on. As gorgeous as his chiseled chest was, now was not the time for distractions.

I headed straight for one of the armchairs. Settling into the soft, rich leather, I crossed my ankles and eyed Allcot. He lounged back on the couch, his foot propped over his left knee.

David emerged, dressed casually in jeans and a long-sleeved navy thermal shirt. The way he used to dress before he turned vamp. I bit the side of my cheek to keep from commenting. Memory lane was closed. He glanced between us and took the chair next to me.

I gripped the arms of the chair, waiting. “What am I doing here?”

Allcot glanced at David, his lips twitching.

“Did your brain freeze in a prepubescent state when you turned?” I huffed out a frustrated breath. “God, Allcot, you act like a twelve-year-old. Not everyone is totally consumed by sex every second of the day.”

David caught my eye, and I swear he had to hide a smile. Did he think I was being funny?

Eadric leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his cold blue eyes piercing me with his gaze. “I assure you, if I wanted you in my bed, you’d be there… willingly.”

Every muscle in David’s body stiffened.

I gave Allcot a blank stare. “What is it you want from me then, since clearly I’m not begging to join the harem in your bedroom?”

Allcot glanced at David and gave him the tiniest of nods. David unclenched his fists, visibly relaxing. Was that some sort of acknowledgement on Allcot’s part that I wasn’t destined to be one of his groupies? As if I’d ever be part of one of his undead lovefests. No way was I going anywhere near his freak show.

“Well?” I prompted, tired of the power play.

Allcot shifted forward until he was perched on the couch, staring me in the eye. “I have a proposition for you.”

I raised a skeptical eyebrow.

His lips turned up in that cold smile of his. “Considering your current predicament, you’ll probably want to consider our offer.”

Our current predicament, indeed. Phoebe and I were in a quandary. We couldn’t go home or to work. Maude would find us there. Then I’d be a test faery again. I had two options: listen to what Allcot had to say or run. New Orleans was my home, where my store was, and the only place I’d felt comfortable since Beau died.

I didn’t want to run. “I’m listening.”

The smile vanished. “We suspect one of Maude’s spies has infiltrated Cryrique. This is unacceptable. Cryrique is a privately held company with confidential research in many areas, including, but not limited to, vampire medications, creationism, and mind enhancers. Multi-million-dollar investments. You can see why we’d be concerned.”

The medication and creationism wasn’t a surprise. Vampires had long been studying the effect of their powers on humans. From healing to mind control to the turning. Certain vampires were reborn more powerful than others. If Cryrique could determine why, bottling their healing properties could be a big business.

But mind enhancers? Yeah, he was talking about drugs. The vampire community brushed that label aside, instead insisting their research was closer to the edibles I made. But the rumors implied something much more potent.

“Okay. Say Maude does have a spy. I don’t see how I can be useful,” I said.

Allcot brushed invisible lint from his trousers. “I’d like you to be our inside source at the Arcane.”

“What?” I stood, suddenly angry. “Did you miss the part where Phoebe and I are now fugitives? I can’t even go home, much less back to work.”

David rose and put a hand on my arm. “Hear him out, Wil.”

I cut my gaze to his hand resting above my elbow. “Let go.”

He hesitated, a flicker of frustration flashing through his eyes, then shoved his hands in his pockets. “Sorry.”

“This is why you’re the perfect person,” Allcot said, mildly.

I scrunched my face up in frustration. “What the hell are you talking about? I’m aligned with you now. Everyone will assume I’m working for you and your corporation.”

Allcot rose, shaking his head. “As it turns out, thanks to your partner, Ms. Kilsen, we have evidence of Maude’s illegal behavior concerning you and her attempt to contract us to do her dirty work. I suspect she’d be most eager to keep that information under wraps.” He swept his hand out, inviting me to sit once more.

I did so, begrudgingly, hating that he towered over me.

“You, my lovely faery, are perfect because your obvious disdain for us shines through, even when you’re trying to hide your emotions. No one will suspect you’re working for me. And you’ll have reason to meet with us since you’ve been assigned to work with Davidson.” He sank back into the soft leather and once again rested a foot over his knee.

I took a moment to consider his words. Working for him was suicide. If the Arcane found out, I’d be locked up for sure. If I pissed off the wrong vamp, I’d be dinner. A no-win situation. “If Phoebe captured the evidence, why should I submit to you? She’s more than capable of a little blackmail.”

“She could try. But are you willing to risk your friend’s life? How far do you think Maude will go to cover her tracks?”

Goddamn him. Maude wouldn’t hesitate to take Phoebe out. She’d make it look like an accident, too. I gritted my teeth. He’d used the trump card. “So in exchange for me working undercover for you, you’ll blackmail Maude to drop whatever bogus charges she’ll bring against me and Phoebe?”

“Yes. That is what I’m offering.”

I shook my head. “Not good enough. You’ll need to sweeten the pot. Working for you goes against everything in my nature. And it’s open-ended.”

Allcot’s lips transformed into something that resembled a satisfied smile. “Name your terms.”

I straightened, setting my shoulders back. “One, you’ll dedicate someone to investigate my brother’s death. And two, no one will ever ask about, study, or use me in testing regarding the effect I had on David. In other words, no one is to know the cause of his new sunwalking ability.”

Allcot stood again. “Done.” With a nod, he strode out.

I gaped. That was too easy. What had I missed? I twisted toward David. “What just happened?”

He smiled. “You negotiated a pretty good deal with the boss.”

“But why did he give in so easily? He has to be dying to try to exploit the sunwalking thing.”

David’s smile vanished. “Yes, I think he is. But I already requested he leave it alone. We don’t know if it’s permanent or if you can even replicate it.” He picked up a pen from the end table, fingering it absently. “We both almost died. Father knows that. He’s not willing to risk any of his people unless we have definite information.”

“Really?” My voice pitched high with disbelief.

“Yes, really. It probably helps that I asked him to drop it. As his only son, I still hold some clout.”

A sick wave of nausea washed over me. No matter what David believed, Allcot stood to make a lot of money if he could create sunwalking in a bottle. Every instinct screamed he’d exploit me, given half a chance. A vision of my body suspended in a vise, being juiced of all its magic, flashed through my mind.

Argh! I shook the image off. No one was going to lock me up again. Never.

Our make-out session aside, I still didn’t entirely trust David. Too many things had happened. I still had too many questions. Ones I should’ve asked before I stuck my tongue down his throat. I stood and paced the room. “Tell me what you were doing with Clea.”

David flinched as if I’d slapped him. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, come on.” I rolled my eyes. “You’d spent time with her before Phoebe tagged her. Why?”

He leaned forward but didn’t try to touch me. “She came to me, asking questions about you, all under the guise of trying to help me mend my broken heart.” He grimaced. “She wanted to know about Influence, who your friends were, what you did in your spare time, what I saw in you. Her behavior was suspicious to say the least. I had to investigate her. Especially considering the abduction threat.”

“You had to take her on a date to investigate her? Make her think you were mated?” I heard the jealousy in my tone and cringed on the inside. Why couldn’t I be cooler?

To David’s credit, he pretended not to notice, but I saw his lips twitch ever so slightly in satisfaction right before he spoke. “I needed to search Clea’s place, so I asked Phoebe for an illusion spell, took her on a date, and then hit her with the charm once I got into her apartment. While I was there, I found traces of Influence, but nothing else. That’s when I tipped off Phoebe. She hunts down vampires that break the law, doesn’t she?”

“Of course.” I ran a hand through my tangled hair. “Wait, you got an illusion spell from Phoebe?” Back at his house, when David said the blood-sharing had been a spell, he’d meant the night they’d had their supposed date. I’d misunderstood, thinking Phoebe had spelled her while I’d been out. That meant Phoebe had known for at least a week about David turning vamp. Damn her. She’d deliberately not told me.

“Yes. Is that a problem?” David’s forehead wrinkled in confusion.

“No.” Not really, except I was once again the last to know. “So where does that leave your investigation? Do you really think someone wants to abduct me?”

“Honestly, I have no idea, but I’m not taking any chances.”

“And what about this spy business Allcot wants me to investigate? Is that tied to the threat too?”

“That, I really don’t know.” David shrugged. “Maybe.”

I plucked at a seam on the armrest of the chair. David’s explanation seemed reasonable enough, but we still had to get something straight. I raised my gaze and stared him straight in the eye. “No more secrets. No more leaving me out of the loop. Got it? This is my life on the line. Ignorance will only get me killed faster.”

He hesitated, but only for a second. Then he gave me a curt nod. “No more secrets.”

“Thank you.” My words hung in the air, and I wondered if either of us could hold up the bargain. Too tired to care about anything else, I asked, “When can I go home?”

“Tomorrow, most likely. Father needs time to put the deal in place.”

I could survive until the next day. An overwhelming yawn took over, making my eyes water. Maybe not. “Fine. Until then, where am I sleeping?”

David walked to the door leading into his private bedroom. “You’ll share with me.”

Um, what? “No… I mean… That’s not a good idea. Don’t you have a guest room around here or something?”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of, Wil. We’ve been sharing a room at your house for a few days already.”

“Yeah, but you’ve been sleeping in my closet. We weren’t sharing a bed. That’s just… well, inappropriate.”

He laughed. “Not as inappropriate as what happened here right before Father interrupted us.”

I mentally groaned. “That was a momentary lapse in judgment. I’ll find another room. Or sleep in the garden.”

David moved so fast I hardly even saw him twitch a muscle. He appeared right in front of me, his eyes deadly serious. “No. It’s not safe outside. I know you prefer an oak to recharge, but this is vampire territory. If word gets out about the sunwalking, which you know it could if Maude decides to leak it, I won’t be able to protect you. Even on Father’s property, another master could decide to take you for himself.”

“I was outside not even an hour ago and no one batted an eye,” I said stubbornly.

He shook his head. “You’re not hearing me. I left you there because I knew you needed the tree. But with each passing minute, the likelihood of vampires hunting you increases. I’m not willing to compromise your safety because you’re a little uncomfortable.”

I bit my tongue to keep from screaming. This partnership was going to be hell. “I’ll find another room.”

He pursed his lips and shrugged. “You can do that, but you might end up witness to a scene like what you saw in Father’s room. The guests here are very… open.”

“I’ll share with Phoebe. She’ll work a charm or something to keep the sex fiends out.”

Holding his phone out, David tapped a key. The screen lit up, revealing a message from the witch in question. Gone for supplies. Tell Willow not to worry. I’ll be back before sunup. Damn it! Phoebe wasn’t even here.

My palms started to sweat. Where was Link when I needed him? With him along, I was guaranteed at least a small level of protection. He’d keep any sleazy vamps from making a move on me. He’d also likely stay in wolf form for his whole visit, which meant I’d be too nervous to sleep. I sighed. “Fine. I’ll share your room.”

Light brightened in his dark blue eyes. “After you.”

Chapter Nineteen

Place one foot in front of the other. That was all I needed to do. No big deal, right? Except David stood between me and the doorway, and my traitorous hormones were screaming for his attention.

Goddess help me. He was a vampire. This could not happen again.

The feel of his cool lips claiming mine came rushing back the moment he opened the door, inviting me back into his sanctuary. A thin sheen of sweat blossomed on my brow. I clutched my hands together to keep from wiping my face. David could probably already sense my nervousness, but the last thing I wanted to do was call attention to my unfortunate reaction.

“Willow?” A look of concern pinched his face.

“Yeah?” I averted my gaze, too chicken to meet his eyes.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Of course not.” Jeez, Willow, get your shit together. “Why would you say that?” Without waiting for his reply, I strode past him. My wing brushed his shoulder, and a shiver rushed up my spine. I sucked in a breath. Damn, that felt good. A low chuckle rumbled from his chest, followed by a fake cough.

Stupid hyperaware vampires. This was bad. I had to get a grip on my emotions.

I came up short in the middle of David’s massive bedroom. The four-poster bed, covered with a stark white down comforter, sat centered on a windowless wall. Three layers of white and chocolate-brown pillows sat against the smooth walnut headboard.

Very masculine. Undeniably inviting.

Oh, hell no. I had to get out of there. I turned and came face-to-face with David.

He placed his hands lightly on my bare arms. “Going somewhere?”

“N…no,” I stammered and bit my tongue. Shaking my head, I cleared my throat. “I could use some clean clothes.” I hadn’t changed in over twenty-four hours. “And a shower.”

David nodded and disappeared into what appeared to be his closet, though from the quick peek I managed, I judged it to be slightly larger than my own bedroom back at home. He reemerged with a set of cotton pajamas.

“Here.” He handed them to me.

“Thanks.” I stood still, clutching the garments, not sure what to do. He’d seen me naked plenty of times before, but no way was I revisiting that scenario. Even though my body seemed more than willing, my common sense had kicked in after the meeting with Allcot. David hadn’t meant to, but he’d hurt me. Not to mention that pesky vampire-faery thing. What would Talisen say? Oh lord. And what about Talisen? We weren’t together, but if I was honest with myself, there was something going on between us. I just didn’t know what.

I opened my mouth to ask David to leave but he cut me off.

“The bathroom is through there.” He pointed behind me to an almost seamless door. “Take your time. I’ll hunt up some food from the kitchen.”

As I watched him walk away, a pang of guilt gnawed at my stomach. Here I’d been worried about my modesty, and David was worrying about my needs. The way he had when we’d been together. I sighed and disappeared into his oversized, sleek marble bathroom.

Twenty minutes later, warm and clean from the shower, I slipped into David’s soft PJs. I rolled my shoulders, ignoring the irritation of my wings straining against the cotton. Vampire clothing didn’t have slits for faery wings. But anything was better than my dirty T-shirt. Gathering my courage, I poked my head around the doorframe. My breath came out in a whoosh of relief. David wasn’t back yet.

Thank God. I strode across the room to the bed, tossed half the pillows on the floor, and climbed in. I lay there for a while, staring at the stark white ceiling. How long had it been since I’d been able to relax? Days, it seemed. Turning on my side, I closed my eyes and breathed in the faint scent of cypress. David’s scent. Sadness washed over me.

Everything had changed. My work at the Arcane, my relationship with the city’s vampires… David. He was so different, and yet still the same in so many ways. What used to be soothing now filled me with apprehension. What was I doing in his bed? I put it all out of my mind and imagined I was back in my own soothing oak bed. Sleep didn’t come easily, but eventually I fell into a restless oblivion.

I woke with a start to the sound of voices. Bolting upright, my head exploded as I collided with something solid. “Son of a…” I clutched my head as my eyes watered.

“Are you all right?” David’s voice broke through the ringing in my ears.

“Uh huh,” I mumbled, squinting. David stood beside the bed, leaning over me. “Was that your head?”

“Yeah. Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

I waved a hand, indicating it wasn’t his fault. “Who’s here?”

“No one.” He gently placed one of the discarded pillows under my head. “Lie back.”

“I heard someone,” I insisted, scanning the room.

“That was Nathan. He came to check on you, but left when I told him you were sleeping.”

“Oh.” I relaxed into the pillows. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to clock you.”

He shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll survive.”

“Right.” Vampire strength. He probably had barely felt my blow.

The bed shifted as David sat next to me. “Are you hungry?”

Before I could respond, my stomach rumbled.

He laughed. “I guess so.” The bed shifted once more when he stood. “Sit up. I’ve brought fixings for a bedroom picnic.”

I shifted, eyeing a silver cart next to the bed. “What type of picnic?” I asked with a heavy air of skepticism. The last time we’d shared a meal in the bedroom, I’d been slipped at least one magical edible. One of my own, no less.

He held up his hands. “It’s all untainted. Promise.” When I didn’t respond, he lifted the cover off a large platter. “Check for yourself.”

My lips twitched and broke into a smile. The entire tray was covered with food from my favorite grocery store, Organic Market. Goat cheese, hummus, flat bread, mixed berries, and baby carrots were all still sealed in their prepackaged containers. Definitely not tainted.

David pulled an unopened bottle of wine from the bottom of the cart and held it out to me for inspection.

A ten-year-old Cabernet from the Napa Valley. Another one of my favorites. I gazed at him, one eyebrow raised. “Are you trying to seduce me?”

His eyes crinkled with humor as he dislodged the cork. “No, but if helping you relax turns into something more, I won’t complain.”

My neck warmed, and the heat crawled upward, no doubt setting my face aflame. I forced a laugh and sat up, cross-legged. “Forget it, buddy. All I’m planning to do here is sleep. Now pass the hummus. I’m starving.”

David placed a tablecloth on top of the pristine comforter, filled it with his offerings, and then sat across from me. He handed me a half-full wine glass and tipped his goblet in my direction for a toast. “To starting over.”

I hesitated. What did that mean? Our working relationship? A friendship? Or something more?

“Relax.” His eyes clouded with a slight air of frustration. “Wherever we go from here, we’ll figure it out. Together.” He lifted his glass higher and nodded toward it.

I wasn’t sure our situation deserved a toast, but there was no denying that whatever happened from here on out, we were in it together. The fact that I’d saved him from death and changed his chemical makeup in the process had sealed the deal. The smooth crystal weighed heavy in my hand. I raised my wine, letting him close the distance with a soft clink. “To the future,” I said.

“An amazing one,” he promised.

His words, low and soft, were a vow, touching me deep in my heart. A flutter rippled through me and turned into a painful ache. I was dangerously close to crossing a forbidden line. An action I didn’t think I’d recover from.

Our eyes met, holding each other’s gaze as we sipped the rich Cabernet. Heat that had nothing to do with the alcohol coiled in my stomach. I glanced away, concentrating on the picnic spread out in front of me. Only I wasn’t the least bit hungry anymore.

David shifted. The sound of a drawer opening reclaimed my attention. He rustled around in the bedside nightstand and came up with a pair of scissors. I furrowed my brows in confusion and tensed when he moved to stand behind me.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Hold still.” He swept my hair aside, his fingers gently brushing against my neck, until it hung in an auburn sheet over the front of my left shoulder.

I sucked in a breath, clutching my wine glass so hard I feared I’d break it. His touch was almost too much to take. Light and familiar. Sensual. Everything about him set me off.

David stepped closer, running a gentle hand along my spine. “Why didn’t you modify this for your wings? You can’t be comfortable.”

I shrugged, ignoring the fireworks going off in my nerve endings. “These are borrowed. I didn’t want to ruin your PJs.”

David paused, and I wondered if he was waiting to see what I would do.

This was it. The moment of truth. Did I trust him or not? Other than not telling me about Eadric, I didn’t have any reason not to. And at least I could understand why he kept that secret. Who tells a prejudiced faery his adoptive father is a vampire? I took a deep breath and held still.

Finally, he chuckled. “Haven’t you figured it out by now?”

I twisted to stare him in the eye.

Shaking his head, he gave me a wry smile and leaned closer. “I’d do just about anything for you. A sacrificed piece of clothing means nothing.” He brought his hand up, caressing my jawline with his gentle fingers.

My breath caught, and I turned my back to him, afraid of what I might do if I kept staring at his gorgeous midnight-blue eyes.

Two careful snips later, David set the scissors aside. My wings twitched, straining to be free of the fabric. He adjusted my top to one side and then the other, easing my wings out of their restraints. “Better?”

“Much.” I stretched, reveling in the sheer pleasure of my newfound freedom. David didn’t move, and I knew he was watching me. My wings had always fascinated him. Deceptively delicate with their almost sheer appearance, my wings’ resilience always amazed other species. I leaned back, wanting him to place his hand on my neck the way he used to.

He didn’t disappoint. His firm hand cupped the base of my neck, his fingers lightly caressing my exposed skin. I closed my eyes and tilted my head, giving him easier access. After the last twenty-four hours, I no longer cared what was right or wrong. I only wanted to be comforted. And at that moment, David’s touch was filling the bill.

His cool breath brushed over my ear. “Is this okay?”

I shivered but wasn’t cold. Nodding, I clamped my mouth shut, afraid of what I’d say if I spoke. All my objections seemed to fly out of my head. All that mattered was his touch.

Hands roving down my spine, he pressed his lips to my neck, brushing soft kisses over the area I knew was bruised from Nathan’s bite.

“No one will ever bite you again,” David said, steel in his quiet voice.

“Okay,” I breathed, flexing my wings as his fingers traced the sensitive edges.

“That’s a promise.”

My wings started to tingle and heat shot to my center. I’d believe anything he said right then. And he knew it. He’d long ago discovered my weakness for being caressed.

“I’ve missed you,” David mumbled into my neck and wrapped his arms around my waist. He rested his cheek on the top of my head and hugged me to him, like a long-lost lover he’d never wanted to let go.

My heart squeezed. I’d missed him too, but couldn’t bring myself to say the words. I was too overwhelmed. Too comfortable in his arms. Too unsure of anything. I covered his hands with mine and squeezed gently. It was enough for now.

A frantic scraping at the door startled me out of my thoughts. David’s head jerked up just as the door burst open. Link, in wolf form, took two large leaps and landed directly in the middle of the bed, snarling at the vampire behind me. Hummus splattered across the bed and berries went flying. The once-pristine comforter was a goner. David straightened but kept one protective hand on my shoulder.

“Link!” I cried. “Stop it. You’re making a mess.”

“He’s doing what he was trained to do,” a familiar male voice said from across the room.

My whole body went cold. Shit! Shit! Shit! Slowly I raised my gaze, grimacing as I spotted the other man in my life. “Tal? I didn’t know you were coming.”

His angry green eyes narrowed as he glared at David from the doorway. “Obviously.”

Scrambling to my knees, I shook David’s hand off and clutched Link. “Calm down, boy. David isn’t going to hurt anyone.”

“Get your hands off her, you sadistic bastard.” Talisen took two steps into the room. “If she has even one tiny scratch, one pinprick of a bruise, I’ll kill you.”

“Tal,” I warned. “Stop. He’s not hurting me. I promise.”

David backed off and headed toward the door. “I’ll give you three some privacy.”

“Wait,” I called after him. Jesus, what was I doing? If Tal took a swing at him, David would crush him. A fae was no match for a vampire.

He paused and glanced back.

“This is your room. You don’t have to go.” I jumped off the bed, wincing when I remembered what I was wearing.

He shook his head and sent me a resigned smile. “Better you have this conversation here where the rest of the house can’t hear you. I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

“David…”

He didn’t turn back but paused as he reached Talisen standing in the path of the doorway. The pair glared at each other, tension mounting with each passing second.

Talisen’s fists clenched.

David eyed Tal and in a measured tone said, “Step aside, fae. I’m only granting you this courtesy because of Willow. Challenge me, and I’ll have no choice but to defend my territory.”

Territory? Was he talking about me or his room? It had damn well better be the latter.

“Tal,” I pleaded.

The outrage in Tal’s expression told me he was thinking the same thing. He cast David a look of disgust and sidestepped just enough for David to pass.

When the door closed with a soft click, I sat back on the bed, my back to Talisen.

With the vampire gone, Link shifted and crept up beside me. His wet nose nuzzled my hand until I scratched his ears. He licked my wrist, pressed against my thigh, and rolled over, sticking his paws in the air. Despite the tension in the room, I laughed and rubbed his belly. “You goober. For such a vicious animal, you sure do shift gears fast.”

“So does someone else I know,” Talisen said from the end of the bed.

I snapped my head in his direction. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He leveled a flat, dry stare in my direction. “Come on. Look at you. You’re in his clothes, on his bed, letting him touch you the way—” He clamped his mouth shut and a touch of pink colored his cheeks.

The way what? The way a lover would? The way he, Talisen, would? Or the way he wanted to? I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry.

Tal moved closer, eyeing me. “Did he hurt you?”

I shook my head. “No. I’m sorry. So much has been going on, I haven’t had a chance to tell you. After I… changed David, something odd happened.”

He raised an eyebrow. “More odd than turning him into a daywalker?”

Grimacing, I forced the words out. “His touch doesn’t hurt me anymore.” Before he could respond, I did my best to change the subject. “Where’s Phoebe? I thought she went out for supplies.”

His lips formed into a hard line. “She did, but now she’s downstairs.”

“Well, where are they?” I glanced behind him toward the door and plucked at my cotton pants. They’d been fine before, but with Talisen in the room, I couldn’t stand to see him look at me with those accusing eyes. Like I’d let him down.

“We’re what she was really after.” He gestured to himself and Link. “But I guess you didn’t need us after all. I mean, now that his touch doesn’t leave you black and blue, your vampire can take care of you.”

That did it. I jumped off the bed and whirled on him. “Are you kidding me right now? Stop it with your judgmental bullshit. You weren’t there. You weren’t the one locked away in the Arcane wondering if you’d ever get out alive. You weren’t—”

Talisen grabbed my arms and pulled me toward him, his hands digging into my flesh. “You let him bite you, Wil. Bite you! What the hell were you thinking?”

“Let go,” I spat and twisted, dislodging myself from his grip.

He stepped up, his face a mix of anger and pain. “What would Beau say?”

Stunned, I took a tiny step back. Then anger took over. Uncontrollable rage rolled through my limbs, and before I knew what I was doing, I raised my hand and slapped him. Hard. So hard my hand stung.

His hand flew up to cup his assaulted cheek. He stepped back and took a deep breath, visibly trying to calm himself. “I can’t believe you did that.”

“And I can’t believe you’d think I’d ever willingly let a vampire bite me.” Fuming, I stalked toward the door with Link at my side. When I reached the threshold, I glanced over my shoulder. Talisen’s face had gone stark white except for the red handprint on his left cheek. “Just to be clear, even if you’d walked in on me and David naked and writhing with pleasure, you have no business judging anything I do. You’ve made it clear for years you’re not a one-woman man. So don’t start acting like you have some sort of claim over me, because we both know you’d never survive a committed relationship.”

He opened his mouth but no words came out.

I shook my head. “Exactly what I thought you’d say.”

Chapter Twenty

Once back on the main floor, the sticky vampire cloud returned, making my already upset stomach roll. How dare Talisen bring up Beau? The asshole. He knew bringing up my brother would leave the deepest wound. He’d done it on purpose, hurting me in a way only those who knew me best could.

And I’d snapped. Shame washed over me. My guilt for letting David inside my heart had pushed me over the edge. No matter what Talisen had said, my behavior was inexcusable. Especially since I knew my actions hurt him. Even though he’d never admit it.

Damn him.

I stopped in the foyer at the bottom of the stairs, forcing myself to not bolt through the front door. Until Allcot made his deal with Maude, I was stuck in the twisted vampire orgy house. I turned, intending to head into the sitting room, when a small ball of fur bounded down the adjoining hallway.

“Link!” I cried and took off after him. “Stop!”

He barreled through a slightly open door at the end of the hall. I groaned. What was I going to walk in on now?

“Get off!” Phoebe’s voice carried into the hallway. “Bad dog!”

I scooted into the room to find Link sitting in the middle of a pile of clothes on the bed. Various outfits from jeans to cocktail dresses were lined up side by side. I snapped my fingers. Link raised his head and glanced at me. I leveled a glare. “Now, Link.”

With his head hung low he jumped off the bed and slinked to my side.

“Going somewhere?” I focused on Phoebe, taking in the Tulane hoody and rolled-up jeans that hit just above her ankles. The black plastic-frame glasses and book bag marked her as just another nondescript college student.

She yanked on the ponytail of her artificial honey-blond hair and threw the wig into the suitcase. “I was until Allcot’s lackeys stopped me. Something about Maude’s spies watching the house. You should’ve seen the antics they used to smuggle me out of here when I left to get Link and Talisen. And even then they wouldn’t let me go home. I had to have them meet me on vamp row.” She pulled a silver credit card from her back pocket. “Allcot gave me this. I did a little shopping while I was there.”

I took one more look at the bed and finally noticed the tags hanging off each piece of clothing. “Looks expensive,” I said.

She snorted. “Yeah. I think he was expecting me to buy fresh undergarments and clothes for tomorrow. Not an entire undercover wardrobe.”

“He should get to know you better.” I smirked. Phoebe never went anywhere without at least four changes of clothes, three wigs, and about ten pounds of cosmetics. She hated to be unprepared.

“Check this out.” She held up a purple sheath dress. “I overheard some of Allcot’s people talking about a Cryrique fundraiser tomorrow night. I’m going to crash and see what dirt I can dig up. One of them might know something about the threat against you.”

“Gorgeous. Be careful, okay.”

“Aren’t I always?”

I rolled my eyes. “Mostly. Anything for me over there?”

She scanned me from head to toe. “Looks like you’ve made do.”

I grimaced and strode to the bed. It didn’t take long to realize not one piece of clothing was larger than a size four. “Thanks a lot, Phoebs.”

She rolled her eyes and leaned down at the end of the bed. She came up with another shopping bag. “Here.”

Inside I found a few T-shirts and a light sweater, all made for faeries. There were also some undergarments, yoga pants, and jeans. Size ten. I sent her a grateful smile and headed for the bathroom. As comfortable as David’s pajamas were, I couldn’t wait to get out of them. I didn’t need any more reminders of what had happened in his bedroom.

Five minutes later, I sat cross-legged on the bed in yoga pants and a soft blue T-shirt, rifling through Phoebe’s stash of disguises. I held up a bright pink satin top that dipped in a V low enough to reveal her navel. “Where were you headed?”

She snatched it out of my hands and gestured to what she was already wearing. “This was for the college library. And this,” she said, waving the halter top, “was for the college bar afterward.”

“And you were going there because…?”

She tossed the shirt into one of her shopping bags. “Daniels’s sister works at both.”

I pursed my lips. “You think she’d be there today? He just died.”

“Of course not. But people she knows would be and they’ll be talking. You’d be amazed at what people say after someone dies.” She kicked the shopping bag. “And I’m going to miss it, being holed up here like one of the house slaves.”

I sighed and leaned back against the headboard. “I know it sucks, but I really do think he’s trying to protect us.”

“More like control us.”

The vampire sensation hit me right before he spoke. “Don’t tempt me, Agent Kilsen.” Allcot strode into the room, and Talisen stumbled in after him.

Tal glared and clenched his fists as he stared back out into the hall.

“I believe this fae belongs to you.” Allcot waved an impatient hand toward Talisen. “If you don’t want him to get his neck ripped open, take care to keep him away from my people.” He turned to Phoebe. “You can go at nine in the morning. The deal will be finalized by then.” His deep blue-gray eyes found mine. “It’s best you pretend nothing ever happened with Maude for the time being. Treat her just as you always have.”

“You mean with little respect and plenty of disdain?” Phoebe let out a hollow laugh.

“If that is the norm, then yes. We don’t want anyone who may be watching to think anything’s changed. Don’t pretend she didn’t hold Willow in lockdown. Too many people know about it already. Brush it off as necessary testing and resume the job you’ve been contracted to do. Got it?”

I nodded but Phoebe narrowed her eyes. She placed one hand on her hip and raised her chin. “What about Maude? Will she resume as normal? Or will Willow find herself locked up in some remote place out in the swamps? What’s to stop Maude from going off the reservation?”

Allcot’s expression hardened, turning his appearance marble-like. “I’ve got that covered.” He nodded to me and was gone in one blink.

Talisen stood against the wall, staring at me.

Heat rose to my face. My outburst had left a gaping crater between us. The truth was, I had no idea what he saw when he looked at me. A sister? A close friend? A backup girlfriend if he ran through the world’s female population? I shifted so I wouldn’t have to meet his eyes and ran a hand over Link’s soft fur.

“What trouble have you been getting into?” Phoebe asked him, gathering up the last of her clothes.

He grunted.

Phoebe tilted her head and eyed him. “Why did Allcot march you in here?”

“Oh.” He cleared his throat. “One of the female vamps tried to lure me into her den and when I said no, words were exchanged.”

Words. Yeah, I bet. After the coal-raking I’d gotten over the bite on my neck, he’d probably invited her to fang herself. Prejudiced jerk. A small voice whispered in my mind, hypocrite. I shook my head and crawled into bed. I rolled over and faced the wall, trying to forget I was now sharing a room with Talisen. Morning couldn’t come soon enough.

***

The burning in my neck woke me. I shot straight up in bed, my fists connecting with the person hovering over me. “Get off!” I shoved with both hands and rolled out of the bed.

“Willow, calm down. I was only healing your neck.” Talisen, who I’d knocked to the floor, hopped to his feet and took a step toward me. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

My heart pounded as I took deep breaths, trying to get myself under control. I clamped my hand over my pulsing bite marks. Talisen’s healing had never felt like that before. “It hurts,” I ground out through clenched teeth.

His eyebrows burrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?” Gently, he pulled my hand back and inspected my wounds. “They’re red and angry.”

When he traced a light finger over the punctures, I winced. “Stop. That burns.”

He yanked his hand back and frowned at the amethyst clutched in his other hand.

“Maybe there’s too much vampire energy here. We can try again when we get back to my house.” I flicked the light on and rubbed my gritty eyes.

Talisen cleared his throat and his voice came out low and husky. “Am I still allowed at your house?”

I peered at him, trying to focus. “Of course you are.” I stepped closer and grabbed his hand. “About what happened last night…”

“Forget it. Like you said, I have no right to judge you. I was worried and in my overprotectiveness, I didn’t stop to consider the circumstances.” He squeezed my fingers and let go.

Circumstances? What did that mean? My war with Maude or the fact that I was forced to work with my vampire ex? Or the not-so-subtle insinuation that I just might be interested in Tal if he wasn’t such a commitment-phobe? I put the entire question out of my mind. I didn’t want to talk about Maude, and I definitely didn’t want to argue about David or my relationship with Talisen.

I glanced at the clock. Seven a.m. “Where’s Phoebe?”

She’d shared the other half of the bed with me, but now it was empty.

Talisen shrugged. “She was already gone when I woke up.”

I strode into the empty bathroom and then returned to the foot of the bed. All the shopping bags were gone except for the one filled with my clothes. “Shit. She took off.” I glanced at Link. “You couldn’t have woken me when she left?” Who knew what time she’d fled? Link put his head on his paws and glanced away.

“Be ready in five minutes,” I told Talisen as I grabbed my clothes and headed to the bathroom.

***

David caught up to us as we headed down the front walk. With the sun burning bright, he was the only vampire who could stop us. I braced myself for an argument. Allcot had said we could leave at nine, but I wasn’t waiting another minute to find out what Phoebe was up to.

“The car’s this way.” David pointed to a long driveway.

I stopped. “You’re not going to try to make us stay?”

Talisen moved a half step closer, and I held back a frustrated sigh. I hated this new display of dominance he had going on. We were just friends and always had been, despite how he made me feel sometimes. This new Talisen confused me.

David cut a glance to Talisen but ignored the subtle challenge and told me, “The deal is done. No need to hang around here any longer.” He started walking up the driveway. “You can wait here. I’ll bring the car.”

Talisen and I stared after him. “Something’s brewing,” I said.

He draped a light arm over my shoulders. “Do you think he knows where Phoebe went?”

He’d wrapped his arm around me in the same fashion hundreds of times before, but it felt different this time. Like he was claiming me. I bent down under the guise of tying my shoe. “I doubt it. She doesn’t check in with anyone when she’s on a mission.” When I stood, I stepped aside, putting distance between us.

“Then why do you think something’s off with him?”

“He’s not mad I didn’t tell him I was leaving. This is too easy.” David seemed as if he’d expected me to try to ditch him. Had he been watching for us?

Talisen chuckled. “Maybe he’s started to pay attention.”

“What does that mean?”

His lips twitched as he squeezed my shoulder. “You’ve never been one to ask permission from anyone. And you sure as hell don’t wait around for a man to do anything. It’s not a surprise you’d disregard any plan put in place by anyone other than yourself or Phoebe.”

Momentarily stunned at his assessment, I gazed up at him, my head tilted. Finally, I asked, “Was that a compliment?”

He snorted a laugh. “Your call.”

A silver Mercedes zipped down the driveway and stopped beside me. David lowered the window. “Ready?”

I raised my eyebrows. “New car?” I’d only ever seen him drive a Ford truck.

He nodded and his expression turned blank. “A gift from Father.”

The hollow ache in my stomach returned. Another turning gift, just like the house. Of course he got a fancy new car. Eadric couldn’t have a new vampire driving anything less. There was an image to uphold.

Talisen held his tongue as he climbed in the back with Link. I really wanted to join them but forced myself to take the front seat. I slammed the door and stared out the window, unable to even look at David. After what happened the night before and having Talisen in the car, the whole situation was just too awkward.

“Where to?” David asked, peeling out of the driveway.

“Home. If Phoebe stopped by there, she may have left me a note.”

“Okay.” The inflection in his tone made it clear he thought the idea highly unlikely. I concentrated on the traffic, never once glancing in his direction during the fifteen-minute ride.

The second the car came to a full stop behind Phoebe’s, I jumped out and ran to the house.

Before I could get the door unlocked, David placed a firm grip on my arm. “Let me check to be sure no one’s waiting inside.”

“Like who? Every other vamp is hidden behind blackout shades.” I pressed forward, but his iron grip held me in place. “Let go.”

Talisen strolled up the walk, an amused smile lighting his face.

“Stop it.” I glowered at him and then back at David.

“Maude could have people waiting.”

“Allcot said he cut a deal. Maude’s not supposed to be a threat anymore.” I yanked my arm back, trying to get away from him.

David let go, probably realizing his caveman act wasn’t helping his appeal. “Right. But it doesn’t hurt to be cautious. At least let me go in first.”

“Fine.” I threw my hands up and stepped aside. “But hurry up.”

David brushed past me through the unlocked door. He froze mid-step in the threshold, his body filling the space.

“What is it?” I pressed forward, trying to peek around him, but couldn’t see past his solid shoulders.

“Phoebe,” he said carefully. “What’s going on?”

Phoebe? My internal panic button went off full steam, and I barreled into David’s solid form. “Ouch!” I cried, holding my shoulder. Damn him and his chiseled vampire physique. He glanced down at me once, then stepped aside, giving me room.

I stumbled inside, gasped, and backpedaled right into David. His cool hands gripped my arms, keeping me steady on my feet. Every inch of the place had been ransacked. End tables lay on their sides with broken legs, stuffing from the couch cushions covered the wood floor, and papers from Phoebe’s desk had been scattered everywhere.

In the middle of the room sat a dark-haired, wide-eyed, college-aged girl tied to a chair with duct tape covering her mouth. And right in front of her stood Phoebe, in her low-cut satin top and four-inch heels, a small chocolate-orange wedge in one hand.

“It’s about time you got here,” my roommate said. “We were just about to find out who put a hit on Willow.”

Chapter Twenty-One

“Phoebe, no!” I lurched forward and knocked the Orange Influence from her hand. “Where the hell did you get that?” Was she out of her mind? Not only was she breaking the law, she was going against everything I stood for.

She reached down, fumbling for the magically enhanced chocolate. “Where do you think?”

I kicked the Influence across the room.

“Willow. Stop it.” Phoebe moved, but I grabbed her arm.

“No, Phoebs. Absolutely not. What you’re about to do is illegal. I won’t be party to it.” I kept a death grip on her arm, praying she wouldn’t spell me before this argument was over. Not that I had any reason to believe she would, but then again, I never would have thought she’d resort to using Orange Influence. She knew how I felt about it.

The girl in the chair whimpered. I dropped Phoebe’s arm and took a step toward her.

“Willow!” Phoebe yanked me back. “Goddamn it! I tied her up for a reason.”

I stumbled back and buried my desire to lash out at Phoebe. It’s not as if I was going to set the girl free. “Let go,” I said, my voice tight with anger.

She tightened her hold and I twisted, trying to break my arms from her death grip. My patience gone, I snapped, “Link, help!” But he ignored me, already shimmering gold. His limbs elongated and his bones shifted as he leapt in front of the girl. He landed in full wolf form, growling.

He hunched forward, jaws snapping. The girl was just sitting there. What was setting him off? I stilled and gazed at the prisoner. “Is she a witch?”

Phoebe relaxed her grip and when I didn’t fight her, she let out a frustrated huff. “Yes. A powerful one.”

Why was a witch ransacking our house? I turned to face my friend, truly bewildered. There were better ways to elicit information. “Why are you trying to Influence her? Don’t we have any Truth Clusters around?” I started up the stairs toward the kitchen.

“I already gave her some. They didn’t work.”

Phoebe’s words stopped me mid-step. Slowly, I retreated back down the stairs.

Talisen raised his eyebrows and met me at the bottom of the steps. “Is there some sort of vaccine that can keep people from being affected?”

I shook my head, clutching the banister. “No, not that I know of.” I turned to Phoebe. “Could she have spelled herself to be resistant to it?” Was that possible? I’d never heard of such a thing, but then my edibles had always worked before.

Phoebe stalked over to the fallen chocolate, scooped it up, and waved the Influence at me. “If she’s already under the Influence, your Truth Clusters won’t work, right?”

Dumbstruck at my own stupidity, I stared at the Orange Influence bobbing in the air as Phoebe continued to wave it at me. “Shit. You’re right.”

“And if we force-feed this to her, we can break the original spell and get the information we need.” Phoebe didn’t wait for me to respond. She kicked her way through the debris as she strode across the room.

“Wait!” I ran after her. Influence was a powerful drug. Whoever administered it had complete and sole control over the subject, including forcing them to tell the truth. Used without a person’s consent, it was the worst kind of violation.

David, who’d been oddly silent through the whole ordeal, did that thing vamps do and suddenly materialized in front of our prisoner, his arms folded. He glowered at Phoebe. “I believe Willow has something she’d like to say about using the Influence.”

I sent him a grateful smile and skidded to a stop in front of Phoebe. “I know using the Influence seems like the logical action here, but I can’t allow it. Controlling someone against their will is wrong.”

“Willow,” Phoebe said, her tone measured. “Look at what she did to our house.” She walked over to the ransacked bookcase and picked up a shredded notebook. “Look at what she did to your reference journals.”

“Is that…?” I stalked to Phoebe’s side, my hand outstretched. The leather journal was missing at least half its pages. Hot blood rushed to my head, burning my ears. “My recipe records,” I said through clenched teeth. That freaking witch had destroyed the notes I’d meticulously logged with years of recipe experiments.

“Now can I use the Influence on her?” Phoebe gave me a pointed look.

I inhaled a deep, ragged breath and slowly let it out, willing myself to calm down. Talisen followed Phoebe’s path through the mess and stopped beside me. His cool hand cupped my neck. A tingle soothed its way through me.

“Better?” he asked, holding up a blue stone.

Blue lace agate. The calming stone. I nodded. “Thank you.”

“What the fuck, Tal?” Phoebe sneered. “That anger was helping her get a backbone.”

“Phoebs.” I held a hand up, ignoring the insult. Another witch had invaded her space. It wasn’t a surprise she was lashing out. Witches don’t play nice when other witches encroach on their territory. And I was stopping her from using a surefire weapon. “We’re not using the Influence. Give me ten minutes. I can whip up the antidote.”

Phoebe’s nostrils flared, but she clamped her mouth shut.

I brushed past David and whispered, “Don’t let her do anything stupid.”

He raised his eyebrows and glanced over my head at her. “You sure about that?”

“Tal can’t stop her. Someone has to.” I took the stairs two at a time. Light footsteps sounded behind me, and I knew without glancing back it was Talisen. Perfect. I wondered how long Phoebe and David would last before one of them attacked the other. The current score was two to zero in Phoebe’s favor.

“I could use a calming force down there,” I said, striding through my kitchen door.

“The only one I have any effect on besides you is Link. And right now he’s doing exactly what he’s supposed to. No one else is open enough to accept the magic from the agate. Calming stones are very different from healing stones. It won’t work without trust.” Talisen leaned against the counter, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

“Still. If Link loses it, you can keep him in check.” The last thing I needed was for Link to eat the intruder. Then where would we be? Knee-deep in witch guts. I slammed the cabinet door shut and placed a handful of dried herbs on the counter.

“Willow,” Tal said with no small amount of impatience in his voice.

I spun to face him. “What?”

He took my hands and gently squeezed. “Why are you being so stubborn about this? If you use the Influence on her, you’ll be able to order her to tell the truth.”

“Not you, too.” I threw my hands up and grabbed a copper bowl from the rack hanging above. “It’s not right!”

“The world isn’t black and white. Your life is on the line here. Now isn’t the time to be so worried about your morals.” He shifted to stand behind me, his breath warm in my ear. “I’m not going to lose you. I can’t. Not now, not ever. Remember that when I cross some imaginary line.” He pressed his lips to my cheek, kissing me ever so gently, then turned and took off back down the stairs.

I threw the herb container across the kitchen, satisfied when the glass container shattered on the floor. My shoulders slumped and I pressed my forehead to the cabinet in front of me. None of them understood. Not even Talisen. I’d expected him of all people to stand by me on this. Our whole lives we’d been taught our magic was a privilege. Something to be used to help people. It was not to be used as a weapon.

Power was too much like a drug. People lost control once they started abusing their abilities. Just like Maude. She’d lost every ounce of decency she’d ever had. Power was above all else for her. Even family.

No. That wouldn’t be me. I wouldn’t compromise my inner strength just to take the easier route. Mixing the antidote to the Influence wouldn’t take that long. Then we could interrogate the intruder like normal agents.

I glanced at the broken herb bottle on the floor, sighed and searched the cabinet for a fresh jar.

Exactly seven minutes later, I descended the stairs with a powerful herb tea that should neutralize the Influence immediately.

Phoebe held open a small blue wallet. “Stacy? Seriously?” She took out an ID card and peered at it. With a snort, she threw it to the ground. “Fake. Of course.”

The witch held still in her restraints but kept her gaze locked on Link. He’d crept forward, now only inches from her legs. One false move and he’d rip apart a limb. Talisen stood against the wall close to Link, and David lounged on the couch, one foot crossed over his leg.

“What’s going on?” I stopped next to Phoebe and glanced at the wallet.

“Fake credentials. Fake eyelashes. And fake hair.” Phoebe yanked off the witch’s short black wig. The woman cringed as hairpins tangled in her wispy blond hair. “No idea who she is yet.”

“This should help.” I ripped the tape off her mouth in one ruthless motion. She gasped and grimaced through the certain pain. I brought the cup to her lips.

She clamped her mouth shut and glared.

“No need to be difficult. All this will do is break the Influence hold.” I tilted the cup once more.

The glare vanished, and the witch’s expression turned skeptical as she eyed the cup.

“Oh, get over yourself.” Phoebe rolled her eyes. “You heard our argument. You don’t think we put that on just for your pathetic ass, do you?”

The witch turned hard narrow eyes on Phoebe. Her lips formed silent words.

“Son of a witch’s crow.” She was casting some sort of spell aimed at Phoebe. Before she could mouth the last of it, I grabbed her neck and poured half the contents of the tea into her open mouth.

She sputtered and spit most of the concoction right in my face.

Phoebe sprang forward, wrapping her arm around the witch’s neck in a headlock. Her other hand came up, covering the intruders nose. “Now, Wil.”

I didn’t hesitate. “Please just drink it. You’ll be yourself in a few minutes.” The tea hit her mouth and the witch started to spew. Phoebe shifted and clamped a hand over the girl’s mouth. She squirmed, struggling against her restraints.

I wiped my face with the bottom of my T-shirt and glanced back at David. He sat perched on the edge of the couch, ready to join the fray if I needed him. I gave him a small smile. “We’ve got this covered.”

He nodded. “I can see that.”

Link spun and snarled at David.

“Link! Chill out,” I ordered. He glanced at me and slinked off to sit at Talisen’s feet.

“Traitor,” I mumbled and turned back to Phoebe. The witch had gone slack in her chair. “What happened?”

Phoebe shrugged. “I think she passed out.”

I stared down at the unconscious woman in horror. “From your strong-arming her or my tea?”

She shrugged again.

“Ugh!” I knelt and tugged at the duct tape binding her to the chair.

“Stop it.” Phoebe pulled me backward. “We don’t know if it worked.”

“Phoebs, she passed out. We have to help her.”

Talisen strode over, his amethyst clutched in his right hand. “I got this.”

Reluctantly I shuffled back, giving him room.

Phoebe sidestepped and leaned closer to me. “I’m sorry. I know you don’t agree with my tactics, but you weren’t here when I stumbled into this mess. She’s powerful. Possibly more powerful than I am. We can’t risk letting her loose until we know for sure she isn’t a danger.”

I cut a sideways glance at my friend. “Looks like you handled yourself okay.”

“Humph. Barely.” Phoebe rubbed a hand over her eyes, and I noticed for the first time how stressed and tired she looked. Her cocky, kickass attitude hid a lot if one wasn’t paying attention. Clearly, I hadn’t been.

I placed a hand on her forearm. “You okay?”

She stretched her neck. “I’m fine. Nothing a good night’s sleep,” she said and flashed me a cocky grin, “or a roll in the sack wouldn’t cure.”

This time her quick change in demeanor didn’t fool me for an instant. She was exhausted. Nothing I could say would get her to back down though, so I let it go.

Talisen’s amethyst turned faintly pink against the unconscious witch’s skin. He ran the stone along her neck and brought it up to her left temple. Leaning in, he whispered, “Heal thyself.” He rocked back on his heels and waited.

Her eyelids fluttered open. Frowning, she wrinkled her brow in confusion as she tried to focus on Talisen. “Who are you?” she asked in a raspy voice.

He ran his amethyst over her forehead, but this time it didn’t glow. “No one important.” His gaze met mine, and my heart squeezed at the trace of sadness in his eyes. He blinked and the emotion vanished. Pocketing the healing stone, he turned back to the witch. “The more interesting question is who are you?”

She shook her head as if to clear cobwebs from her brain, then spotted Phoebe. “You!” she spat. “Let me out of this chair.”

“Ha!” Phoebe laughed. “And let you try to bind me again? I don’t think so, sister. Why don’t you start by telling us who fed you Influence and why exactly you trashed our house?”

The witch clamped her mouth shut again. At least she wasn’t forming spells this time.

I pressed my palm to Phoebe’s back and guided her across the room. “I think we might have more luck with a soft touch.”

Phoebe crossed her arms and glowered. “Fine. But if she so much as moves her tongue in the wrong direction, I’m neutralizing her again.”

“So it was you,” I accused. “What did you do, press on her wind pipe until she passed out?”

Phoebe glanced up at the ceiling and said nothing.

“Jesus, Phoebs. Get a grip.”

David shifted forward, peering at the captive witch.

“What is it?” I asked him.

He got up and slowly walked toward her.

“David?” I asked again.

“I’ve been trying to place her all this time.” Pacing around the chair, he didn’t take his eyes off her. Once he made a full circle, he stopped and faced her head-on. “Do you remember me?”

What the… he knew her?

She stared up at him with wide eyes.

David crouched down to meet her at eye level. “Who gave you the Influence?”

I held my breath, afraid of what she might say. Was she affiliated with the Cryrique? I’d just formed an alliance with Allcot. If he was involved, my situation was a thousand times worse than I’d thought.

The witch blinked and a single tear slid down her cheek.

“Nicola,” David said softly. “It’s all right. No one here will hurt you.” He wrapped his arms around her and, with one swift tear, freed her hands from the duct-tape bindings.

“Hey!” Phoebe cried from behind me.

“She’s not going anywhere. David’s right there.” She could try to spell him, but it would be suicide. Vampire reflexes could stop just about any incantation. Especially one complex enough to take down a vamp.

David reached up and brushed back Nicola’s rumpled hair. “Who did this to you?”

She clutched David’s hands and shook her head violently. Was she too traumatized to speak? She’d seemed like a pretty badass witch five minutes ago. Influence didn’t usually affect personalities so drastically.

Worried, I kneeled beside David. “Are you hurt? Talisen can help.”

I gestured for him to join us, but he shook his head. “There isn’t anything wrong with her physically. The amethyst would’ve picked up on it.”

“Nic,” David soothed. “Everything’s going to be fine. Tell us who did this to you so we can stop them.”

A choked sob escaped her thin lips. She sent David a scared, pleading look and blurted, “Eadric gave it to me.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

David pulled back, his posture rigid. “Excuse me?”

My whole body went cold as I got to my feet. I knew Allcot’s deal had been too easy. Was he giving me tasks to keep me out of the way? I rounded on David, ready to tell him exactly what I thought of his father, but froze at the trace of color rising in his face. There was only one reason blood rushed to a vampire’s face. Blood lust.

“David?” I asked tentatively.

His hardened eyes focused on me, and that was when I noticed the red tinge around his irises.

“Willow!” Phoebe said sharply. “Back up. Now.”

I’d thought blood lust referred to young, hungry vampires. Not angry ones. Yes, David was newly turned, but he’d been so controlled, so sure of himself, I’d forgotten all about the struggle most vamps went through in the first months after they turned.

On shaky legs I stumbled back, grateful when Talisen’s hands clutched my arms. Link brushed up against my leg. Thank the Goddess he hadn’t shifted. I couldn’t handle another wolf-vamp fight.

Talisen was murmuring, but through my anger and fear, I couldn’t make out the words. Link? Is that what he said? I tried to focus. Yes, he was keeping Link calm with a mystical fae chant. Too bad it wouldn’t work on a vampire.

“Eadric forced the Influence on you?” David retreated and clutched the back of the sofa. The wood frame creaked under his grip.

Nicola closed her big brown eyes, tears escaping from under her lids, and nodded.

“Fuck.” The muscles in David’s arms tensed, and the sofa frame splintered with a deafening crack. “Why?”

“Damn you, Laveaux.” Phoebe glared at David.

Nicola wrapped her hands around herself and shook her head.

I steeled my resolve and forced myself forward to stand next to her. “She’s been through a lot today. Maybe we should let her rest while we figure out what to do from here.”

David’s red gaze raked over me. Another chill caused gooseflesh to ripple over my limbs. I straightened my spine. Enough was enough. This witch couldn’t be held responsible for actions she was forced to do. David wouldn’t really hurt any of us, would he?

He glanced back at Nicola, his jaw clenched. “Don’t move.” And just like that a streak of black zoomed up the stairs, making the breath catch in my throat. He was gone.

A loud, wood-splintering crash came from my bedroom. I winced, praying it wasn’t my bed, or worse, part of my tree. If he messed with my oak, he was vamp dust. I turned to Nicola and kneeled in front of her. “Are you all right? Can we get you anything?”

She licked her swollen red lips and croaked, “Water?”

“Phoebs?” I glanced up to find her glaring at us. “What’s wrong?”

She stood with her hands on her hips, feet apart. Her narrowed eyes focused on Nicola. “Were you Influenced to try to kill me as well, or was that your idea?”

“Phoebs,” I warned. Accusations weren’t going to get us anywhere.

“It’s okay,” Nicola said, her voice stronger, but still wary. “I’d be pissed as hell, too.” She shifted to get a better look at my roommate. “My instructions were to do or say anything to get the information I needed without getting caught or betraying my master. You were overpowering me. That spell was the last tool I had.”

Phoebe’s eyes went wide with disbelief. Her entire five-foot-two frame vibrated with barely contained rage. “You expect me to buy that horseshit? That little spell packed more punch than my granddaddy’s one-hundred-eighty-proof moonshine. You tried to steal my magic and, by extension, my lifeline. That spell is no one’s last resort. It takes far too much energy.”

“Whoa.” I took a step back. Who was this chick?

Nicola closed her eyes again as if struggling to form thoughts. Shaking her head, she held up a thin hand. She wore a silver ring with a ruby the size of an almond on her middle finger. With her other hand she caressed the stone. A second later it popped open, and barely a whisper of magic escaped.

Phoebe pounced, tackling me to the floor. “Ouch,” I cried as pain shot through my elbow. We landed in a tangle of limbs, her body covering me as if a bomb had gone off.

After a moment, Phoebe jumped to her feet. “What the fuck are you doing?” She stalked to the other witch and clasped a hand around her wrist. Nicola cried out as Phoebe tore the ring from her delicate finger.

Talisen helped me to my feet and, with an amused smile, flicked away a piece of garbage stuck to my shoulder. A half-eaten dog bone flopped to the ground. Gross.

“Thanks.” I turned. His fingers got caught in my mass of hair, and the whole tangled mess shifted, revealing my neck. He scowled, his eyes clouding with anger. Damn it all. My vamp marks were showing. Couldn’t they heal already?

He cut his gaze away and held his hand out for the ring Phoebe was inspecting. “It contains a spell, right?”

Nicola gave him a tentative nod.

Another crash rumbled upstairs. We all glanced at the ceiling. Jesus. Good thing David came from money, because anything he broke, he was replacing. With an upgrade.

“Where’d you get this?” Phoebe demanded, ignoring Talisen’s request. She clutched the ring in her hand as if she could keep any residual magic contained.

“The spell is spent. It can’t hurt anyone now.” Nicola slumped in the chair, squirming for a more comfortable position.

David had freed her hands, but her feet were still strapped to the legs of the chair. My conscience screamed for me to cut the tape away. But something held me back. Phoebe’s unease, maybe? She didn’t scare easy, and this witch had gotten under her skin.

“I can test it,” Talisen offered.

Phoebe shook her head and forced the ring into a tiny, invisible pocket in her skirt. “I’ll do my own testing.”

Footsteps beat against the stairs. David took them two at a time, landing with a heavy thunk in the living room. Before I could stop him, he freed Nicola from her remaining restraints. “Let’s go.”

“Where?” Nicola cried, backing up and stumbling on a broken lamp littering the floor.

“Cryrique.” David moved to the door. “Eadric is waiting for us.”

She gasped.

“What!” I jumped in front of Nicola. Had he lost his ever-loving mind? “You can’t take her to him. He abused her.”

David’s cold hard stare was back. “We have no idea if she’s telling the truth.”

Phoebe shrugged. “I don’t trust her.”

I kicked papers and broken glass out of my way as I marched over to David. “We need to work through a few things.”

His jaw muscle pulsed again. “We don’t have time for this.”

“We’ll take all the time we need.” I brought a finger up and stabbed him in the chest. “You’re not putting her in danger again. If Eadric has anything at all to do with this, he’ll kill her for telling us the truth.”

David’s brow creased with impatience. “No. He won’t.”

“I know he’s your father, David. But, he’s dangerous. No matter what you say. Don’t you think your opinion of him is a little biased? Just because he won’t hurt you doesn’t mean he won’t make an example out of someone else.”

“He won’t,” David said again. “She’s Pandora’s sister.”

“Allcot’s sex kitten?” Phoebe sneered in disbelief. “This one is related to her?”

I shot Phoebe an irritated glance, then turned my attention to Nicola. She didn’t resemble Pandora at all. Was it the vampire change that made Pandora so beautiful? No. She must have been curvy and voluptuous while living to have turned out the way she did. A vampire’s physical build is accentuated after they turn. They aren’t magically transformed. Nicola was small without a curve in sight and had thin, straight blond hair. Her only noticeable feature was her big brown eyes that were almost too large for her face. “I thought Pandora was older, closer to Eadric’s age.”

David nodded. “She is older, but not as old as Father. Nicola is her half sister, born twenty-two years ago to her aging father and his much younger mistress.”

“And Pandora would be upset if the interloper was hurt?” Phoebe looked Nicola up and down, her expression conveying nothing but contempt.

Nicola turned on Phoebe, a spark of life transforming her from a broken witch to one who’d snapped. “Look, bitch. I’m the only family my sister has besides Allcot.” Her voice got stronger with each word. “I’m not a goddamned interloper. She came looking for me ten years ago. Got it? I didn’t ask for any of this. And I’m not staying one more second.”

She got all the way to the door before I blocked her. “You’re not leaving until we get to the bottom of this.”

“The hell I’m not.” Her back was straight, her head held high. She’d gone from scared whimpering victim to she-bitch in a nanosecond. I guess Phoebe hit a nerve. “Get out of the way.”

“Sorry,” I said. “I don’t think you’re going anywhere on your own just yet.” I snapped my fingers. Link jumped to attention and trotted to my side. Talisen and Phoebe backed me up, flanking me on either side. I nodded to David. “Let me talk to her.”

“No.” Certain finality resonated in his tone.

I straightened my spine and my wings fluttered with irritation. “What did you say?”

“No. We don’t have time for this.”

Talisen let out a very faint whistle. “Not a good answer, dude. Not cool at all.”

I jammed an elbow into his gut. “Not now, Tal,” I snapped and shot David a look of disgust. “We have no idea what’s going on, other than a vampire somewhere wants to abduct me, and Maude wants to study me for my abilities. We don’t know where Allcot stands—” David opened his mouth to interrupt. I held my hand up and kept going. “And I’m not about to blindly trust anyone. Especially not your father.”

I glanced around at the trashed living room. “Can we all go upstairs to the kitchen and sit?”

Everyone stared at David. With the commotion he’d wrought earlier in his vampire craze, who knew what we’d find up there?

He gave a tiny shake of his head, like he couldn’t believe he was caving to my request. “The kitchen is safe.”

“Good.” I swept an arm out. “After you.”

If Nicola hadn’t been surrounded, I’m certain she would’ve bolted for the door. It didn’t take a genius to figure out a witch, a vampire, and two faeries outnumbered her. That didn’t mean she was happy about it. The way she dragged her feet, one would’ve thought she was a teenager who’d just been told to clean her room.

At the top of the stairs, my bedroom door hung askew on one hinge. I paused for just a second and nearly stopped breathing. An antique chair lay crushed under my massive chest of drawers. My bed was leaning over, barely hanging on to its position in my oak, and everything, and I do mean everything, from my temporary closet was strewn across the floor. Shoes of every style and color. Blouses, skirts, dress pants. And my little black dress I’d only worn once lay ripped with a large oil-slick stain. Fucking bitch.

That part had to be Nicola. David wouldn’t take the time to ransack my closet. She’d ruined all my dress-up clothes. For what purpose? I rarely wore any of them. My daily uniform consisted of jeans and T-shirts. And what in the blazes was that stain? Blood? No. There next to it was a blue metal can. Candle oil. Was she going to burn my shit? Oh, hell no!

“Sorry,” David said into my ear.

I jumped, my heart thumping in my throat. “Don’t do that.”

“Sorry,” he muttered again. “I’ll make more noise next time.”

“And next time you have a tantrum, take it out on someone else’s stuff. Like your own,” I snapped.

His eyebrows rose and he peered down at me. “You think I did that?”

“Not all of it. I doubt you’d ransack my closet, but the door, my bed, my chest of drawers…”

“The door, Willow. Only the door.” He nodded at the wrecked room. “The rest was already trashed.”

“We heard—”

“The crashing was me trying to consolidate the broken-down furniture so you could actually get back in here.” He gave a tiny shrug. “I wasn’t exactly gentle about it.”

I rubbed my temples and marched into the kitchen. Slamming my hand down on the pinewood table, I leaned in close to Nicola. “Did you trash Phoebe’s room, too?”

She bit her lip and barely shook her head no.

“Why mine? Why my little black dress? And my shoes? Why would a vampire, one who dresses in clothes that cost more than my rent, want you to destroy the only decent clothes I have?”

Silence.

I pounded my fist on the table, aware my clothes were my most insignificant worry at this point. But damn her. A girl’s shoes were her identity. It was too freaking personal.

“Nicola?” Phoebe prompted, her tone sickeningly sweet. “Do you want to answer Willow now, or wait until I force you?”

“I was ordered to,” Nicola said quietly.

“By?” I ground my teeth, growing more impatient by the minute.

“The one in charge.” Her words came out slow and strangled.

I glanced at David. He was studying her again as if trying to piece together a puzzle.

“The one in charge,” I repeated. “You mean Allcot ordered you to burn my clothes?”

Her hands clenched, and her pale face flushed in what I could’ve sworn was frustration. Something was seriously off. If Allcot ordered her to trash the house and she’d told us about it, why wouldn’t she just come clean about my clothes? “Allcot’s not in charge, is he?”

“No,” she forced out before her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she passed out.

Chapter Twenty-Three

“She’s been spelled.” Phoebe tucked a thin blanket over Nicola’s lifeless form. Talisen took up position on the other side of the bed, healing stone in hand. We’d moved her down to Phoebe’s bedroom, the only place besides the kitchen that wasn’t a disaster.

“What does that mean?” I asked. “What kind of spell?”

“A truth blocker, I think.” Phoebe pressed her lips together in thought. “She isn’t Influenced anymore. You broke that, but I think something’s forcing her to lie, and she passed out because she was trying to overpower the spell.”

That made a certain amount of sense. It certainly explained her struggle while trying to answer questions. “Faery or witch?” I stood leaning against the doorframe, more than a little jealous. All of Phoebe’s shoes were neatly tucked into the elaborate shoe organizer hanging on the far wall. She had a pair for every occasion.

“Ninety-five percent positive a witch did this. Fae magic feels different. Lighter or something,” Phoebe said.

“Tal?” I cut a glance to Nicola. “Can you check?”

He ran a light hand over her forehead, stopped right before he reached her temple, and shuddered. “Witch for sure.”

“Thanks.” I pulled Phoebe aside. “We can’t sit around here waiting for whoever did this to her to strike again. We have to do something.”

She nodded. “I’m way ahead of you.” With our heads huddled together, Phoebe filled me in on her plan.

A few minutes later, I turned and walked back into the living room where David was pacing a small circle around a sea of papers littering the floor. “What other witches are on Allcot’s payroll?”

He paused, fished his iPhone out of his pocket, and touched a button. “Besides Nicola?”

“Yeah,” I said with very little patience.

“No one in the US. There’s one in France and one in Australia, and last I heard he had a contact in Rio.” David touched the screen of his phone once again and then shook his head. “Vampires and witches don’t exactly get along. Or hadn’t you noticed?”

I sent him a flat stare.

“I guess you have.”

Phoebe appeared, dressed to the nines. “Here.” She handed me a small tote bag. “Everything you need should be in there.”

“Going somewhere?” David broke the circle he’d formed and shifted so he was between me and the door.

“Yes. And so are you. Phoebe’s going to Cryrique’s fundraiser to scope out any possible suspects. Everyone who’s anyone is on the guest list. There’s an excellent chance whoever did this to Nicola will be there. Only someone with a lot of power would dare to mess with one of Allcot’s employees.” I pulled my long hair back into a low ponytail and adjusted the tote on my shoulder. “And you’re coming with me on our own fact-finding mission.”

“Jesus, Willow. Your neck.” Phoebe grimaced. “You can’t go out like that. I’ll get Talisen.”

I clamped my hand over the vampire marks still marring my skin. “No. Wait. He already tried. It didn’t work.”

“Really?” She kicked a toppled magazine rack to the side and reached out to pull me closer. “I thought that amethyst of his could heal anything.”

I frowned. “It usually does. But not this time.” Just thinking about the burn from the morning made me break out in a sweat. It had hurt. A lot. Just like when Nathan bit me.

Phoebe pulled her keys out of a tiny silver clutch. It offset her plum sheath dress, giving the illusion she ran with the upper echelon of New Orleans. “You’ll have to cover it up. Maybe you should change to a turtleneck or wear a scarf.”

“In September?” Was she out of her mind? Because neither of those things would be suspicious in ninety-two-degree weather.

“Makeup?” She held her hands out, palms up. “I have the professional stuff if you want.”

I fingered the two puncture marks and struggled not to wince. They hadn’t hurt before Tal tried to heal me, but now they ached under any sort of pressure. Using thick makeup would be a bitch. I took a deep breath and nodded. What else could I do? No way could I go out flashing my vamp bites. Talk about calling attention to myself. Faeries never let vampires bite them. Never. “Okay,” I said.

“I’ll be right back.” She disappeared into her bedroom again.

David appeared by my side in another flash of vampire speed.

I dropped my hand from my irritated neck. The pain was making me lose focus. “I’d prefer if you acted like a normal person. This super speed thing is giving me whiplash.”

“Sorry. I’ll slow it down.” Shifting half a step closer, he brought his hand up and gently caressed the area around Nathan’s bite marks. “I can heal those if you’d like.”

I swallowed. “Talisen already tried. It didn’t work. They must be infected or…”

“I can heal them,” David said again. “Trust me.”

The way he said it and the sincere look on his face had me nodding before I thought through what I’d just agreed to. It wasn’t until David leaned in that I panicked. “No.” I pushed at his shoulders, struggling against his rock-solid form. I couldn’t have his lips on me. Not again.

He caught my hands in his and brought one up to kiss the palm. A tingle rippled from the touch of his lips all the way up my shoulder. “I’m not going to bite you. Not now, not ever. Okay?”

I stared at the tiny scar above his left eye, not saying a word. So much for staying away from his lips.

He bent his knees, lowering himself until our eyes were level. I had two choices: deliberately look away like a seven-year-old or meet his calm, steady gaze like the supposed adult I was. Reluctantly, I chose to be an adult.

“Okay?” he asked again.

“Yeah,” I breathed. It wasn’t his teeth I was worried about.

“I promise it won’t hurt.” David stood inches from me. His familiar cypress scent filled my senses. And his touch was so gentle that when he leaned in this time, I didn’t try to stop him.

Suddenly, his cool lips were brushing against my skin, forming a circle around the wounds. A bit of the burn eased and my muscles began to relax. I hadn’t realized how much I was actually hurting before he started to contain the pain.

Another circle. This time he pressed deliberate kisses, sealing the trail. I tilted my head to the side, giving him better access. No need to make him get a crick in his neck just to help me out. His lips spread into a smile against my skin. I wanted to smack him. Nothing about this should’ve been amusing. Not my pain and definitely not my desire. Which even if he wasn’t a vamp, he would have sensed. Lord help me, my body was tingling all over.

“Ready?” he asked, his cool breath numbing the puncture wounds.

Afraid I’d chicken out, I nodded once and braced myself for the worst. I mean, how could he know what was going to happen? Vampires rarely bit faeries. He couldn’t have bitten and healed one in his short vampire life. Could he?

David wrapped one arm around my waist, pulling me toward him.

A fear that hadn’t been there before materialized out of nowhere and trepidation froze me in place. Not that I could’ve moved if I wanted to. I forced myself to breathe. Snap out of it. He’s not biting you, I scolded myself. He’s not Nathan. He’s healing you.

“Relax,” he whispered, and his magical lips pressed against my wounds, instantly soothing the last of the dull burn. He flicked his tongue over the raised marks, slow and deliberate.

I clutched the front of his shirt as the mess around us faded into nothing. Nicola and my friends in the other room disappeared. Maude, Eadric, Cryrique, and the Arcane ceased to exist. My whole world was David, our legs tangled together, his touch healing more than the marks marring my skin.

I’d missed him. Missed his body pressed against mine. Missed the tenderness I knew lurked beneath his hardened exterior shell. My David, who I’d always believed would follow me into Hell, was holding me in his arms. And at that moment, I never wanted him to let go.

Everything heated except where his tongue caressed my neck. A soft moan escaped from the back of my throat, the sensation tender and unbearably erotic. I wrapped my free arm around him, pressing my fingers against the base of his neck.

David pulled back, and traced his thumb over my neck. “Better?”

“Uh huh.” I met his blazing eyes, breathing heavily. I nodded, thunderstruck by the wonderful sensations still consuming my neck.

David was the first to break eye contact. His whole body tensed as his face hardened.

“David?” I asked.

He let one arm drop but kept one hand on my hip. Then he gave the tiniest nod over my shoulder.

I followed his gaze, and my heart plummeted. Standing near the staircase, his face white with what could only be shock, was my oldest friend. My stomach fell to the floor, and I stepped away from David. “Tal?” Oh good God. How long had he been there? What had he seen? David kissing my neck? Please, no. Why did that bother me so much? He was only healing me. Right. I could lie to myself all I wanted, it wasn’t going to change what happened.

He glared at David. “She’ll never be yours.”

David didn’t betray any reaction to Tal’s statement. He stood still, waiting.

“You’re not good enough for her,” Talisen said.

“Tal!” I cried, but he ignored me.

“And you are?” David asked dryly. “You’ve known her for how many years? Ten? Fifteen? And you’re just now interested? Seems you’ve had plenty of time to make a move. Looks like you need to work on your technique.”

“David!” I scolded. Damn them both. I wasn’t a piece of meat to be fighting over.

No one even acknowledged me. It was as though I were an invisible toy.

Talisen took two steps closer, leaving me trapped between them. “You can make this out to be about me all you want. But we both know she’ll never end up with a vampire. Her very nature demands she should be surrounded by life magic. You bring death. Eventually she’ll have to leave you, if only for self-preservation.”

A tiny flicker of something close to concern flashed through David’s eyes as he glanced at me. But then it vanished. He turned his attention back to Talisen. “I think whoever Willow decides to spend her time with is her decision.”

Talisen finally turned to me, anger clear in his deep green eyes. “Yeah. It’s her decision. But make no mistake, I’m not going to stand by while you break her heart again. Or get her killed.”

His last word hung in the air like poison, slowly filtering its way into my system. Whether Talisen had romantic feelings for me or not, he was my family and his concerns were more than merited. I looked at each of the men I loved and suddenly didn’t know if I wanted to scream or cry.

“Noted,” David said.

Talisen stared him down, then abruptly turned and went back into Phoebe’s bedroom.

“Well.” I let out a frustrated breath. “That was tons of fun.”

David held his hand out to me. “He’s only filling the role your brother was meant to take.”

I closed my eyes. Beau. He would have hated my involvement with David. Still, I’d like to think he would’ve trusted me to take care of myself. Or at least tried to see things from my perspective. My relationship with Talisen was a lot messier. I opened my eyes and took David’s outstretched hand.

He pulled me close to his side. “Now, what’s the plan?”

Plan? Oh, right. We had work to do. “You and I are going to the Arcane building. It’s time for answers.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

“I’ll drive.” David guided me toward the door. “We need to stop and see Eadric first.”

I planted my feet. “No. Phoebe’s going to do some recon and then track him down.”

“Willow,” David warned. “I need to talk to him about Nicola.”

“Fine. Call him from the car. But I’m going to the Arcane.”

“Why?”

“Because even though we think Nicola’s been hit by a truth blocker, we can’t know for sure. Allcot could have force-fed her Influence. I think it’s unlikely, but her information is suspect at best. And no matter what your father says, I’m not going to be able to trust his word. I need evidence.”

“You think you’re going to find it at the office?” He raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Maybe. Look, Eadric wants information about who’s working with Maude. And the Arcane is the first place to look for it. If we find out why she’s investigating him, the information might lead us to answers. Or at least lead us to the right questions.”

He jammed his hands in his jeans pockets. “Father’s going to want to see me in person.”

“Tell him we’ll meet him later tonight, after the benefit.” I brushed past him toward Phoebe’s bedroom to let her know we were leaving. While staying at Allcot’s mansion, Phoebe had managed to snag a copy of his schedule. Goddess only knows where she lifted it from. But, like the highly trained Void agent she was, she didn’t take anyone’s word at face value. And having an agreement with Allcot meant keeping careful tabs on him.

Once back in the living room, I noticed my destroyed recipe journal peeking out from under a throw pillow. I kicked the pillow aside and grabbed the book. To the right, the Orange Influence wedge lay exposed, ready for anyone to use. I grabbed it and shoved the chocolate in my front pocket. It wasn’t an ideal spot. The chocolate would probably melt, but I couldn’t just leave it lying around. The last time I did that, Phoebe’d almost used it.

“Phoebs,” I called from her open door.

“In here,” came a muffled voice from her closet.

Talisen sat on a chair near the bed. I gave him a halfhearted wave but avoided looking him in the eye. Phoebe was knee-deep in a pile of clothes, searching through pockets. “What are you looking for?”

She held up a silver beetle. “The other bug. I want to be able to hear what’s going on. Especially if, for some reason, you can’t get out again.”

“It won’t work once I go through security.” What was she thinking? She knew as well as I did all her charms would be neutralized by the disarming machine.

“Ahh, that’s what I never got around to telling you.” She grabbed a faded pair of jeans, and as she pulled them toward her, something landed with a thud at her feet. “There you are!” She snatched up the other beetle, turned it over, and flicked a tiny switch. Its mate gave off a faint buzz. “Perfect.” She handed me the one that wasn’t buzzing and made an adjustment to stop the noise on the other one. She pinned the beetle to her dress and flashed me a satisfied smile. “There.”

I glanced at the bug in my hand. “And the thing you forgot to tell me is…?”

“Oh. Right. You know how the neutralizer doesn’t affect Link as much as it does us?”

“Yeah.” I eyed her suspiciously.

“Well, while you were in California, I did a lot of experimenting. One of the things I worked on was smuggling magic into the Arcane building, just to see if I could. You know, testing limits.” A satisfied smile lit her face.

“And Link is the secret?” Please tell me she wasn’t going to make him eat something. I was not going to fish the bug out of his waste. Not in a million years.

“One of them. If he carries it in his body, the magic is so insignificant compared to his wolf abilities, the machine doesn’t pick up on it. Voilà. Problem solved.”

“Ugh, Phoebe! That’s disgusting.” I glanced down at Link. He tilted his head to the side in a quizzical glance. “Not on your life, buddy. No way. I’m never doing that.” I grimaced at Phoebe. “Besides, I don’t plan on being there that long.”

She jumped over the pile of clothes and landed back in the bedroom. “What are you talking about? All he has to do is put it in his mouth and when you get somewhere private, he drops it. Get a grip, Wil.” She pulled a white cloth out of her chest of drawers. “Wrap it in this if you’re so slobber adverse.”

“In his mouth? That’s all?” I clutched the handkerchief.

“Yeah. What did you think I meant?”

A low chuckle came from Talisen across the room. “She thought you wanted Link to swallow it. Then wait for it to work its way through his system.”

I shot Talisen a dirty look.

“Gross.” Phoebe wrinkled her nose. “God, no. Can you see me digging—”

I held my hand up. “Stop. Just stop. I got it now. Link will carry the bug in his mouth. Great. Then what?”

She tapped her beetle. “I’ll be able to listen in. If there’s any trouble, I’ll form a plan. We can’t have you locked up in there again. Breaking you out a second time will be virtually impossible. Maude will leave nothing to chance.”

“David will be with me,” I countered. “Even if they lose their minds and decide to incarcerate Eadric’s son, he’ll be hard to overpower.”

“He’s not your savior,” Talisen said, contempt clear in his tone.

Phoebe cast him a sidelong glance.

I clamped my mouth shut, refusing to get into it with him. We needed to have a serious conversation, but now wasn’t the time.

“I think she means her chances are better with an important vampire around,” Phoebe reasoned, then narrowed her eyes. “Willow doesn’t wait around for anyone to ‘save’ her.”

Thank you, I mouthed. Talisen’s shitty attitude was really starting to piss me off. He could be mad at me all he wanted, but he didn’t have to be an ass.

Phoebe grabbed her silver bag and shrugged as if to say her support was no big deal. “I’m off to the fundraiser. Remember to turn on your bug as soon as you get to the Arcane.”

“Okay. Be careful.”

“Aren’t I always?” She cast me a wicked smile. There was no doubt Phoebe had phenomenal undercover skills, but this was different. She was headed to a high-end fundraiser attended by the right hands of all the important supernaturals in New Orleans. It would be a fantastic place to pick up hints of the truth about whatever was going down with the upper class. The only problem was no matter what Phoebe looked like or how convincing she was, she was still an outsider. They’d regard her with suspicion no matter what. And that meant she needed to be a hundred times more careful. Blending in wasn’t easy in that tight-knit crowd.

I sighed. “Just don’t get locked in a vampire’s dungeon, all right?”

“No dungeons. Got it.” She saluted me with two fingers and walked out.

I turned to find Talisen watching me. “You’ll stay with her?” I nodded to Nicola.

He leaned back against the headboard. “Where else would I go? Fae aren’t welcome at Phoebe’s function and you have Link and the vampire.”

The vampire. Damn him. When this was all over, we were going to have words. I swallowed a snarky reply and glanced at the unconscious witch next to him. Phoebe was convinced she’d been spelled into silence when she’d given us information we weren’t supposed to have. Her vitals were stable though, so instead of rushing her off to a hospital and bringing unwanted attention, Talisen was keeping a careful eye on her. “Can you text if there’s any change in her condition?”

His eyebrows rose as he looked me up and down. “Do you have your phone?” His tone implied he doubted it.

“It’s right here.” I pulled the iPhone from my back pocket and waved it at him. “Look, fully charged.”

He shook his head. “A lot of firsts happening around here today.”

Anger shot straight to my fingertips, and I squeezed the phone until my hand hurt. Smug son of a bitch. Was this really about keeping me safe or his pride? He could choke on his righteous indignation for all I cared.

I didn’t respond as I stalked to the door.

“Wil?” he said.

I stopped in the threshold but didn’t look back. “Yeah.”

“Take care of yourself.” His tone was soft, all accusations and resentment gone.

Some tension drained from my shoulders. Grateful for the temporary truce, I glanced back. “You, too. If Nicola wakes up, don’t let her spell you into becoming some sort of witch’s slave.”

His lips curled into the first smile I’d seen all day. “Not against my will, anyway.”

That was the Talisen I knew and loved. My heart eased a tiny bit. “Keep it clean, Tal. Keep it clean.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it.”

***

David, Link, and I stood on the street in front of the Arcane. The afternoon sun beat down, burning my exposed arms. Link panted, and I lifted the hair off my neck, fanning myself. David stood to the side, his pristine, button-down shirt wrinkle free and not a bead of sweat anywhere. That was one perk to being a vamp. Their internal temperature never rose.

I crouched down, petting Link. “Ready, boy?”

He snuggled close to my leg, and when I scratched his chin, he licked my hand, slyly taking the beetle into his mouth.

“Don’t swallow,” I whispered as I leaned down to kiss the top of his head.

He gave me another puzzled look.

“He thinks you’re crazy.” David rolled a cigarette between his fingers. He’d lit it, but had taken only the initial puff, letting the rest burn to ash. If anyone was watching, they’d assume we were waiting for David to finish before we went in.

“No, he doesn’t. He thinks Phoebe’s crazy.” I glanced at the cigarette. “Put that out. I’m too hot to stand here any longer.” Besides, if I had to inhale one more lungful of rancid smoke, I was going to vomit on his pristine Italian leather shoes.

His phone buzzed, and he glanced at the screen. “Pandora’s on her way to your house as soon as the sun goes down.”

“That’s good.” I took out my own phone and sent the message to Talisen. On the way to the Arcane, David had called Eadric, but he’d been unavailable. Instead, he’d spoken with Pandora. Judging by the hysterical cries coming out of his phone, she hadn’t taken the news well. David soothed her as best he could, but she’d hung up before they could discuss a plan of action. “Hopefully Nicola will be awake by then.”

David pressed his lips together in a thin line. “If not, we’re going to have a homicidal vampire on our hands.”

“I think that ship has already sunk.” I snapped my fingers, and Link trotted to my side. “Let’s go.”

David followed me through the parking garage to the side entrance. Surprise flickered over the face of the usual guard. After last night, I guess he wasn’t expecting to see me so soon.

“Records,” I said as I tossed my phone into my purse and placed it on the conveyor belt to be screened. The guard nodded and waved me through. Link pressed against my leg as we stood in the neutralizer chamber.

The green lights flashed, and I gritted my teeth. Tiny electrodes stole the magic simmering beneath my skin. Link growled. Moments later we stumbled out into the hallway. I flexed my wings and rose a few inches in the air. At least I had one defense.

David took his turn in the chamber. He stood there appearing unfazed, waiting for the green lights to go off. The machine couldn’t affect him—vampirism wasn’t a magical ability. It was a chemical change. No, the guards were making sure he wasn’t carrying any magical objects. Like the one still hidden in Link’s mouth.

The lights went out, and David was waved forward.

“ID and purpose?” the guard asked him.

“Records.” David pulled out his Arcane badge. “I’m her partner.”

The guard checked his list, scowled, and made a note on his computer screen. “Nowhere in here does it say you’re a vampire.” He peered out the window and then eyed David. “It’s still light out.”

I shrugged. “We parked in the garage.” No doubt this guard hadn’t ever seen a vamp during the day before. Last time we’d come during business hours, Maude’s assistant had taken us through security. Apparently she hadn’t been ready for the rest of the building to know about David’s situation. “Trust me. He’s vamp. Maude appointed him herself.”

“Damn this place. How do they expect me to do my job if they don’t do theirs?” The guard glanced at me, skepticism broadcasting loud and clear on his lined face. “With the sloppy reporting around here, I doubt you’ll find anything useful, but good luck.”

I gave him a nod, picked up Link, and strode off down the hall. As soon as we rounded the corner, he spit the beetle into my hand. Dog slobber and everything. Gross. Better than the alternative. I stuffed it into my back pocket and wiped my wet hand on my jeans.

“Here.” David handed me the handkerchief I thought I’d left back at the house.

“Thanks.” I put Link down and wiped the remaining dog spit from my hand. Then we took off. Our boots and Link’s nails clicked on the tile floors.

Arcane agents and workers cast us curious glances but no one stopped us. When we rounded the next corner, anxiety flooded my brain, and my wings started to tremble. The basement door loomed in front of me. The place they’d tried to hold me before Phoebe had stopped them last time. What was down there? Cages? Electrodes? Influence? Oh Goddess. Don’t think about it.

I kept moving until we reached the room we needed. With one swipe of my ID card, the door swooshed open. “This is it.” I waved Link and David in, then hit the button from the inside. The room fell into darkness as the door shut. “Lights,” I said.

A soft glow flickered to life around the vast file cabinets.

“Neat trick,” David said.

“All I did was say the word. The spell is an old one designed to keep electricity costs down. Or so I’m told. Let’s get started.” I moved to the two large file cabinets that housed current Arcane employees’ records. “I’ll take this row.” I pointed to the section on my right. “You start on the left.”

“Sure. What exactly are we looking for?” David pulled the top drawer open and ran a hand over the manila folders.

“Any name that looks familiar to you. My goal is to find out who’s working for Maude to spy on Cryrique.” I opened my purse and pulled out a list of New Orleans Cryrique employees I’d asked Allcot’s secretary to fax over an hour earlier.

After searching four drawers, I threw the latest file back into the cabinet and flopped down on the floor. “Ouch!” Something sharp poked into my left butt cheek. Rolling to the side, I fished out the bent silver beetle. “Oh shit. Phoebs is going to kill me.”

David glanced at me. “Does it still work?”

I shrugged, inspecting it. “No idea. It’s only supposed to transmit information to her.” I turned it over and flicked the tiny switch a few times. “Testing. Phoebe, can you hear me?” I pressed it to my ear. “No sound. I think it’s dead.”

“It doesn’t make sound anyway, does it?” David shoved a stack of files back into the drawer and pulled out another handful.

“When Phoebe flipped the switch it did.” I pressed the button again. Nothing.

“It doesn’t matter. No one seems to care we’re here anyway.” The papers rustled as he opened a file.

I stared at the bug for a minute, then shoved it in my purse. David was right. No one had bothered us. Link nudged my leg with his nose and sneezed. I patted his belly. “Nothing at all?” I asked David.

He flipped another page and peered at a photo ID. “Nobody looks familiar.”

This was useless. I stretched my legs out in front of me, and glanced at the clock. A quarter to six. She might be gone for the day. It wouldn’t hurt to check.

“David? I think we need to go to the source.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Maude? And do what, just ask her who’s on her payroll?”

“No. We’ll go through her private files.” I gestured to Link, and he followed me to the door.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” David joined us and placed a hand on the doorknob, preventing me from leaving.

“Sure. She’s usually gone by five thirty. It won’t take long. There’s only one file cabinet in her office.”

He didn’t budge.

“Five minutes, tops. I promise. Come on, David. We need to find a clue of some sort. I feel like I’m flying blind here.”

He studied me as if he were contemplating my request. Reluctantly, he nodded. “Let me take the lead.”

Fine with me. We left the records room and took the stairs to the second floor. David opened the stairwell door, scanned the hallway, and waved me and Link to follow. All the other offices appeared to be empty. Only two hall lights lit the area. Maude’s door was shut and locked for the evening. “Good. That means she’s gone.”

“The guards will probably be making their rounds on the hour. That gives us ten minutes.” David jiggled the door handle and pulled out two thin metal files.

“Lockpicks?” I whispered. They looked exactly like the ones Phoebe carried.

He brought his finger to his lips and quickly popped the lock on the door.

Handy. I brushed past him, heading straight for the file cabinet behind her desk, Link on my heels. Locked. Of course. David closed the door behind him and strode over, a smile in place as he once again put his tools to good use.

“Thank you,” I said as he slid the drawer open. Inside was a thick file labeled Rhoswen and five smaller ones: Thompson, Daniels, Allcot, Laveaux, Kilsen. My fingers itched to snag my file, but the clock was ticking. It was two minutes to six. We didn’t have time. I grabbed Thompson and Daniels and flipped them both open on Maude’s desk. They each had a signed contract and a picture. My mouth dropped. Thompson was Clea Thompson, the vampire, and Daniels was her college-student boyfriend. They’d both signed on a month ago to work undercover for Maude.

“Shit.” David slammed a fist down on the desk. “That’s why she sought me out. She was spying on me.”

“The Cherry Bomb,” I said tightly. “Maude contracted her to kill me and Phoebe.” My chest tightened. The low-down, double-crossing bitch. We had to get out of here. Hastily, I stuffed the files back in the drawer and turned to flee.

The doorknob squeaked, and I froze. Link stayed by my side, his hackles raised. There was nowhere to hide. David jumped in front of me, knocking my purse to the ground. My phone and the little silver beetle spilled out. Shit.

I peered over David’s shoulder and found Maude standing with her arms crossed. Two guards flanked her on either side. She pressed her lips together in an angry sneer. “Agent Rhoswen.”

I tensed, ready for a fight. “Director.”

“Care to explain your actions?”

“We were looking for you,” I lied.

“In my locked office?” Her skepticism rang through loud and clear.

I shrugged. “It was unlocked. We assumed you’d be back.”

“Director,” David said pleasantly. “We spent the last hour in the records department going through employee files. It was our hope we might spot any suspicious employees that might be leaking information about Willow and her abilities. We were hoping to find a lead. But so far, no luck. If you can think of anyone, please let us know.”

“You think someone’s feeding information from the inside?” Maude asked.

I wasn’t sure if the contempt in her voice was for anyone who would betray the Arcane or the fact we thought anyone she’d hired would go off the reservation. Considering Maude crossed lines all the time, I had to assume the latter.

She gave each of us a hard look. “You’ll need to be debriefed. Come with me.” She stalked toward the door, obviously expecting us to follow.

“I don’t think so,” David said. “We have someplace else to be. But we can make an appointment for later.”

She froze and slowly turned back to face us, her mouth open. She shut it and raised one menacing eyebrow. “You will make time. Now.”

David grabbed my hand and pushed past her. “We’ll be in touch.”

Maude started to say something again, but a loud buzzing started from behind her desk, cutting her off. Then it stopped and clear as day, Phoebe’s voice sounded from the darkened corner. “Can’t you make a tiny exception? I won’t cause any trouble. Promise.” Her tone was sugar sweet, almost nausea inducing. “There’s someone I’m supposed to meet here.”

“Sorry, Kilsen,” a man replied. “The boss warned me you might show up. I can’t let you in.”

“I know all about David’s arrangement with the Arcane and how he’s really working for Allcot. What do you think Maude will do once she finds out? Just let me sneak on in, and I’ll make sure that stays under wraps. Hmm?”

Oh shit! The beetle. It was transmitting Phoebe’s conversation with the doorman at the fundraiser. I met David’s eyes for a split second, then we both took off running down the hall.

“Seize them!” Maude yelled, and to my horror, a dozen guards rounded the corner, heading straight for us.

Chapter Twenty-Five

I snatched Link and fluttered high in the corridor, speeding after David. He tossed one guard after another out of the way, clearing our path. I stuck close to him, acutely aware I was a major liability. As was Link, who wouldn’t be able to shift until we got outside. Neither of us could hold our own in a fight against the guards.

“Hold it!” Maude yelled from behind me.

Yeah, right. Not after she’d just heard my best friend confirm David was working for Allcot. It’s not that Maude wouldn’t have already put two and two together, considering last night’s breakout, but now she had confirmation and witnesses. She could lock us both up with the full weight of the Arcane behind her. Deal or no deal with Eadric.

David barreled through the last of the guards and down the stairs we went. Once back on the main floor, we turned right, the emergency-exit sign glowing ahead. If we could get outside, they’d never catch both of us. David was too fast, and I could wing my way into obscurity.

Just as we reached the emergency exit, someone grabbed my foot and twisted. Sharp agony shot straight to my hip as the guard yanked me down. Oh shit, that hurt.

Yelping, Link slipped from my grip, and I grappled to keep him in my arms. But it was no use. He tumbled to the floor with a loud thud.

“Link!” I cried, using the force of my wings to try to jerk away from my captor.

His little body quivered as he lurched forward, favoring his front left paw.

“Let go!” I twisted and cried out, my knee screaming in protest. I tilted forward, barely able to keep myself from face-planting on the gleaming white tile.

Link snarled at the guard, his hackles raised. Poor kid thought he was bigger than he really was.

In one blink, David appeared, neutralizing the guard clutching my leg with one lightning-fast punch to the head. Instantly, he crumpled to the floor.

“Let’s go.” David grabbed my hand and pulled me down the hall, my wings fluttering hard to compensate for my throbbing knee and hip. Rage fueled me as I watched Link do his best to catch up on his three good legs. They’d hurt my dog. The bastards.

Another white-clad guard dove and caught Link by the tail. Link whipped his head around and sank his teeth into the guard’s hand. Good dog.

“Son of a bitch!” the guard yelled but didn’t let go.

David cursed and sped back to Link as I held the exit door open. And then everything slowed. David reaching down for Link. Link squirming away from the guard. And Maude, feet apart, holding an oversized tranquilizer gun pointed right at David’s chest.

“No!” I launched myself forward, but a double blast reverberated through the corridor and instinctively I hit the floor. I glanced up as David sank to the ground, two large yellow darts stuck in his chest. His wide, unseeing eyes stared past me.

“David!” I crawled to his side and yanked the darts out, but I knew it wouldn’t help. Arcane-grade tranq darts put vampires out for hours.

I swallowed the emotion rising in my throat. There was no time to fall apart. As Maude closed in on me, I grabbed Link and thrust my wings out. I had to get out of there. Commotion filled the hallway as I focused on the exit only a couple of feet in front of me. Just a few more seconds, and I’d see daylight.

“Grab her!” Maude demanded.

My left hand hit the lever for the exit, and the door burst open. I could smell the muddy stench of the Mississippi wafting over the bank. Freedom.

“Gotcha.” Someone grabbed a chunk of my hair, and my head jerked back. Crying out with pain, I clutched Link tight to my chest. A rough male voice rasped in my ear, “Get used to it, faery. I’m going to really enjoy our time together.”

Bile rose in my throat. This was it. How could I have thought we’d survive a trip to the Arcane? How long would it be before I was strapped to an evil scientist’s table while they shot me full of drugs and forced me to cooperate?

“Put her down,” Maude ordered from behind us. The guard spun me around and planted me on my feet. Link, still in my arms, growled. I almost wanted to mimic him.

“Step back,” Maude commanded the guard, waving him away. He made a disgusted sound deep in his throat and shoved me toward my aunt. She towered over me, her eyes the same color as her black wings. Her pupils dilated so far not even the rim of her blue irises showed. She leveled the gun right at my heart.

Glaring at her, I stood with my shoulders back. “Vampire-grade tranq darts can kill faeries. You’re not going to pull the trigger.”

She let out a mocking laugh, and her lips turned up in a grim smile. “Don’t tempt me.”

Then she pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket. Holding it up, she asked, “Look familiar?”

I stared at Clea’s picture. The contract must’ve fallen out of the file. I closed my eyes, wondering if the situation could get any worse. There was literally nothing I could do. My only skills lay with modifying plants. David and Link were my weapons. But Link was totally harmless in his current state. My bug was broken and lost in Maude’s office. No one was coming. So when two higher-ranking guards—I could tell by the insignias pinned to their uniforms—grabbed my arms, I walked with them, praying David woke up soon. Or Phoebe had somehow heard the mess we were in. Deep down I knew neither was going to help, but the thoughts kept me sane. Until we rounded the corner and they stopped in front of the basement door.

My lungs constricted and my heart sped up. Oh God, oh God, oh God. My wings stretched as if they could somehow hold me back. I twisted to find Maude directly behind me. “Why here?”

Her steely, evil gaze told me everything I needed to know. I was being punished in the worst possible way. Underground, with no hope of escape.

A guard, with hands larger than my head, clutched Link as he squirmed and howled his protest. Ice froze my heart. I couldn’t help him. Just like I couldn’t help David. Or myself. David. Was he still lying sprawled on the floor where they’d left him? What would they do to him? Where would they keep him?

Fear crawled up my spine, quickly transforming to utter panic as the guard behind me pushed me onto the tiny stairway. No railings. No light. Just walls on either side. My eyes refused to adjust to the pitch-blackness. All I could do was keep putting one foot in front of the other or risk being pushed into the abyss.

“Put her in the one to the left,” Maude ordered. A small click sounded from behind us. A bulb in the middle of the room came to life, barely illuminating the dank space with pale green light. A wall of diamond shapes floated in front of me in the darkness. I squinted, trying to identify the odd images.

“Move,” Maude ordered. The barrel of the tranq gun stabbed me in the back, scraping one of my wings.

“I’m going,” I snapped. “Get a grip. It’s not like I can see anything down here in your horror-movie dungeon.”

The tip dug deeper into my shoulder blade. I stumbled forward and landed face-first against cold metal wire. The links crisscrossed over my face and that’s when I realized what the odd diamonds were. A cage. A faery-sized cage. They weren’t just going to leave me down there. They were going to lock me up.

“You can’t do this!” I brought my hands up, clutching the front of the cage, my fingers digging into the metal. “I’m an agent of the Void. I deserve—oomph,” I cried as something hard swept against my legs, knocking me to one knee.

“Shut up or I’ll break your ankle.” It was Maude. She hovered over me, swinging her gun as if it were a billy club. She yanked the cage door open, the rattle of metal on metal echoing through the room. “Get in. Now.”

Fear paralyzed me. Nothing could make me voluntarily climb in a metal cage. Metal for Goddess’s sake. Underground, surrounded by metal. She was trying to kill me.

“Do it,” Maude ordered, her voice lower and harsher than before.

I didn’t move.

Boots clicked against the cement, and then someone grabbed me around the waist, tearing the metal from my death grip, and threw me. Hard. I slammed against the back wall. A sickening crunch registered in my brain before I realized anything was wrong. But as I fell to my knees, a sharp, piercing pain enveloped the entire right side of my back. My wings flexed in protest. A sharp lightning bolt of agony pierced my chest. No air expanded my lungs. I couldn’t breathe. Something was terribly wrong.

“You know, at first when I found out Clea tried to kill you and Kilsen, I wasn’t pleased. That wasn’t in the contract. She was only supposed to bring me information from the Cryrique. I guess she blamed you for the death of her idiot lover. Such a stupid mistake, pairing Cryrique business with his Influence purchase.” She shook her head. “But now I’m thinking a little dose of Cherry Bomb might be exactly what you need.”

I moaned, realizing Clea had played us. She’d known all along Daniels was dead.

Maude let out a demented laugh. “Let’s see you try to fly out of here now.”

The door to the cage slammed shut. A second later, a lock snicked closed with cold finality.

Fading laughter and the sound of retreating footsteps drifted down the stairs as I curled into a ball, trying to control the pain blazing along my right side.

I don’t know how long I lay there, trying not to move. All I could think about was Maude’s final words. Let’s see you fly out of here now.

The blow to the wall had crushed my right wing. I couldn’t move it one little bit without my stomach trying to turn itself inside out. Hot, angry tears pricked my eyelids. The bitch had taken out David, grabbed my dog, and mutilated my wing. If I didn’t get medical attention soon, I knew I could be crippled. Wings were durable in that they could withstand a lot, but if they were crushed, they needed specialized attention, or they’d never heal right. What good was a faery without two working wings?

A dose of good old-fashioned self-pity washed over me and I whimpered. What else was there to do but feel sorry for myself? A faint scraping sounded from outside my cage. Panic sent adrenaline through my veins. Had someone stayed behind? I held my breath, listening.

Scrape, scrape. Scrape, scrape.

“Link?” I said, my voice trembling.

The scraping grew louder, more urgent.

“Link!” My voice rose a few octaves, bringing fresh fire to my upper back. I stifled a gasp as I tensed and battled the pain. Where was he? Did they take him? Oh God, was he locked up too? And what had they left behind?

Gritting my teeth against the fire running from my wing tip to my shoulder blade, I grabbed the cage door and hauled myself into a sitting position. White spots swam in my vision as my back seized up again. Holy shitballs, that hurt. I blinked away the flares clouding my vision and peered through the diamond-shaped openings.

It took a moment for me to make out what was just ahead. A much smaller cage than mine, and Link trapped inside. My heart lightened. They hadn’t taken him. “Hey, buddy,” I called.

His attention was focused on the door. Scrape, scrape. Scrape, scrape. He was using his one good paw to dig as fast as he could, but it was no use. We were sitting on a concrete floor.

“Link,” I commanded. “Stop.”

This time his head popped up, and he tilted an ear toward me.

“I’m right here. Digging won’t help. See?” I reached down to pat the floor. My hand settled over a thick layer of grime. “Ugh!” I wiped the moist dirt on my jeans. No wonder he was trying to dig his way out. I summoned as much strength as I could and forced the words out. “It’s no use, little dude. We’re trapped.”

He gave a few more halfhearted scrapes, then settled with a heavy sigh on the ground, staring in my general direction.

“I know exactly how you feel.”

Link touched his nose to the door of his cage, sniffing the air.

“Is something else here?” I forced myself to stand on shaky legs. I could barely see more than a few feet in front of me. Nothing but the eerie green light and darkness. Feeling my way along the edge of the cage, I peered at our surroundings. Through the gloom, I spotted two more cages. Empty.

Better that than a whole host of prisoners. Right? A sinking feeling of helplessness took over, followed closely by rage. How could Maude do this? Whatever happened to justice? I could stand trial. I deserved a lawyer. This was still America, after all.

But Maude wasn’t working under the law. She was the director of the Void. That meant she did whatever she pleased. And right now, she wanted me locked away.

The power-hungry bitch. But why? What good was I down here? I could make Influence. And apparently change the chemical makeup of vampires. Was that it? Was she afraid I’d turn all vamps into sunbathers?

Damn it! I would not just sit there in a cage and wait to be given orders. Tucking my injured wing close to my body, I ran my hands along each section of the cage. If there was a weak point, I’d find it. I spent agonizing minutes fingering every single connection on the gate, every joint, even the bottom where it hit the floor. Not one area showed a sign of weakness. In total frustration, I grabbed the side of the cage and yanked as hard as I could. Agony brought me to my knees. I gritted my teeth and waited for the worst of the pain to subside.

Idiot. My tantrum had been useless. Not one single sign of movement.

Beyond annoyed, I leaned my head against the cage door, too exhausted to form a plan. My head started to spin, and I vaguely wondered if it was from exhaustion or my broken wing. It throbbed with each breath I took. In a hazy, pain-filled stupor, I slumped down and curled up on my left shoulder.

Exhausted, I faded in and out of consciousness, waking each time Link sighed or moved. After what seemed like hours, I fell into a deep slumber. And dreamed I was sinking in quicksand.

I woke to a sharp pain in my wing and cried out, rolling to my stomach in agony. Gasping for breath, I pushed myself up on my knees, remembering the dream and the panic of trying to fly to safety. Great. I couldn’t even sleep without hurting myself. I blinked, trying to focus as I processed once again where I was. Arcane. Basement. Cage.

How long had we been down here? I had no way to tell. The room was still cast in horror-movie green and darkness.

Across from me, Link growled.

My body tensed. Was someone coming? Nervous energy ran from head to toe. I cut my eyes to Link. He stood rigid, attention focused on the stairs.

Someone was coming.

At the top of the stairs the door creaked. Bright fluorescent light spilled down the stairwell for a moment, followed by soft footsteps. I pressed deeper into the shadows of my cage, but Link lunged forward, snarling and biting at the crisscrossed wire. Then he started to vibrate.

“Link, no!” How was this happening? He shouldn’t be able to shift. This was bad. Very bad. His cage simply wasn’t big enough.

A fraction of a second later, he shifted into full-on wolf mode. He howled as his large body smashed against the sides of the cage. Panicked and trapped, he began to shake, frantically trying to dislodge himself. I couldn’t do anything but stare as my poor wolf toppled the cage over. Lying on his side, he scrabbled at the walls, rolled again, and ended up on his back.

Goddess, help him.

The footsteps grew slow and hesitant. Then, with a burst of energy, Link flipped again, causing the cage to land at a forty-five-degree angle right where the two sides were seamed together. Something snapped. Link went crazy, bucking, kicking, and biting. In wolf form, the cage didn’t stand a chance.

Before our visitor could get all the way to the bottom of the stairs, Link was free, head down, hackles raised, and teeth bared. My wolf was ready for a fight.

Chapter Twenty-Six

The guard’s white uniform glowed in the dim light of the basement. He stopped at the base of the stairwell and squinted.

The wolf watched him through gold eyes, his shoulders lowered, legs bent, ready to pounce. I sucked in a breath. Watching him wait for the exact moment made the hair stand up on the back of my neck.

The guard spotted Link and his eyes went wide with recognition. “What the hell? How—”

Link lunged, his entire wolf body engulfing the short, pudgy guard in one swift motion. A high-pitched scream of terror filled the room, making me wince. Some guard he was. He sounded like a girl. Link swiped a heavy paw across the man’s face, silencing the earsplitting noise. The guard collapsed. Knocked out or dead, I didn’t know. Nor did I care. Blood pooled a few feet from my cage. Link snarled and nudged the unmoving body with his long nose.

“Good job, Link.” I rose, arching my back, favoring my right wing as I tried not to hurl from the pain. That was one man down. But Link couldn’t get them all. And he wouldn’t leave me. I stared at his massive form. How had he shifted? We were still in the Arcane. As long as we were in the building, he shouldn’t have been able to. Was it because we were underground? Maybe the magic keeping the place dry interfered with the neutralizing ward.

Had my magic come back? I clutched the door of my cage and glanced around at all the cement and metal around me. Useless. Even if I did have a spark somewhere, I didn’t have anything to siphon life from. And I wouldn’t weaken Link. Unless… “Link!”

He snapped to attention and turned his giant head toward me.

“Pull the guard over here.”

His eyebrows twitched as if he was contemplating my request.

“Just grab him and pull him to me.” I pointed. Come on. Who knew when the next visitor would be down or when they’d miss the guard?

Link circled the man with his lip raised and then sniffed his black work boots. He jumped back as if the scent offended him. What could be so bad that even a dog wasn’t interested? I wrinkled my nose in sympathy. I wouldn’t want to put my mouth on the ruddy man, either.

Gingerly, Link wrapped his muzzle around the man’s ankle and dragged him inch by inch until he lay along the edge of my cage. The wolf spat out the man’s limb and hacked, a full-on, hairball-raising hack.

“Yikes.” What could possibly make Link gag? I knelt down to inspect the guard. Halfway to the ground, a sudden assault of formaldehyde hit my senses. “Oh, yuck. I’m so sorry, buddy.”

The wolf lowered himself to the floor and covered his nose with one paw.

“Yeah, no kidding. What is this dude, a zombie?” He reeked of chemicals and death. I placed a hand over his chest and let out a relieved sigh when it rose on an intake of breath. At least he wasn’t dead. If he was, he’d be useless to me.

Moment of truth. I needed a life source. If I’d regained any sort of magical strength, I’d know as soon as I touched him. But where? I’d need an exposed section of skin. His hands or face. Because no way was I stripping down the stinky super geek. His hands were caked with blood from defending himself against Link and so was the right side of his face. Jesus. My dog was lethal. I’d known it intellectually, but he’d never had to take on a human before. Only vampires, and their wounds stitched themselves closed within seconds of splitting open.

I grimaced as I rested two fingers on the man’s left temple. Then I snatched them back. I couldn’t take life energy from his brain. It would make me sick. Faeries could share energy. Faeries and humans, not so much. But I could take a little just to see if my magic was back.

Get it over with, Willow. Closing my eyes, I touched his blood-soaked hand and searched deep inside myself for a spark of magic.

Nothing.

The little tingle that usually sprang to life at the tips of my fingers stayed dormant. I let out a frustrated sigh. Maybe my body still needed time to adjust. Link always did regain his magic before I did after a trip to the Arcane.

I pressed my fingers against the guard one more time, but no matter how far I searched within myself, no magic came to the surface.

Well, crap. Now what? I needed a weapon. Or better yet, a key. A key! The concrete and metal must be zapping my brainpower. Why hadn’t I thought of that first?

“Link, help me search.” Trying not to breathe in the sickening stench of the man, I dug into his coat pockets. “He might have a key to this cage.”

Link sniffed along the opposite side of the guard’s body while I frantically moved to his pants pocket. The only thing I found was a wallet. Henry Mincer. Lived in Kentwood. No other identifying information except a credit card and a health ID card. “Come on, Henry. You’ve got to have something useful.”

I found a ballpoint pen in his shirt pocket. Great. A makeshift weapon. I set it aside and tried to reach forward to get to his other pockets, but my wing and back froze in protest. I hissed and sat back, holding my wing tight to my body.

Link gazed at me with worried eyes.

“I’ll be okay once we get out of here.” I hoped.

He nudged the jacket pocket I hadn’t been able to reach with his nose.

“Did you find something?” I sat up on my knees, pressed against the door, and peered over his body. Tentatively, I stretched my arm through the diamond-shaped wire but snatched it back when the lightning bolts shot through my back. No way was I going to be able to reach it without passing out. I clenched my fists and tried to stabilize my breathing.

Across from me, Link shimmered and returned to his Shih Tzu form. He eyed me, wagged his tail, and went to work on the guard’s pocket. His much smaller Shih Tzu paw slipped right in and a loud tink sounded on the concrete. He fished whatever it was away from the body with his paws and then grabbed the shiny metal cluster in his teeth.

“The keys!” I cried. “Link, bud. You really are a girl’s best friend.”

He trotted up to me, his hurt paw healed by the shift, and dropped the key ring near my hand. Then he sat there, his tongue hanging out in happy satisfaction.

I gave him a pet behind the ears and scratched his chin. “You’re such a good boy.”

With shaky hands, I grabbed the keys, trying each one. By the time I got down to the last three, I could barely jam the key into the lock. They all fit. Every single one. But none of them would pop the lock.

“Please, please, please,” I whispered, nearly dropping the key ring. I’d just got the final key stuffed in the lock when another short burst of fluorescent light rushed in from the top of the stairs. A door slammed, followed by the sounds of multiple footsteps descending into the basement.

Shit! How many were coming? Two? Three? I clutched the pen, knowing in my heart I’d never beat them all. I wasn’t trained in combat. It would be a miracle if I could take out one. I steeled myself and tightened my grip on my pitiful weapon. No way was I going down without a fight.

Link jumped up and, to my complete surprise, shimmered slightly and shifted. He was getting stronger. Or maybe it was my fear that boosted his stamina. Either way, I had to stifle a gasp of relief.

I cranked the key in the lock, but it didn’t turn. My last damn key didn’t work. A hopeless dread crawled into my gut. Would I ever find a way out? Still unable to see our visitors, I eased back, not wanting to appear suspicious, and jammed my hands in my pockets. My right fingers hit something warm and mushy.

Gross. I pulled my hand out, eyed the brown, waxy coating, and sniffed in the cocoa-orange scent. Influence. My heart sped up. Another weapon. My lonely pen had a partner in crime. And I was just desperate enough to use it.

Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. Heavy footsteps pounded down the lower stairs.

Link hovered near the wall, out of sight from the stairwell opening.

“Fuck,” came the sound of a deep male voice. “Can’t anyone put a brighter bulb in down here? I can barely see anything.”

“Stop bitching.” Maude’s voice was flat, barely audible. “Just find out what Mincer’s doing and get back up here.”

“Fucking Mincer,” the male voice muttered, then raised his voice. “What the hell is going on down here? Got a hard-on for the faery?”

His steps slowed. “Mincer?”

Link crept closer to the stairwell opening.

“What the fuck is that smell? Jesus, if you took out the faery, the director’s going to eat you for breakfast.” The tall, lanky guard came into view as he stepped out of the stairwell and into the basement. His eyes flickered over me, caught sight of Link’s broken cage, and then landed on Mincer’s unconscious body. “Oh, fuck.”

Link leapt. In less than a second, he had the new guard pinned to the concrete. The guard howled with pain as Link held him down, mauling his face. The guard’s limbs flailed around the wolf, but Link was too strong.

I turned away, not at all comfortable with watching my dog attack the guy.

“What’s going on down there?” Maude’s voice floated from the top of the stairs. “Bass, Mincer, get your asses up here now.”

Bass brought up one arm and clocked Link right below his pointed ear. Link shook his head as if to ward off a fly and sank his teeth into his victim’s shoulder. Bass shrieked.

“Link!” I cried, clutching the side of my cage. “Look out!”

Maude flew down the stairwell, tranq gun aimed at the wolf.

“No!” I shook the cage, terrified for Link. My wing jostled against the metal bars, sending pain shooting through my shoulder and down my arm, but I shoved the burning aside. If that was a vampire dart, Link would be dead.

Maude fired.

My world narrowed to include only Link, half of his body illuminated by the green bulb, the rest in shadows. Link’s head turned toward the noise as his body crouched in defense. The dart sailed deadly silent through the air and landed with a piercing thunk in Link’s right paw.

His body slumped, landing on Bass in a heap. Those glassy, unfocused eyes darted around the room before they settled on me. I rattled my cage, unbridled fury filling every inch of my being. “You killed him!” Kicking out, I yanked as hard as I could on the metal. I was so angry I didn’t even feel the pain anymore. “You evil bitch. You killed my dog.”

Maude stepped into the basement and kicked Bass’s shoulder.

A whimper escaped his bloody lips.

“Your dog deserves to die for what he did to my assistants.” Maude flashed me an impatient grimace.

“Deserves?” I ground out. “All he did was try to protect me from your illegal imprisonment.” Hot tears welled in my eyes. I forced them back. No way was I breaking down. Lowering my voice, my tone came out hard and flat. “You’re a monster.”

“Drop the act, Rhoswen. We both know you’re at the mercy of my goodwill.” She fluttered slightly off the ground, her black wings shimmering in the faint glow. She landed beside Mincer and nudged his face with a high-heeled Mary Jane sandal. He didn’t move. Her gaze ran the length of the cage as if checking to be sure I really was locked in. Then she spotted the keys hanging from the lock. She laughed. “At least you aren’t weak-willed. That’s good. Very good.”

I longed to spit on her. She deserved worse. Much worse. But pissing her off wasn’t going to get her to open the door faster. I cut my gaze to Link, lying limp on the floor. My heart pounded against my ribcage. There was nothing I wanted more at that moment than to be by his side.

Maude tilted her head and eyed him. “First your vampire and now your dog. Next it will be Agent Kilsen… or maybe your fae friend.”

Every muscle tensed with rage. I had bottled up all the anger, all the hatred, and every ounce of strength I had left. She would not hurt one more person I loved. Not one.

Staring at her with an expression as blank as I could muster, I slipped my hands into the front pockets of my jeans and took a small step back.

A wide, triumphant smile broke out on her face. “That’s right. Now you’re seeing reason. Give me your word you’ll behave and I’ll take you upstairs for your assessment.”

Assessment. Right. She was going to run experiments on me until they understood two things: my ability to sense vampires and how I had turned David into a daywalker. Hell, they’d probably also keep me locked up and force me to pump out Influence while they were at it.

I said nothing, avoiding her gaze, too afraid she’d see the calm resolve hidden behind my false obedience.

Maude pulled a phone from her pocket, hit the screen, and a second later barked, “Get to the basement.” She stuffed the phone back in the pocket of her blazer and pulled out a key. “You honestly didn’t think I’d give this to anyone else, did you?”

I stared at it, willing her to insert the key into the lock.

She held it up, turning it over in her hand. “Are you ready to cooperate?”

Grinding my teeth together, I forced a short nod.

“That’s what I thought.” Her slender hands gracefully slid the key into the lock, and with one twist the heavy metal came apart. “If you don’t cause any trouble, there might be food and water for you.”

I licked my dry lips. Water. I took two steps forward.

Maude opened the gate, then instantly slammed it shut again. She pressed close to the door, her face almost touching the metal. “But if you so much as even breathe wrong, I’ll break your other wing and throw you back in this cell. Got it?”

Numb from sheer hatred, I forced myself to give her another tiny nod.

“Say you’ll behave.”

She’d lost her mind. How had a faery, a relative of mine, turned out to be so… evil?

“Say it,” she demanded.

Faint footsteps started at the top of the stairs again. In panic, I blurted out the words, “I’ll behave.”

“Good.” Maude nodded in approval. “Very good.”

The sound on the stairs grew louder with each second. Time to move.

Maude held the door to my cage open and waved an arm, inviting me out. I forced one steady step in front of the other, keeping my hands stuffed in my pockets, hunching as if I were defeated. I stepped over Mincer, still lying on the floor, and strode past Maude.

“Wait.” She stuffed the key back in her coat and stalked around me. “That wing is really bad.”

I nodded, wincing when she touched the sensitive tip. It trembled under the pressure.

“A shame really,” she said with a glint in her eye. “If you come up lame, you’ll have to quit your field job and work in the lab.”

Oh. Hell. No. She’d already formed a plan for transferring me. If she had her way, she’d do more damage to my wing just to make sure no one decided I should help track vamps again.

“Follow me,” she said. “And keep up.”

Her massive wings fluttered, and she rose a few inches off the ground, flying beside me.

I snapped. One second my right hand was stuffed into my front pocket with the melted Influence and the next, I cocked my elbow, twisted, and struck a blow.

My fist bounced off her cheekbone.

Maude fell from flight and stumbled, appearing more surprised than hurt. “You little—”

Despite the pain trying to claim my senses, I struck again. Only this time, I jammed my fingers in her open mouth. The ones that were laced with Influence. I stuffed them as far as they would go, only withdrawing when she started to gag.

“Swallow,” I demanded.

Her eyes went round with shock and panic. “No, no, no,” she mumbled and started wiping her tongue, as if that would do any good.

The person on the stairs finally appeared. A medium-built, dark-haired man, wearing dress pants and a button-down shirt, stared at us. “What’s going on here? Maude? Are you all right?”

He almost appeared normal. As if he cared about her. But the handcuffs and the gun in his holster gave him away. I’d bet my other wing he was an undercover agent, just like Phoebe. He had a serious, thoughtful quality about him.

Maude stopped dabbing at her tongue and slowly stood up straight. She glanced around, her eyes taking in the moaning bodies on the floor, the agent, Link, and then finally landed on me. “You’re hurt.”

I nodded, cautious in case she was putting on an act.

“You need help.” She fished around in her pockets until she came up with her phone again.

“Maude?” the agent asked.

She glanced at him as she hit a button.

“No!” I rushed forward, grabbing the phone from her. “No help. I’ll take care of it.”

Her eyes narrowed in concern. True concern. Not something I’d ever seen her express in the last three years.

The agent moved forward. “Maude, I really think you should—”

“Do as I say,” I blurted.

She straightened, her thin body appearing two feet taller than normal. Then she shuddered and her face went slack for a moment.

The agent moved closer to her, his hand outstretched. “Do you need to see someone? You look… off.”

But she didn’t look off at all. Not to me. Her shoulders relaxed, a hint of a smile on her angular face, and when she turned to me she said, “What are you doing down here? You hate being underground.”

Fat tears of relief sprang to my eyes. She wasn’t the director I’d come to loathe in the last few years. She was my aunt. The one who used to visit when Beau and I were kids. The sweet, loving, caring aunt I’d long since forgotten. I clamped down on the joy blossoming in my chest.

You can’t trust her, Wil.

Her act could be a very clever ruse.

“Take me home, Maude,” I whispered the order, casting a sideways glance at the agent.

“Of course. Sure.” She snapped her fingers. “Agent, arrange for my niece to get home as soon as possible.”

He glanced between the two of us, clearly suspicious. Maude was not following the plan. Oh no. Maude needed to get her she-bitch back in gear, stat. Or else he was going to be a problem.

“Now, Agent!” she demanded. “Can’t you see she’s hurt? And get someone to carry her dog out to the car.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The agent cast me a cold hard stare and then ran up the stairs two at a time.

He wasn’t buying Maude’s sudden change of heart. We had to get out of there. Fast. Before the cavalry came. I turned to Maude. “Listen.”

She smiled and nodded.

“Whatever happens, your first priority is to get me and Link out of the building. You are to follow my orders and no one else’s. Are you clear?”

“Clear,” she parroted.

“Good,” I said more to myself than her as I eyed Link. No way was I leaving him, but we couldn’t carry him either. I crouched down beside him, and let out an enormous sigh of relief when his chest rose. He was indeed alive. Thank the powers that be.

I ran my hand over his fur, reached down, and yanked out the yellow dart still stuck in his leg. The shimmering glow encircled him and a second later he was Shih Tzu again. The dart. That’s what had kept him wolf while he’d been out. And his wolf form had saved his life.

Whooping for joy, I grabbed him and hugged him to my chest. I glanced back at Maude. “Let’s go.”

“You’re the boss,” she said cheerily and swept past me up the stairs. When she got halfway up, she glanced back. “You know, I don’t think the director is going to like this.”

I stopped my laborious climb and braced myself against the wall with my free hand. “The director? You’re the director.”

She laughed, a deep throaty sound. “No. That’s what he wants you to think. He likes moving the players around the board. But now… Well, things just got really interesting.”

She was amused. Completely and utterly thrilled to be under my control. And I hadn’t compelled her to think or feel any particular way. A horrible realization washed over me. “Maude?”

“Yes?”

“How long have you been under the Influence?”

“Combined time?”

I nodded.

“Three years. Right after you invented it.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“Oh, Jesus,” I whispered, barely able to breathe. “Three years. All because of my creation.”

Maude’s face turned grim. “We’ll talk about it later. Right now, we need to get out of here.”

I nodded. But who was the director? Since the guard could be back any minute, the information had to wait. Once up the narrow stairs, we crept into the brightly lit, deserted hall.

At the end of the corridor we came to the first connection. White gleamed in every direction, only broken by nondescript gray doors. Maude grabbed my arm, clutching it so tightly my knees almost buckled.

I jerked, my back throbbing with a dull ache as I whirled on her. “What are you doing?” She should be under my Influence. Had it all been an act? If so, she was vying for an Oscar.

She smiled. “Relax. I’m doing what I have to in order to get you and your dog out of here.”

“Oh.” I forced the suspicion out of my mind. All kinds of flags would be raised if anyone saw her letting me waltz out of the building.

She pulled me close to her body once more and pushed me down the hallway.

“What about David?” I whispered. I’d forced myself to not think about him while I’d been underground. There wasn’t anything I could do from there anyway. But now… I couldn’t just leave him.

She shook her head. “He’s being monitored. There’s no way you’re getting to him now. But Allcot will probably work a trade.” Her hand tightened on my bicep when a clean-cut scientist with black-framed glasses strode toward us, a crooked sneer pasted on his face.

“Director.” He bowed his head in a patronizing nod. “I’ll take the subject from here.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw her raise her chin. Her tone shifted back to evil-bitch mode. “You’ll have your chance, Felton. My plans won’t take long.”

Felton’s lips formed two thin, straight lines. His eyes narrowed and his pupils constricted. “Director.” He dragged the word out in barely controlled anger. “I think maybe you misunderstood. We have an experiment ready. I must insist you bring Rhoswen in now.” The tension drained from his posture, and his tone turned neutral, almost uninterested. “We’ll be quick. And I’ll personally bring her to your office when we’re done.”

Link twitched and opened his eyes, staring up at me in confusion. I clutched him to me, ready to run. Felton wasn’t negotiating. He was ordering her. This man was the true director. He had to be the one Influencing Maude.

Maude smiled tightly, exactly as her Influenced personality would have, and then gave him an impatient nod. “Make it fast.”

Then she sprang into action, propelling me forward with enough force that I slammed into the slimy little bastard. My shoulder jammed into his chest, and I took him down in a heap. A fireball of frustration blazed a path through my sanity as I fought to extract myself from a tangle of limbs.

Link rolled and came up snarling. Felton didn’t hesitate. Knocking Link aside, he lashed out one arm and clutched me around my neck. Before I could even attempt to throw him off, his grip tightened, abruptly cutting off my air.

“Let go,” I tried to choke out, but the words wouldn’t form. My face grew hot with effort as I clawed at his forearm and kicked with zero result. Panic gripped my mind. Do something, Willow. Anything. But I couldn’t move and all too soon my vision started to blur. Phoebe’s face flashed through my mind, along with the memory of her insistence I take a self-defense class. Everything started to fade. The light. The agony seizing my battered body. A faint sound of voices.

Peace settled over me. A faded memory of Beau and Talisen, arm in arm on the beach, lulled me into a soothing fog of tranquility. The world went dark. Was this it? Was I dying here on the cold floor of the Arcane? Maybe Beau was waiting…

The harsh slap of fluorescent lighting blinded me. Sound rushed in with the air filling my lungs. Vicious growling blocked everything else. I tried to lift my head but my muscles wouldn’t cooperate. Shifting my head to the left, I caught Link, still in Shih Tzu form, doing his best to rip Felton’s arm off. Needless to say, without his wolf teeth he wasn’t getting very far.

Felton scrambled to his feet, desperately trying to shake the twenty-pound Shih Tzu clinging to his shirt sleeve. Link dangled in the air, his little paws desperately trying to find purchase. I stared in horror as Felton picked up the tranq gun and swung it butt first like a baseball bat.

“Link,” I rasped through bruised vocal cords.

Maude appeared from nowhere, jumped on Felton’s back and slammed her hand down hard on the crook of his elbow. The man’s arm deadened with the impact, and the gun clattered to the floor, barely missing Link.

“I’m not taking orders from you anymore, you sick, power-hungry vamp killer.” She kicked, spiking the back of his knee with her Mary Jane heels. He crumpled a few feet from the gun.

Lucky for me and Link, it seemed Maude had taken self-defense lessons.

Link scrambled to my side and nudged my cheek with his nose.

“I’m okay.” I pressed my face against his fur, enjoying the warmth of his body. “Thanks to you.”

“Get up!” Maude demanded, grabbing Felton by his coat. With one hand, she managed to slap handcuffs on him and then tossed him into the nearest room, kicking him in the ass before she slammed the door shut. She eyed me. “Can you walk?”

I rolled onto my knees. “I’ll have to.” I squeezed my eyes shut and hauled myself to my feet.

“David?” I asked again. How could I live with myself if we left him there?

“Not now,” she snapped and grabbed the fallen tranq gun. “More guards will be here any second. Just move.”

I stared at my feet, focusing on keeping one foot in front of the other, ignoring the screams of protest in my aching muscles.

Maude stopped in front of me, forcing me to glance up. “Take this.” She held the gun out. “If we run into trouble, shoot first and ask questions later.”

I took the gun and nodded. “Got it.”

She hit a hidden button, revealing a door with a glowing green keypad. She hastily punched in a code and the door slid open. I followed her inside. Stainless steel tables lined the perimeter of the room filled with sparkling clean, scientific-looking cooking apparatuses. A research lab.

No. Not just a lab. The lab. The one where they messed with Influence and anything else they wanted to alter for their own benefit. I paused in front of a glass case, staring at the pounds of familiar chocolate goodies. “Is it all Influence?”

“Not now, Willow.” She strode to another hidden door. “We have to go.”

A piercing alarm slammed through the silence. Link howled, scrambling alongside me to the door.

“Move,” Maude ordered, then swore when the door wouldn’t budge. The alarm must have locked it down. She scrambled to one of the tables, grabbed a sharp-edged knife, and returned to the door. Just to the right, she used the blade to whittle away at something on the concrete wall. I inched closer, realizing there was white metal sheeting she was trying to pry off.

The knife slipped and clattered to the floor. “Damn Void and their overzealous protective measures!” She grabbed the knife and went to work once more.

I stood behind her, tapping my foot to the tempo of the panic rising in my chest. They were coming. Something pounded on the door across the room, making the hinges vibrate. “Hurry,” I whispered.

Maude grunted in frustration.

The door from the hallway banged open, and Felton filled the threshold. “Maude Jenkins. Stand down. That’s an order.”

“Fuck off, Felton.” She gave the knife one more thrust and the metal plate popped off. A red light flashed in unison with the alarm on the small keypad. “Your hold on me is broken.”

I inched as close to the exit door as possible while Felton led the guards into the room. All of them wore nondescript white lab coats over the weapons strapped to their utility belts.

Maude punched in a code. The light stopped flashing.

I rushed toward the door, expecting it to open of its own accord. But the light flickered to life again.

Felton weaved closer.

I raised the tranq gun and aimed at his heart, my hands steady. Dogs weren’t the only ones in danger of dying from a tranq dart.

He slowed his steps, attention focused on me. “If you pull that trigger, my men will tear you apart.”

“Only if they can get to me.”

Maude punched in another code. The alarm didn’t stop blaring.

“You won’t get far.” His low, commanding voice made me acutely aware of just how suited he was to be a puppet master. He had to be fae. If he were a witch, he would have spelled us already. And he certainly wasn’t a vampire. That meant he could have almost any sort of power. There was no way to know what it was until he showed his cards.

“Farther than you,” I said.

Maude’s face broke out in a relieved grin, and even though the alarm didn’t fade, the blinking light went out. And stayed out.

The door opened with a pressurized whoosh. I backed up, keeping the gun trained on Felton.

“Go,” Maude ordered.

“You first.” I wouldn’t leave her with the possibility she’d get captured after all the years she’d suffered because of my creation. She was my aunt again. The one I remembered from my childhood. The one my mom mourned for.

“Rhoswen!” Maude jumped in front of me as a yellow dart sailed toward us from somewhere behind Felton.

I fired. But Maude had knocked the gun to the side and the dart bolted into the table leg two feet in front of me.

Maude wasn’t so lucky. The other dart stabbed her in the left shoulder. She crumpled at my feet.

“No!” I cried, and threw the gun at Felton, wishing it would bash his head in. He shuffled back, avoiding the blow. With angry tears and blind rage, I grabbed Maude by the shoulders, took two steps, and hauled her out the opened door.

“She won’t get far.” Felton’s faint voice barely registered over the rushing in my ears.

Link bolted as soon as we hit the humid September night air. Vampires. They were close. My skin itched with the sensation. A few blurred past me, one of them undeniably familiar. Nathan, David’s best friend. Good. He’d get him out.

“Shit!” I heard Phoebe’s voice from somewhere far off. Footsteps pounded on the pavement. Tears blurred my vision as adrenaline pulsed through me, fueling the last bits of my energy.

I hadn’t had anything to eat or drink in hours. My magic was neutralized, and my wing had to be broken. Not to mention, I’d been beaten to hell.

I stumbled off the sidewalk, bringing Maude with me, and landed on my back, crushing my fragile wing with Maude’s dead weight on top of me. The all-encompassing pain took over my senses and nausea hit me. I threw Maude off and rolled, just in time to vomit in the street.

“I’ve got you,” a soft male voice soothed. “You’re okay now.” A cool, numbing sensation spread like heaven through my tattered body. I glanced up, knowing without a shadow of a doubt who it was.

Tal’s forest-green eyes shone above me.

Emotion closed my throat. “Tal…”

“Shh.” His soothing charm intensified, causing my vision to fade. He was putting me under. Cutting off all the pain.

Shouts echoed and guns fired around us, but my focus narrowed to his intense worried eyes. “Maude. Influenced.”

“Don’t worry about that now,” he said, caressing my cheek.

“No!” Frantic now, I clutched at his shirt. “She was Influenced. Help her.”

Talisen said something else, but I couldn’t focus enough to understand. “Save them,” I mumbled. “Maude and David.”

Chaos swirled around me in a frenzy of lights and sounds. Nothing made sense. “Save him,” I said again and the world went dark.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

I floated in the hazy, dreamlike state between sleep and consciousness, content in my world of oblivion. I felt nothing but the gentle caress of soothing magic.

Peace settled over me until liquid-fire pinpricks snapped me out of my heavenly state, stabbing my battered back muscles. My eyes flew open as I sucked in a sharp breath. I groaned and pressed my stomach flat against the soft surface I lay on.

“It’ll be over in a minute,” Talisen’s soft voice penetrated my fog.

Warmth started to tingle from the depths of my gut. Tal was here. I wasn’t locked up being tortured somewhere. He’d taken care of me. His tender fingers trailed over my skin, bringing a blessed numbness with his touch.

“Hold still,” he said softly.

“I’m not moving,” I mumbled into the pillow.

Despite the magical anesthesia, I felt an increased pressure at the base of my wings.

“You’ll want to in a second,” Talisen said.

A shot of paralyzing cold ice spread through my wings. “Stop!” I gasped and then bit the pillow to keep from whimpering.

“Shh.” In one fast motion, Tal flattened my right wing against my back, readjusting the dislocated connection. The loud pop was muffled by my scream as my muscles convulsed from the torture. Tears soaked the pillow as I trembled. My muscles were numb, but the sensitive nerve endings in my wings were not.

“I’m so sorry, Wil.” He placed a gentle hand on my cheek and bent over, his breath warming my ear. “I don’t think there’s any permanent damage. One bone was crushed, but I healed that. The base of your right wing will be sore for several days, if not weeks. There’s no way to fix a dislocation other than popping it back in.”

I nodded, knowing he’d done his best. Link repositioned himself beside me, cuddling into a small ball, breathing deeply. The dog was out cold. Thank the Goddess he’d made it home safe. But was he okay? “Link?”

“He’s fine. Just needs a day or two to sleep off the lingering effects of that tranq they hit him with.” He held up a cup with a straw. “Here.”

Water. Thank goodness. My mouth was dryer than Death Valley. I sucked down the entire contents of the flavorless liquid. The trembling stopped instantly. No, not water. I pressed up on one elbow. “What was that?”

He smiled. “Something new I’ve been working on.”

Impressed by the instant effect, I stared at him, my eyebrows raised in anticipation.

His smile widened. “It restores strength and numbs the senses at the same time. It’s sort of like Chimney Bark, only it doesn’t affect your cognition.”

“Plant-based?” I asked, eyeing the cup. No color. Not likely.

He shook his head. “Stone-based. I’ve been working on it for months now.”

“Months?” This new drug could be a game changer. Why hadn’t he said anything? I tried to keep the frown off my face, but Tal knew me too well. Holding back this kind of discovery was like not telling me he’d gotten married or something.

He helped me to sit up and wrapped an arm around my shoulders, careful to not bump my wing. “Sorry.” He grimaced. “I didn’t tell anyone. I honestly didn’t know if I could pull it off or what the ramifications would be.”

“No one?” My voice rose with my disbelief.

He shifted and jumped off the bed, running a hand through his hair. “Look at what happened with your Influence. I couldn’t take the chance of anyone trying to manipulate this. It’s too dangerous.”

His concerns weren’t lost on me. A potion that boosts strength and numbs the senses is wrought with dangerous potential. Mortals would be a lot harder to bring down. In the hands of criminals, such a drug would be a nightmare. Still, of all people, I’d think I was the one Talisen could talk to about this. “So dangerous you couldn’t trust even me?”

Talisen met my eyes and then came to stand right in front of me. “I didn’t tell anyone.”

I climbed out of bed, marveling at the steadiness in my legs. Minutes ago I’d thought I’d never get up again. His numbing juice was a work of genius. “Yeah, but we spent all summer together. You never once even hinted at this.” I waved a frustrated hand at the cup. “I tell you everything.”

He leveled a hard stare at me, one eyebrow slightly raised. “Not everything.”

“What are you talking about? Of course I do.” I started to pace, antsy from the argument and his potion.

“Really? You never told me how serious it was with David. You said you’d casually dated someone, but it was over. Yeah, I spent all summer with you. And only you. You never once told me how you felt. But then again, it hardly matters now since you’re clearly not over the vampire.”

I stopped and placed both hands on my hips. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“This.” He took two steps, grabbed my upper arms, and yanked me to him. His lips met mine in a hard, demanding frenzy, his hot tongue claiming mine with each expert stroke.

My hands came up, curling in his shirt as I met him with passion, all the years of pent-up, barely hidden desire pouring out of me.

Tal’s arms came around me, cradling me close against his lean frame. His teeth scraped my bottom lip, holding on for just a moment before he murmured, “Dammit, Willow. I’ve been waiting ten years to do that.”

A short, startled laugh bubbled up from deep in my throat as I choked back emotion. “Don’t wait so long next time.”

He smiled against my lips and pulled me tight, kissing me softly. Slower this time. A sweet, savoring kiss. I melted into him. How many times had I imagined this? Dreamed of being wrapped in his arms? Wished he’d finally get around to choosing me?

Then Beau had died.

Fresh, raw pain blossomed deep in my chest. There were reasons why we’d never pursued a relationship. Really good reasons. I took a deep breath and pulled away, clasping my hands over his wrists and holding him at arm’s length. “We can’t do this.”

He took a small step forward, his cocky I’m-too-cute-for-words grin in place. “Who says?”

“Tal.” I sighed, blinking away the tears burning my eyes. “I say. You know why.”

His eyes narrowed as he pressed his lips together. “Your vampire? You know that will never work, right? It’s doomed from the beginning.” A trace of uncertainty flashed over his features. “Are you seriously telling me you’d rather be with him than me? Your best friend?”

David. God! What a horrible person I was. I hadn’t even asked about him. Or thought about him at all. And where was Maude? Panic took over. “Where is he? Did they get him out? Is he still locked up at the Void building?” I spun, heading for the door.

Talisen didn’t move. “So that’s it, then? You’re in love with a vampire.” His voice was hard and flat. Cold.

“No! I…” Shit! I forced myself to walk back to Talisen, even though every cell screamed to go find answers. I took his hand, clamping both of mine around his, my heart breaking into a million pieces. “No. I’m not in love with him.” At least I didn’t think so. I cared for him. And if I was honest, I was still wildly attracted to him. Vampire and all. But love? “My reason for not pursuing a relationship with you has everything to do with Beau. Not David. Or anyone else.”

“So you’re turning me down? You think Beau didn’t think I was good enough for you?” The hurt was plain on his face.

A lump formed in my throat. Why did we have to do this right now? “No.” I bit my lip and stared at my feet. “Beau loved you like a brother,” I choked out. “I’m sure if he was here, he’d give his full blessing.” I forced myself to meet his tortured eyes. “But he isn’t here. And you…” I swallowed. “I can’t risk losing you. If this didn’t work out…”

His stormy eyes darkened with raw emotion. “You’ll never lose me. We’re family. No matter what happens between us. You have to know that.”

I shook my head, standing taller. “I’ve seen firsthand what happens after one of your relationships ends. Have you spoken to any of your exes? Ever? I’m sorry, Tal, as much as I think I want this, I can’t risk it. Not with you. After Beau, I wouldn’t survive the loss.” And if I did open my heart to him, I’d die if I had to watch him with another faery. A wave of nausea rolled through my stomach at the mere thought.

Talisen jerked back as if I’d slapped him. “You think this is some passing infatuation or that I haven’t thought this through? Jesus, Willow. Why do you think those other relationships never worked out?”

What could I say? That he had a wandering eye? He didn’t take his relationships seriously? That he wasn’t ready? None of those statements would help. I said nothing and studied Link, still curled up, sleeping on my bed.

He let out a frustrated huff. “None of those other women were you.”

A strange ache in my chest made it hard to breathe.

Using two fingers, he tilted my head up. “These last few days, seeing your strength and your willingness to fight for what you believe in, no matter who’s on the other side, has only made me want you more. As if that was possible.” He closed his eyes for a moment. When he reopened them, pain reflected back at me. “And the agony of seeing you hurt. Willow, I’ve never been more scared in my life. I want to fight with you. To be by your side through it all.”

I stepped back, surprised. Did he really just say he wanted me? Joy burst from my heart, followed by blinding fear. The two emotions fought for dominance as I imagined us hand in hand, kissing and laughing at nothing. And then the pair of us fighting, stalking away from each other, our relationship damaged beyond repair. My thoughts jumbled, too overloaded with what might come to pass in our future. “I can’t do this right now,” I stammered, backing up toward my door. “There’s too much going on. I can’t process.”

All the vulnerability disappeared from his expression, leaving a blank mask.

“I’m sorry, Tal. We’ll talk later.” I whirled and ran out the door, ignoring the all-encompassing urge to throw myself into his arms. Let him hold me. Feel his strong, safe arms around me again. Bask in the love I’d always thought might be there, but was too afraid to act on.

I shook my head, dislodging the thoughts. The last week had been a roller coaster of emotions. What if he woke up in another week and changed his mind? I couldn’t risk it. I loved him too much to lose him. I took the stairs two at a time, anxious to put distance between my thundering heart and the man I’d always wanted more than anyone else. Even David.

“Phoebe,” I cried, running into the almost-tidy living room. There was still a pile of debris in one corner, but most of the broken furniture and trash had been removed. I kept running, following a low murmur of voices coming from Phoebe’s office. “Phoebs?” I called again.

“In here.” Her voice was low, hushed, as if she was in a library.

She looked it, too. All her books and some of mine were stacked up against the walls, waiting to be put away. I paused in the doorway.

Pressing a tiny speaker to her ear, she used her other hand to frantically scribble notes on a legal pad.

When she didn’t look up, I cleared my throat.

That got her attention. She finished writing and then threw me her keys as she grabbed her notepad, pen, and the silver beetle attached to the tiny earphone. Grabbing my arm, she pulled me to the front door. “Hurry. We’re running out of time.”

“David?” Fear stopped me in my tracks. “Does the Void still have him?”

“No. Allcot’s lackeys stormed the building right after you busted out and tackled Maude.” She ran down the walk and yanked the passenger-side door open. “David’s back at Allcot’s club. Hurry. You don’t want to miss the action.”

I glanced up the stairs, finding Talisen and Link watching me. “I have to go,” I told him.

He gave me a resigned nod and turned around, slamming my bedroom door behind him.

I sighed. “Keep an eye on him, Link.”

The Shih Tzu yelped once and went to the door. A second later, Talisen reappeared and my sidekick slipped in, the door closing this time with a soft click.

“Willow!” Phoebe called.

I ran down the front walk and jumped in the driver’s side of her Camry. I gripped the steering wheel and threw the car in gear. The tires squealed as we shot down the street.

Phoebe eyed me with suspicion. “Are you okay?”

I gripped the steering wheel tighter. “I’m fine. Don’t I look fine?”

“Sure. I mean, Tal said you were. I had no reason to not believe him, especially since you’re upright and walking under your own steam.” She leaned back and studied me. “There’s something else though.”

I tsked. “Of course there is. I need to talk to Maude. Where is she?”

“Allcot has her.”

I turned to her, horrified. Maude needed healing and rest after everything she’d been through. Not an interrogation. And a vampire that powerful wouldn’t give up until he was satisfied there was nothing else to get. “What’s she doing there? She should be back at the house with Talisen healing her.”

“Uh, Wil? What’s going on? Why are you worried about Maude? She deserves everything she gets.”

I slammed the accelerator to the floor. “No, Phoebe. She doesn’t.” The car skidded around a corner, barely missing a parked van.

“Whoa. Watch it. I’m all for some speed racing, but I’d rather not end up wrapped around a tree.”

“You don’t understand.” I pressed on, barely making it through an intersection before the light turned red.

She clutched the dashboard. “Enlighten me, then.”

I glanced at her once, that pain in my chest returning. “She’s been Influenced for three years! It’s not her fault.”

Phoebe let out a low gasp of surprise. “Oh, shit.”

“Yeah.”

She turned slowly in her seat and I could feel the tension streaming off her. “Faster, Willow.”

Another tire squeal. “I’m going as fast as I can.”

The car bounced, and the underside scraped on the asphalt as we hit a pothole while going sixty through the city streets.

“Goddamn it.” She banged a fist on the dashboard.

“What?”

“We didn’t know. Talisen said you mumbled something about helping her, but we didn’t know what that meant.”

“Phoebs?” I warned. “Spit it out.”

“Your aunt… shit! David’s torturing her right now.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

I slid the car catawampus into a tight space about a block from Eadric’s club, The Red Door. The key was barely out of the ignition before I jumped out onto the sidewalk. In my haste, I fluttered my wings to fly, but the instant pain kept my feet on the ground. Ouch! Talisen had done what he could to help speed the healing, but I wouldn’t be flying for quite a while. I broke into a run, ignoring the throb in my shoulder blade.

The crowd waiting to get in cast me aggravated glances as I pushed past them.

“What’s the hurry, honey?” The bouncer looked me up and down and motioned to the back of the line. “You’ll have to wait your turn.”

I lifted my chin and cocked a hip. “Tell Davidson Laveaux Willow’s here.”

The bouncer blinked.

Raising my eyebrows, I took a step closer. “You heard me, right?”

A dark shadow crossed over his features as his eyes narrowed.

Phoebe finally caught up, breathing heavily. “Jesus, Willow, you could’ve parked so the ass of the car wasn’t blocking half the street. I had to do a spell to set a caution flare.” She glanced between me and the brooding bouncer. “What’s going on?”

I fought to keep from barreling past the asshole. Getting clocked by the doorman wouldn’t get me inside any faster. “Mr. Power Trip won’t let me in. Nor will he take half a second to call David.”

Phoebe pulled her phone out of her pocket. I frowned, wondering when I’d last seen mine. Cripes. It was still in my purse on the floor in Maude’s office. She held a finger over the screen. “You have two seconds before I press call.”

The man straightened his back, towering over us. “You’ll need to leave the premises now. Mr. Allcot has specifically asked for his family to not be disturbed.”

Phoebe sighed. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

I glared at the jackass bouncer in front of me. Clenching my fists, I dug my nails into my palms. What I wouldn’t give to take a swing right then. Phoebe spoke low into her phone. I couldn’t hear her over the growing buzz of the crowd.

A girl behind me whined. “Jeez. What makes you so special? Just because you have wings doesn’t make you better than the rest of us. Go to the back of the line or get the hell out of the way.”

I spun, anger streaming off me in waves. “Fuck off.”

The girl huffed out a laugh and glanced at the two men beside her. “Hear that, boys. The faery wants a piece of this.” She ran her hands over her chest, cupping her breasts, and blew me a suggestive kiss. “But I’m not into skinny, entitled bitches.”

I took a step forward, all the stress of the last few days churning inside me, straining to explode. The fury on my face must have been a warning because the smirk disappeared from the curvaceous blonde, and she took a few steps back.

“That’s enough.” The bouncer grabbed my arm.

“Let go!” I tried to shake him, but his iron grip held me firmly in place.

“You’re causing a scene,” the bouncer said quietly. He leaned down, his breath rancid with onions. His harsh tone sent an angry shiver down my spine. “Either leave under your own power, or I’ll force you to.”

The thick sensation of vampire energy coated my skin. I stilled.

“Lucas,” a silky female voice said from behind us. “What are you doing?”

The bouncer straightened and glanced back. “Ms. Pandora. My apologies. This faery”—he said faery as if we fae were toxic waste—“was just leaving.”

Pandora’s elegant face flashed from breathtakingly gorgeous to vicious terror. Her fangs popped out and her eyes turned red. “Let go of Ms. Rhoswen.”

The bouncer froze, his eyes going wide with fear.

“Now,” she growled.

In slow motion, he let go and stepped back. The blood pulsed through my bruised arm. Phoebe pushed me forward into the club while Pandora waited for us to pass.

“Next time,” the vampire hissed, “you’ll not only let her in, but you’ll alert the residence we have a guest. Or else Eadric will void your contract for eternal life. Understood?”

I peered over her shoulder. Good Goddess, he was on the list to be turned? He’d be terrifying as a vampire. I swallowed the ball of unease rising in my throat. There was absolutely no time to be worrying about future vampires when a present one was torturing my aunt.

Without waiting for Pandora, I took off, Phoebe close at my heels. We headed straight for the back stairs. It wasn’t long before I felt Pandora catch up to us. I increased my pace, taking two stairs at a time.

The big double doors loomed in front of me. I came to an abrupt halt. Maude. What had David done to her? No time to be a chickenshit. Maude needed me.

I flung the doors open. A blast of vamp energy hit me full force. I let out a muffled groan and pushed my way through the thick, invisible mass.

Allcot leaned back in his chair and nodded in Pandora’s direction. “Davidson’s expecting you.”

Pandora nodded once and disappeared.

I glanced around the empty room and then stalked to his desk. “Where is she?”

He raised his eyebrows in exaggerated calm. “Nicola is recuperating. On behalf of Pandora and myself, we extend our appreciation for the role you played in her recovery.”

I planted my palms on the desk and leaned in. “Not Nicola. My aunt, Maude. Where. Is. She?”

He brought his hands together, holding his index fingers and thumbs in a triangle. “Davidson is handling her interview. As soon as he’s satisfied, you’ll have a chance to speak with her before she’s terminated.”

Horrified rage exploded from deep in my gut. “Terminated!” I shrieked and ran to the nearest door, trying but failing to yank it open. It was locked.

“Willow,” Phoebe demanded in her don’t-fuck-with-me voice. “Stop. You’ll never leave this room unless Allcot decides he wants you to.” She huffed in disgust and turned to glare at the vampire. “Isn’t that right?”

“I’d say that’s accurate,” he agreed.

“That’s what I thought.” She jerked her head, indicating I should join her. “Agent Rhoswen has reason to believe Maude was under the Influence, and now she isn’t. Your tactics are highly inappropriate.”

“Where is she?” I asked again, this time my voice low and barely controlled.

He ignored me and studied Phoebe with interest. “My tactics?”

She held up the tiny silver beetle and flicked a switch. David’s voice boomed, filling the room. “Your lies are only prolonging our time together.” He paused and there was a moment of silence before a low, tortured moan turned my heart to stone.

Phoebe flicked the switch and tossed it on Allcot’s desk. “David has an identical one. I’ve heard his demands. Her pleas. Every scream, every protest, and every fucked up vamp-biting moment.” She pulled out her sun agate and aimed it at him.

I stifled a gasp. Though I was all for her using it if it meant we could get to Maude faster.

He stood, deliberately slow. I knew there was no chance of Phoebe having enough time to activate the agate should he decide to move. A vampire his age could only be caught off guard. All it would take is one flinch, and he’d disappear before our eyes.

“Do not threaten me, Agent Kilsen. The result will not benefit you.”

Phoebe didn’t move, but she didn’t back down, either. “Take us to Maude and there will be no need to threaten you.”

Allcot crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not pleased you planted a bug on one of my people.”

It was my turn to huff. “She didn’t bug him, you arrogant fool. David offered to take one so she could trace him if need be. How do you think she knew where David and I were?” I spit the lie out before I could stop myself. Phoebe had given me one, but I’d crushed it. She must have planted another one on David just in case.

Phoebe lifted her chin, agreeing with my statement.

Allcot loomed over us. No emotion passed over his unreadable face. Just when I was ready to scratch his clear blue eyes out, he snapped his fingers and one door slid open, vanishing inside the wall. “This is your one pass. Test me again, and you’ll be the ones in chains.” He turned and disappeared into thin air.

“Huh,” Phoebe said, sounding surprised. “That went surprisingly well.”

“Really?” I choked out, not believing I’d verbally challenged Allcot. I’d bet not many mortals survived such altercations. “Threatened to be chained up isn’t my idea of going well.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “He had to say something to maintain his almighty persona.”

We took slow, deliberate steps into the adjoining room. I paused, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness. “They couldn’t turn a light on?”

“Why? Vampires have super sight.” She swept past me, giving my arm a slight reassuring squeeze. “David, get your skinny ass out here.”

“Phoebs,” I scolded in a loud whisper.

She ignored me and moved deeper into the room. I could barely make out her form in the darkness. “Where are you, you useless, cold-blooded—?”

“That’s enough.” The warning in David’s quiet tone came through loud and clear.

“Lights would be good here,” Phoebe said, totally unfazed.

I cleared my throat. “David?”

A flash of air made me shiver, and I jumped when David appeared beside me. His chiseled arms came around me, pulling me in close for a hug. “You’re okay?” he asked into my hair.

My pulse raced, but not from excitement. Irritation. I pushed him back. “Where’s Maude?”

He stared down at me with puzzled eyes. “You don’t want to know what happened after we were separated?”

I squinted, studying him in his unwrinkled gray silk shirt, black jeans, and perfectly groomed hair. Not a scratch on him. He didn’t look like he’d suffered a great deal. “Later. Right now, I want you to take me to Maude.”

He shook his head. “Pandora’s with her now. When she gets what she needs, we’ll go in.”

“Now!” I demanded.

He crossed his arms, his expression going carefully blank, the way it always did when he hid his thoughts. “No.”

Phoebe laughed. “Dude, get your head out of your ass and take us to Maude. Otherwise you’re likely to never see this one again.” She pointed at me. “And we both know you don’t want that.”

I mimicked his stance, arms crossed and a careful emotionless expression. At least I hoped so. I was so pissed my eyes should’ve been crossing. “David, Maude was manipulated. Under the Influence. Whatever you’ve done to her is unacceptable. Stop whatever’s happening to her or I swear to God, I’ll make it my mission to bring you all down.”

He glanced between the two of us, wariness flashing in his eyes. “She told us that, too. But it isn’t true.” He turned. “I’ll show you.”

Another door across the room swooshed open.

I ran, barreling into the room, ready to pry Pandora off Maude with my bare hands. But what I saw made me skid to a stop. Nicola was curled up in a ball on a velvet settee, tears streaming down her face. Where the hell was Maude? And what happened to Pandora’s sister?

I turned abruptly, coming face-to-face with David. “What did you do to her?”

That muscle in his jaw pulsed again. “Not long after Pandora brought her home, she woke up like this. I was going to ask you the same thing.”

“Nothing. I…” The poor girl was shaking with what seemed to be fear. Was she terrified Allcot would punish her for first accusing him, or even getting caught in the spell in the first place? My stomach churned. Had my potion caused this? An internal battle raged as I tried to decide what to do next. Maude needed me, but so did Nicola. I couldn’t leave the poor girl now. I moved forward and placed a gentle hand on her forehead. “Nicola, what is it?”

She shook her head slightly, but her big brown eyes pleaded with me. For what, I didn’t know.

“Are you sick? Was it the potion I gave you?”

She squeezed her eyes shut and then popped them open, keeping her intense gaze locked on mine. Shaking her head, the trembling intensified.

“Talisen’s healing spell?”

She shrank back, trying to curl into herself.

“That’s it.” I got to my feet, turning to tell Phoebe to call Tal, but Nicola grabbed my arm and pulled me back down.

The effort left her winded as she huffed out, “The witch.” Her eyes rolled and she passed out again. But this time she woke almost instantly, gasping for breath.

I glanced once at Phoebe and David, then crouched back down. “Nicola, I need to ask you a few things. The last thing I want to do is hurt you further, so just hold up a finger if you can’t answer. Is that all right?”

She clutched the side of the settee and bobbed her head.

She couldn’t mean Phoebe; she hadn’t done anything to her other than fight physically. It had to be the one who gave her Influence. Hadn’t I broken that spell? “I’m going to ask some things that might not make sense. I’d appreciate it if you could answer as honestly as possible. If you can’t, it’s okay.”

She didn’t respond, only kept staring with her giant brown eyes. I took that as consent.

“Did David force you to eat Influence?”

He shifted behind me as if he’d taken a step forward in protest. I chose to ignore him.

“No,” she said, her voice feeble. Her eyes stayed big and round, unchanged.

“Did Phoebe?”

My partner gave a small huff, and I held back a smile. I knew damn well she hadn’t done any such thing.

“No.”

“Pandora?”

“No!” Nicola’s voice was stronger.

Good, that’s what I was hoping for.

“Allcot?”

Her mouth worked and her pupils dilated, but no words came out.

“Yes or no?” I said gently.

“N… yes.” The light brown line of her irises disappeared for a fraction of a second as her pupils took over. She blinked and her regular color returned. If I hadn’t been watching for it, I never would’ve seen it.

“One more. Did someone spell you to keep their secrets, even if the Influence wore off?”

She stopped rocking and stared at me, her eyes filling with tears. She seemed frozen, unable to move or speak.

“It’s all right, Nicola. I’ve already figured it out. You don’t need to answer.”

One fat tear spilled down her temple. “Hurts…”

I nodded and wiped it away. “I know. We’re going to fix that right now.” I kept a hold of her hand. “Phoebs?”

“Yeah?”

“You got a spell-breaking curse handy?”

David stepped between us. “You can’t use anything like that here.”

I shoved him with one hand. “Go tell Pandora we need her. And tell everyone to keep their hands off Maude until we work out what’s going on with Nicola.”

He cast me a dark look and did his vampire disappearing act. It was obvious they wouldn’t believe anything I said until I broke the hold over Nicola. One of their own had been hurt, and the only suspect they had was my aunt.

“Wil,” Phoebe whispered into my ear. “I don’t have anything like that. They didn’t let me bring my spell case.”

“Shit!” I stood and glanced around the plush room. The door swung open and Pandora rushed in. “What’s going on? Is she worse?” Pandora dropped gracefully beside Nicola, cradling her hand. “We’ll fix this, I promise.”

David came back into the room, and the first thing I noticed was blood on his shirt. I poked a finger into his hard chest. “Where did this come from? Maude? Or a feeder? Huh?”

He stood, stoic and unmoving.

I scrutinized Pandora for bloodstains. There weren’t any. “Where’s my aunt?” I demanded again. I knew how to fix Nicola’s aliment, but I didn’t have the tools.

“Take her to the director,” Pandora ordered, her voice thick with emotion. “Do it, David. Maude’s been useless for the last six hours anyway.”

Pandora’s long sheet of blond hair covered her and her sister’s faces, giving them an illusion of privacy.

David huffed out a long-suffering sigh. “This way. Try to remember the measures we take are necessary.”

Heat burned my skin from the inside out. Necessary measures my ass. Another door whooshed open, but this time bright fluorescent lights filled the stark white chamber.

I stepped through the opening and shielded my eyes. Then I spotted her. Maude sat slumped over, her black wings crumpled and pinned to the wall. Blood trailed from her neck to her thighs, bite marks everywhere. Nathan stood to the side, blood dripping from his fangs.

My heart stopped. It took a moment to start breathing again, but when I did, I turned cold, hard eyes on David.

“Wil,” he said, reaching for me.

I stepped back, my muscles trembling with the effort to stay in control. Every fiber of my being screamed to stake him. If only I had one and the strength to execute such an act.

The only weapon I had was some small piece of his heart. “Don’t ever touch me again. I’m not your Wil, and never will be. Got it?”

He stared at me for a long time, then took a step back.

I ran to Maude’s side. Her head listed to the left. “Aunt Maude,” I soothed. “I’m here. Everything’s going to be okay now. Hear me?”

A soft moan came from the back of her throat.

I glanced up, finding Allcot standing beside his son.

“Unchain her.” I wrapped an arm around my aunt, pressing her head to my shoulder. She winced with the effort. “She risked herself to save me. She isn’t the mastermind behind this…” I waved a hand in the air. “…crazy situation.”

Allcot studied us curiously, almost amused.

Sick bastard.

“Come up with a solution to cure Nicola of her condition and I’ll free her.”

I started to argue but Maude lifted her heavy head, and her eyes focused. “Willow’s Influence. It’ll break the hold.” She collapsed back on my shoulder, her body limp.

“Maude?” I cried, shaking her a little. “Damn it, Maude, wake up!”

“It’s the pain killers,” Allcot said and took out his phone. A second later he commanded, “Bring it up.”

I stood. “You gave her painkillers?”

“Yes, young Willow. It became clear a while ago either she was telling the truth or she was too delirious to tell the difference. There was no need to keep her suffering. Pandora administered the drug ten minutes ago.”

I gaped. He was a total enigma.

The door swung open and a cart was wheeled in. Did every vampire move at warp speed? It was enough to give a girl vertigo. He thanked his servant and waved a hand. “A fresh dose of your Influence. Administer it to my sister-in-law.”

“Oh shit,” Phoebe mumbled and took a step closer. “This cannot end well.”

Chapter Thirty

I held up an impatient hand to silence Phoebe, my insides churning with betrayal and frustration. Never ever trust a vampire for anything. “Where did this come from?”

“Daniels,” Allcot said, appearing unaffected by my disrespectful tone. “We found it in his office and confiscated it.”

“And you didn’t think to hand it over to me?” Of course he didn’t. Despite his platinum cufflinks and overpriced wardrobe, he was no better than a street thug.

He gave me an indulgent smile. “Do you honestly think any vampire would give up such a valuable resource?”

I stared at David. “An honorable one would.”

David averted his gaze and focused on something over my shoulder.

The look confirmed my suspicion. He’d known about it. What else was he keeping from me? I turned to Allcot and bit back the threat to turn him in for harboring illegal enhancements. My complaint would fall on deaf ears. The board enforcement practically worked for him.

“Let’s do this, Willow,” Phoebe said moving toward the cart.

“No!” I cried and jumped in front of her. “Don’t touch anything.” If this breach was somehow reported, I didn’t want her prints anywhere near it. It would be a lot easier to explain mine. The truth was we did need the Influence. There wasn’t any at my shop since I’d been too busy trying to stay alive to make any. The one piece I’d had at home, I’d used on Maude. “I’ll do it.”

I grabbed a chocolate wedge, and as I moved past Phoebe, I whispered, “Get Talisen here. Maude’s going to need him.” I knew I should call him myself after the way I’d run out on him. Especially since I wasn’t asking for a small favor. This would put him on Allcot’s radar. Who knew what consequences that would bring? But I couldn’t risk the possibility of him turning me down. If he was really pissed, he might do just that. He wouldn’t dare say no to Phoebe, though. If he did, she’d find some way to force his hand.

Please don’t let me have messed up so badly he ignores the request. We’d never be able to move Maude without his healing powers.

Leaving Eadric and David behind, Phoebe and I slipped back into the other room. I kneeled beside Nicola and heard Phoebe talking to Talisen, but she was too far away and I couldn’t make out the words. Judging by her tone, it wasn’t going well. Come on, Tal. Don’t let me down now.

Pandora stood behind the settee, smoothing back her sister’s light hair. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to settle down. The last thing I wanted was a vampire’s sister under my control. Hell, I didn’t want anyone under my control. Now I’d have two people.

Just get it over with.

“Nicola,” I said softly.

The witch looked up at me through dazed eyes.

“I need you to eat some of this.” I held a small chunk up to her lips.

She twisted in protest and strained to sit up. Her legs kicked out and one foot landed right in the middle of my chest.

“Oomph,” I cried and fell back on my ass, jarring my still-sore wing.

Pandora placed a firm hand on Nicola’s shoulder. “You have to do this, Nikki. It’ll help.”

Nicola started to mouth words, and I leaned closer, trying to hear.

But Phoebe jumped in front of me, her hands held in front of her, casting a protective circle. Whatever spell Nicola had conjured crashed into Phoebe’s barrier, shattering it. Both spells dissipated into the ether.

Phoebe fumed, her fists clenched in tight little balls.

Pandora clamped a hand around Nicola’s mouth and nodded to one of the other vampire lackeys to restrain Nicola’s hands.

I touched Phoebe’s arm. “It’s the spell she’s under. I don’t think she can control herself.”

My roommate narrowed her eyes, glaring at the other witch. “If she tries to cast that death spell one more time, I’m going to put her in a coma.”

“Death spell?” I whispered. Vampire balls. She’d tried to kill me. I glanced down at the ruby ring on her right hand. “I thought her ring was empty?”

Phoebe nodded. “It was. Maybe she has another spelled piece of jewelry.”

Pandora ripped the ring off Nicola’s hand and handed it to Phoebe.

“It’s empty,”‘ Phoebe said. “Totally useless.” She handed it back to Pandora and eyed Nicola. “I don’t see any other jewelry, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have another spell hidden.”

That was it. All my reservations about using the Influence vanished. “Forget it. Once she’s Influenced, it won’t matter anyway.” I took a place next to Pandora, gritting my teeth against the burning sensation when her shoulder rubbed mine. “We’re going to have to force-feed her.”

Pandora nodded once, her big round eyes conflicted with emotion. She shifted her hand from Nicola’s mouth to cover her nose. The second Nicola opened her mouth, I stuffed the Influence in. She began to spit, but Pandora clamped an iron hand over her mouth and waited for her to swallow.

We all stood there staring, not certain the Influence had worked.

“Say something,” Phoebe said to me.

“Right.” Crap. I was the inventor of the stuff. You’d think I’d remember I had to give her directions. “Let her go,” I said to Pandora. I wanted to see how she reacted before I gave instructions.

Pandora nodded to her lackey, and they both released her. Nicola slumped on the settee, sighing as the tension seemed to roll off her. She stared at her wrists, inspecting the fresh bruises.

Poor thing. Though that’s what happens when you go throwing death spells around.

“Nicola.” I waited for her to meet my eyes. “The only thing I want you to do is tell the truth. Other than that, you are under no one’s control.”

She nodded slowly, then reached out and grabbed my hand. “It wasn’t Eadric. He had nothing to do with what happened to me.”

I smiled reassuringly. “That’s what I thought. Can you tell us what did happen?”

She shuddered. “The director came to speak to me at home.”

“Maude?” I asked, my heart pounding.

“Yes.” She gulped. Then her voice hardened. “And she brought that traitor vampire.”

Pandora moved to sit next to her. She held out her hand and Nicola took it. “Who?”

Nicola shook her head. “I don’t know. She called him Beals, but I’d never heard of him before. He’s old, but I don’t think as old as Eadric. Old enough to block my defensive spells.”

I glanced at my roommate. I thought she’d said Nicola was powerful. Even more powerful than Phoebe.

She seemed to understand what I was asking and shook her head. “She doesn’t have Arcane knowledge.”

Ah, advanced spell knowledge. No matter how strong she was, Nicola’s spells wouldn’t be as powerful as a Void agent’s. Arcane spells were highly classified and in a league of their own. “What happened when they came to your house?”

Nicola glanced at Pandora, who nodded. I hadn’t commanded her to answer my questions, only to tell the truth. She’d already been through hell.

She closed her eyes. “He bit me. And drank enough blood I passed out.” Her eyes flew open and she stared hard at Phoebe. “He was too fast for me to defend myself. Your spells are so much stronger than mine. I want you to teach me.”

“Whoa,” Phoebe said. “One step at a time.”

“All I had with me were a few paid-for death spells.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out another ring. Dropping it on the table, she shuddered. “I was spelled to use those. I won’t be vulnerable again. Please. I’m a fast learner.”

Phoebe tilted her head, taking in the slight-framed woman. “If I can get it sanctioned, I’ll do what I can.”

“What does that mean, exactly?” Pandora wrapped an arm around her sister. “Sanctioned?”

“Arcane spells are confidential. But if I can get someone to sign off on training Nicola, I will.” Phoebe tucked a lock of black hair—her own this time—behind her ear. “Considering the Arcane has violated her rights, I should be able to negotiate the knowledge as payment.”

Pandora met Phoebe’s gaze. “Good. If not, they’ll have me to answer to.”

Phoebe shrugged. “That’s their problem.”

I cleared my throat and faced Nicola. “Can you tell us what happened after you woke up?”

Nicola huffed out a humorless laugh. “Yeah. They’d compelled me. I had to do everything they said. Spy on Eadric. Break into your house. Look for information I could never seem to find. And every few days, that vampire showed up in the middle of the night to give me a new assignment and force-feed me that awful chocolate with the acid aftertaste. By then, I wasn’t a threat. Every time I tried to protest or tell someone, my brain stalled and my mouth said something else. It was like I was programmed and I had no choice in the matter.”

“And Maude was the leader?” Pandora asked, her fingernails ripping a hole in the velvet settee.

I leaned back, afraid of what Nicola might say. If she confirmed Maude was in charge, Pandora would never believe my theory.

But Nicola shook her head. “I don’t think so. The first time she came over, she took direction over the phone. She’s working for someone.”

“Not for,” I said. “She was compelled, just like you were. But the real question is what were they looking for?”

“Information.” Nicola stared at me, her eyes full of pity. “They wanted to know more about your vampire abilities. They seemed to think you’re not being one hundred percent truthful.”

Pandora tensed, panic ringing in her voice. “What did you say? Do they know?”

“Know what?” I asked.

Nicola shook her head quickly and spoke to Pandora. “No. Nothing. They never asked the right questions.”

With a heavy sigh, Pandora sank back against the cushions. “Thank the Goddess.”

“What aren’t you telling me?” My pulse quickened as unease settled in my chest. I knew the Void wanted to study me, but I hadn’t realized they thought I was hiding anything. What were they looking for?

Nicola glanced at Pandora, silently asking a question.

Pandora held up a hand and pressed a button on her phone. A second later she said, “It’s time.”

I stood, and took a step back. “What’s going on?”

Pandora tossed her phone on a side table. “You’re about to get a piece of your puzzle.”

The double doors opened with a loud creak. I turned, expecting Eadric or even David, but it was Talisen, his face pinched in anger.

“Tal,” I breathed and ran to his side. “Thank you for coming.”

He gazed down at me, a hint of concern in his conflicted expression, but then he gave me an impatient nod and stalked to Phoebe. “Where is she?”

Phoebe, ignoring his surly demeanor, tucked her arm through his and led him toward the room where they’d kept Maude chained. “I’ll be right back.”

My blood rushed to my head just thinking about my aunt’s condition.

The doors swung open again, and this time Eadric glided in. He’d changed into faded jeans and a red silk shirt. Ugh, was he sharing a wardrobe with David or something? He didn’t acknowledge me as he made his way to Nicola’s side. He gently touched her cheek. “Better, love?”

She nodded. “I didn’t want to betray you.” Angry tears sprung to her eyes. “I’d never do such a thing.”

He held on to her gaze. “I believe you.” Pandora moved to his side, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. The three of them looked very much the devoted family.

I felt like an intruder of the worst kind. I’d never given much thought to vampires having a family. But they clearly were. They weren’t just what they seemed on the surface: Lustful, greedy, self-serving. These two loved each other and Nicola. It was the first time I’d really seen the evidence.

Allcot stood and faced me. “Why didn’t your Influence neutralizer work?”

I frowned. It had. Sort of. But she’d been spelled as well. Or had she? What did she say? They’d forced her to eat chocolate with an acid aftertaste. My Influence didn’t have any unappealing flavor. I’d never sell something that wasn’t heaven on the taste buds. “I think I know the answer, but let me confirm first. I’ll be right back.”

I ran to the other room where Talisen was hovering over Maude. Her eyes were half-open as she murmured something to him.

The lights had been dimmed in the white room, but it was still entirely too harsh on my eyes. I shielded them and moved to stand on the other side of the reclining chair Maude now lay in.

“Not now, Willow,” Talisen said, running his healing stone over Maude’s raw wrists.

“I’m sorry,” I said to him, hoping he realized I was apologizing for more than just interrupting him. “Really sorry.”

He gave his head a tiny shake and went back to work.

“Maude?” I clasped her other hand gently.

Her eyelids fluttered and she focused on me. “Willow? Is that poor girl okay?”

“I think so. Listen, do you know what the vampire was feeding her? It doesn’t sound like the Influence I make.”

She gave me a tiny nod. “The lab-modified Influence.” Her breathing became heavy as she struggled to get the words out. “More powerful than yours. Harder to undo.”

“And that’s why you suggested my Influence. It cancels out the lab-modified version in a way my neutralizer can’t?”

“Yes. Sort of.” Her eyes closed and she gave a muffled groan.

“Willow.” Talisen’s harsh tone made me step back.

“What?” I asked.

“Go away. I need to concentrate.” He turned his back, rummaging through his healer bag.

“Sorry,” I said again, my voice so low I wasn’t sure he heard me. I left and Phoebe followed.

“He just needs time,” she said as we moved back into Eadric’s sitting room.

I hoped she was right. He’d come, hadn’t he? It was a start. I sat in a chair opposite Nicola. “They fed her modified Influence. The Arcane has had scientists working on duplicating it. None are sanctioned for use because they’re too dangerous. Though it’s not hard to see why someone in a position to abuse their power might prefer the more dangerous, illegal version.”

“Indeed.” Eadric stood. “It’s time I paid my part of the bargain, Ms. Rhoswen.”

I got to my feet. “Paid?”

“Information. Follow me.” He strode toward the double doors.

I signaled to Phoebe and we followed him out into the hall. A few doors down, he unlocked a nondescript oak door and held it open for us.

I hesitated, not at all sure I wanted to enter a room he kept locked.

“Trust me, Ms. Rhoswen, you want to see this.”

Phoebe brushed past me with her eyebrows raised. I steeled myself and followed her. The room was really a suite with two overstuffed chairs and a matching couch, not at all like Eadric’s private rooms with the fancy Louis XVI style furnishings.

A door slammed in another room, and a small strawberry-blond toddler came running out, holding a stuffed elk and shrieking with delight.

“Beau,” a female voice called from the other room. “Come back here, you monster.”

My heart skipped a beat, then pounded so hard I thought it would jump out of my chest. I knew that voice. And when she appeared in the doorway, she froze, staring at me with her mouth open.

“Carrie?” I looked from the small, curvy witch Beau had intended to marry to the little boy now clutching her leg.

“Willow.” She seemed to recover and smiled tentatively. Glancing down at the toddler, she put a hand on his head. “I guess it’s about time you met your nephew, Beau Junior.”

Chapter Thirty-One

I sank down into an oversized chair and clamped a hand over my mouth. Beau had a son. I had a nephew. And Carrie never told us.

“Beau,” Carrie said. “This is your auntie, Willow.”

The toddler clutched his mom’s leg and peered at me shyly.

I ignored all the questions straining to escape my mouth and moved to crouch in front of Beau. “Hi, sweetie.”

He tucked his head behind his mom’s knee, one eye peeking at me, and giggled.

I smiled. “You’re a charmer, just like your daddy.” Oh my God. Had Beau known? Why had Carrie kept him from us? And why the hell was she living with vampires? I glanced up at her, my heart aching for Beau and for myself. Neither of us knew his child.

“I have some explaining to do.” Carrie bent down and smoothed Beau’s hair. “Can you give your auntie a kiss?”

I held my arms out, and the toddler wobbled into my embrace. Hot tears burned my eyes. I blinked them back and turned my face, tapping my cheek. “Here.”

“Mwah!” He made a loud smacking sound, laughed, and ran back into the other room.

I stood. “He seems happy.”

Carrie nodded. “He is.”

“Did Beau know?” I held my breath, not sure what answer I wanted to hear.

She nodded again and sucked in a shaky breath.

Relief washed through me. Only a small hole remained in my heart. He’d kept this secret from me, and while I understood it was between him and Carrie, if I’d known, I could have been in his son’s life the past three years. Phoebe took a place beside me and silently clutched my hand in hers. I squeezed, grateful for the support.

Eadric sat on one of the plush chairs and gestured to the rest of us. “Let’s all take a seat.”

Phoebe and I shared the couch, and Carrie perched on the chair next to Eadric. She stared at her fidgeting hands.

“You said you were going back to Washington to be with your family after we lost Beau,” I accused Carrie. “Was that a lie?”

She bit her lip and shook her head. “No. I did go home for a few months. I wanted to stay with my sister, have Beau there, but I couldn’t.” Her voice wobbled. “It wasn’t safe for either of us.”

I tensed and grabbed the arm of the couch. “What does that mean—not safe?”

Allcot leaned forward, hands clasped. “You already know someone inside the Void is watching you.”

“Well, yeah. They’ve wanted to control me for some time because of the Influence, and now there’s the sunwalking thing.” I waved my hand, indicating I didn’t know what to make of the situation.

He shook his head. “No. They’re interested in your creation, but there are other ways to control people. Spells, blackmail, other illegal magic. This isn’t about the Influence. They’re much more interested in your abilities. Specifically the ones relating to vampires.”

I nodded. He was right about the Influence, of course. The Arcane had always been interested in it, but they hadn’t gotten serious about me until I started sensing vampires. “Yes, but what does any of that have to do with Carrie or my nephew?”

Phoebe sucked in a breath.

“What?” I asked her.

She gave me a pained expression and turned to Allcot. “Did her brother have the ability to sense vampires?”

“Of course not,” I said before Allcot could answer. “He would’ve told me. Besides, my abilities didn’t start showing up until months after we lost Beau. If they were the same, then it makes sense they would have shown up around the same time. We are twins.”

Carrie shook her head, her eyes full of sorrow and regret. “I’m sorry. He was going to tell you…” She wiped a single tear from her porcelain face. “But he never got the chance.”

“What…?” Beau had weird vampire abilities?

It’s not that I didn’t believe it was possible. It had happened to me, after all. But he hadn’t told me. And we told each other everything. A nagging seed of doubt tugged at my mind. He hadn’t told me his girlfriend was pregnant. “Phoebs? You knew something about this?”

She shook her head. “I guessed.”

I glanced from Eadric to Carrie. “Maybe you should start from the beginning.”

“Yeah. I think that’s a good idea,” Phoebe said and glared at Allcot. “And don’t leave anything out this time.”

He’d definitely known more than he’d let on. A lot more. I glanced toward the bedroom where Beau Junior had disappeared to. Allcot had been keeping my family from me.

Phoebe’s tone didn’t seem to register with Allcot. He rose and moved gracefully to the wet bar. Using a key from his pocket, he opened a cabinet and removed a bottle that looked suspiciously like wine. But when he poured the thick red liquid, it was clear the main ingredient wasn’t grapes. I wrinkled my nose in disgust.

“The beginning,” he said, corking the green bottle, “actually starts many generations ago.” He held up another bottle, this one presumably actual wine, in offering. We all shook our heads. No way was I drinking anything that could impair my comprehension.

He took his seat again. “The firstborn males in the Rhoswen line are quite unlucky. If you look closely at the family tree, you’ll find none of them make it past twenty-five years.”

“That’s not true,” I said automatically, even though doubt plagued me. My dad and Beau certainly hadn’t. But what about my grandfather? He was still with us, living out in Montana somewhere. “Gramps did,” I challenged.

Allcot shook his head. “I assume you mean Charles Rhoswen.”

“Yes. He’s still alive and well, working for the forestry department.” Being fae, he knew every inch of the backwoods and was often called when hikers went missing.

“I’m sure he is. But he wasn’t your father’s father, and not the firstborn. That was Erwin Rhoswen, and when he died, his younger brother Charles married your grandmother and raised your dad.”

Stunned, I sat back. How come no one told me that before? Then I narrowed my eyes and studied Allcot. “How do you know all this about my family?”

He lifted one shoulder in a tiny shrug. “Since Carrie came to us, I’ve done a lot of research.”

I’d have to look into that. If what he said was true, it meant Beau Junior was in serious danger. I inched forward on the couch. “And that’s why you’re watching over my nephew? To keep him alive?”

Allcot lifted his chin in acknowledgement.

“Why?” It’s not that I didn’t appreciate his protection, but at what price? Would Beau Junior be beholden to him the rest of his life?

A tiny flash of irritation flashed over his features and then vanished. Was he irritated I’d questioned him, or just tired of being under constant suspicion? I shook off the thought. He’d created the situation; he could live with it.

“Carrie is Nicola’s cousin. She’s family.” Allcot got up to refill his glass.

The hair stood up on my neck. That meant they thought of Beau Junior as family. And Allcot would be a permanent fixture in his life. I rubbed at my throbbing temple, trying not to think too much about the implications. Then a slow terror gripped my gut. “The person who killed Beau knows about Beau Junior? That’s why you came here?”

Carrie shook her head. “Once Eadric figured out what was going on, we faked a miscarriage. As far as we know, he has no idea Beau Junior exists. But if he found out…”

She didn’t need to continue. No wonder she lived in hiding.

“There’s still the question of why.” Phoebe said, breaking the silence. “Why are all the firstborn Rhoswens murdered?”

I sucked in a sharp breath. I’d long believed Beau’s death wasn’t an accident. But to hear the words spoken so plainly, it was like a jagged knife right in my chest. Phoebe clutched my hand again. It didn’t help.

“Because,” Allcot said carefully. “They all have the power to turn vampires into daywalkers.”

My limbs went numb. I sat frozen on the couch, staring at Allcot as he poured another glass of thick red liquid.

“Willow?” Phoebe waved and scooted closer. “You all right?”

My chest started to ache. What had happened with David hadn’t been a fluke. But how did I possess that power? I wasn’t a male or the firstborn. Beau had arrived two minutes before I had.

“We think once Beau died,” Carrie said, answering my unspoken questions, “his power somehow transferred to Willow through their twin connection. And that’s why Asher is stalking her.”

My head started to spin, and I sucked in a deep breath. Someone named Asher was after me?

Allcot took his seat again and concentrated on me. “Asher’s the vampire you met in the cemetery the day you got home from California.”

“But if he’s a vampire, why would he want to stop such a thing?” Phoebe asked.

Eadric angled his head toward a painting depicting a family from what looked to be the sixteenth century. There was one man and three grown women, all very pale and all dressed in layers of ornate clothing, jewels at their throats. “That’s Tobias Sleford and his mistresses. He was the King of the Vampire Royal Court at the time.”

Some sensation returned to my fingers as I dug them into my palm. One thing I had learned during my run as a Void agent was vampire history. Sleford had been a man of the cloth before he’d been turned. His reign had largely consisted of instilling order in the vampire community—until he’d disappeared one hundred and fifty years later. It was suspected he’d been murdered, and the vampire royalty line was abolished. He’d been responsible for setting the groundwork for vampires, fae, witches, and humans alike to coexist peacefully.

“And?” Phoebe tapped her foot.

“Asher used Sleford’s teachings and twisted them into his own perverse reality. He believes he’s a prophet sent back by Sleford to segregate humans and vampires. In other words, he feels humans are superior to every other race and it’s his job to keep humans safe. Naturally, Asher feels daywalking vampires are a mortal threat to humans. His band of followers has been taking out all fae who are known carriers of the sunwalking magic.”

I gasped. “There are more of us?”

He shook his head. “Not that anyone’s aware of. It’s an extremely rare gift. I only know of one other family, and unfortunately that line was terminated about sixty years ago.”

Terminated. Goddess above.

“And he knows about Willow?” Phoebe started to pace, nervous energy flowing off her in waves. “We have to get her out of here. Out of the country, maybe.”

“Now wait just a minute—”

Allcot put his hand up, stopping me. “According to our intel, he’s only keeping an eye on you as a person of interest. If you have a son, Asher would want to know about it. Since you’re Beau’s twin and he’s unaware of Beau Junior, he has reason to believe you could pass the gene to your offspring. As long as he’s unaware of your ability, you should be able to keep living a normal life.”

“But what about the one that tried to jump me that night outside my shop?” He had been a vamp, after all.

“I suspect he’s one of Asher’s people. He may have been trying to impress his master or you might have snuck up on him. No way to tell. What we do know is if Asher finds out about your abilities, he will come after you.”

Phoebe stopped pacing and balled her fists on her hips. “She can’t stay here. It’s too dangerous.”

I stood, meeting her toe to toe. “I’m not going anywhere. I have a life here. I won’t live it hiding out somewhere. Plus, Beau Junior is here. He’s my family.”

Phoebe glanced from me to Allcot and gritted her teeth. “Fine. But first thing tomorrow I’m signing you up for those self-defense classes.”

“Deal.” I smiled. This time I’d go. After the week I’d had, I was dying to. Literally.

Phoebe eyed Allcot. “If you don’t think Asher will kill her, then why did you have David tell Maude there was a death threat?”

“It’s not a total lie. If he learns the truth he will kill her.” Allcot raised his crystal glass to his lips. “And I had my reasons for wanting one of my people on the inside.”

Phoebe snorted. “I bet.”

I started pacing again. “But you didn’t know about my ability then.”

“Willow.” Carrie grabbed my wrist, stopping me. “We knew about your ability to sense vampires. I was afraid for you. It was my idea to have Davidson look after you.”

I dropped to my knees in front of her, betrayal and hurt taking over my logical mind. “Why didn’t you just tell me?” I demanded. “We were close. As close as sisters.” I couldn’t stop the tears from streaming down my face. “You just… left, and took little Beau with you. How could you do that?”

Her eyes glistened with her own tears. “I was afraid. For my child, for you, for all of us. I knew about Beau’s ability. He told me, and deep inside I knew his death wasn’t an accident, but I didn’t know what to do about it. So I went to Nicola, knowing she had access to Eadric and his protection. That’s how I ended up here. They’ve been watching over us ever since. And now you. Since the day David walked into your shop a year ago.”

Eadric clucked his tongue in disapproval, and I gaped. I glanced back at Phoebe. “Did you know any of this?”

She shook her head, appearing just as surprised as I was. Though I don’t know why. As soon as we’d walked into the room I should have made the connection. It was too much of a coincidence to believe I’d ended up with David by accident. He’d lied to me for over a year. Bastard!

This was all too much. “I have to get out of here.” I turned to Phoebe. “Let’s take Maude home.” I glared at Allcot, daring him to protest. But he didn’t.

He inclined his head. “I trust you will not speak of Carrie or Beau to anyone?”

“I need to tell Talisen.” There was no way I was keeping this from him. Better Allcot understood that. “He’s been searching for answers to Beau’s death. If he keeps digging, he’ll call attention to himself unnecessarily. I can’t have that.”

The vamp leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. I almost thought he’d argue, but then he said, “That’s acceptable if you put a silencing spell on the information.”

I cringed. Tal would hate that. No one ever volunteers to have their free will taken away. But there were other people’s lives on the line. “Fine.” He’d understand. I hoped.

I moved to the open door leading into Beau’s bedroom. He sat in the middle of the room, playing with a giant soft puzzle. I met Carrie’s eyes and waved a hand toward him. “Is it okay?”

She gave me a small smile and nodded.

Thank you, I mouthed.

Joining my nephew, I sat next to him, handing him puzzle pieces as he worked out where they should go. His eyes and chin were the same shape as Beau’s, but his nose was wider and cheeks puffier. I wondered if he’d grow into Beau’s rugged good looks. I hoped so. Hoped with all my heart.

“Auntie!” he cried in exuberance, jumping to his feet.

“Yeah?” I laughed at his sheer joy as he ran around me in a circle.

He held out a brown-and-white plush dog. “Kiss.”

I clasped my hands around the softest stuffed animal ever made and gave it a hug. “What’s his name?”

“Mama named her.” He moved in, snuggling me close.

“Oh? And what name did Mama give her?” I smoothed his unruly red-blond hair.

“Willa.”

“Willa?” I parroted.

“No, like Auntie. Willa!”

“Willow?” I asked, choking back the emotion in my throat.

He laughed. “Yeah, like Auntie.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

When Phoebe and I returned to Allcot’s office, Maude was resting on a couch and other than visible exhaustion, she appeared as good as new.

“Looks like Talisen worked his magic,” I said, sitting next to her.

She placed a hand on my leg. “He did. Thank you for asking him to come here.”

“Of course.” I glanced around at the deserted room. “As soon as he gets back from wherever he went, we’ll get you home.”

She sat up, fluttering her newly healed iridescent wings. “He already left. Said he had somewhere to be.”

He left? What the heck was so important he’d leave without even checking on me? We were in a vampire den, for God’s sake. Was he that angry? Had I pushed him away with my no-dating mantra? I suppressed a frustrated sigh. I’d only been trying to protect our friendship. Looks like I failed.

“It seemed important.” Maude patted my leg. “You’ll work it out.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I lied. Rolling my tense shoulders, I turned to my aunt. “But we do need to figure out what we’re going to do about Felton.” I paused. “Maude?”

“Yes?” She met my gaze with tired eyes.

“Why is he so obsessed with studying me?” What I really wanted to know was why she’d been so mean for three years, but now wasn’t the time to discuss my hurt feelings. In all likelihood the prolonged use of the tainted Influence was the main cause. “I mean, I’ve worked for the Arcane for the last two years. Why now?”

“Oh, honey. He’s always been obsessed with your abilities. It was my job to explore and exploit them to best further his cause.”

“Which is?”

She shook her head. “Eliminating vampires. Your ability to sense them is an odd, but useful, trait. As long as you were helping our agents track down their suspects, he was happy to leave it alone. But when he found out a vampire was interested in protecting you, he went a little crazy and started investigating our family history.”

“And he found out about my family line?”

She nodded gravely. “Yes. I’m sorry.”

“Who told him?”

“No one. He found top-secret records, I think. I’m not sure. After his discovery, he ordered me to take you in for extensive testing. And by then you’d already transformed David. He couldn’t stand the thought of any more daywalkers. If your friends hadn’t broken you out, I’m certain you would have been incarcerated for good.”

I sucked in a breath.

“Do you have any incriminating evidence we could use to bring charges against him?”

She nodded slowly. “Yes, I think I have some memos written in his hand, and I could be drug tested. The Arcane Influence leaves traces.”

“And modifies personalities?” I couldn’t help myself.

She frowned. “Yeah, but it was more than that. I was controlled for so long, eventually Felton’s evilness started to weave its way inside me.” Tears glistened in her stormy eyes. “I was lost.” She took my hand. “Thank you for freeing me.”

I choked out a laugh. “I was trying to free myself. But I’m glad you’re back. Mom is going to be ecstatic.”

“Me, too, sweetie. Me, too.”

I stood. “Okay, then let’s go so we can start the legal process. The longer Felton’s out there, the easier it will be for him to manipulate the situation.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Nathan said from behind me.

I reeled, finding him lounging in the open doorway, one foot hooked over the other. How long had he been there? It couldn’t have been long. I would have sensed him. I shifted to stand in front of Maude. This was the vamp who’d tortured her. I’d be damned if I let him near her again. “Get out of here.”

Nathan raised his eyebrows and his lips quirked up in amusement. “I live here.”

I glanced back at Maude. She was staring at him with hate pouring from her blazing eyes. Every muscle was tensed and she appeared ready to pounce. I had to get him out of there before she snapped.

“What do you want?” I asked through clenched teeth.

“Nothing. But you should know we have Felton locked up. He won’t be an issue.”

Realization dawned. “He was captured when they broke David out, wasn’t he?”

He nodded. “He won’t be a problem for you again.”

I stalked up to him. “I want to see him.”

“Why?”

“To find out…” Did Nathan know about all the details? I had no idea, but I wasn’t telling him. “I need to ask him some questions.”

“No one else knows. He only told Maude.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Knows what?”

“Your family history.”

My eyes went wide. Did everyone know? How was I going to keep this a secret when the entire vamp population was on to me? “Allcot told you then,” I stated in a flat tone.

“I’m part of Carrie’s security team. Only a handful of us know what’s going on.”

“Oh.” Well, wasn’t that peachy? “I’d still like a word with Felton. Take me to him.”

He leveled me with his neutral stare. “Sorry. Eadric’s ordered the prisoner isolated. You can request a formal visitation, but it probably won’t be granted.”

Shit. I glanced at Maude, now standing. I wasn’t sure if she wanted to back me up or bolt. The vamps had definitely tortured Felton, just as they had Maude. The thought made my stomach roll. Not that he didn’t deserve it. Felton would’ve done unspeakable things to me, and he’d kept Maude under the Influence for years. Still, I hated that the vamps had taken matters into their own hands as if we didn’t have a legal system in place.

Oh Lord. The legal system. This was New Orleans. On second thought, it was probably better if Allcot kept him in the dungeon. Or wherever they had the bastard chained up.

I stretched and winced, forgetting my wings needed time to heal. “Fine. Maude, let’s go.”

No one paid any attention to us as we left. Outside, I spotted Phoebe crushing a cigarette with the toe of her shoe. I swallowed the automatic admonishment poised on my tongue. It had been a bad week. Just as I approached her car, David appeared.

“Willow.” He stood behind me with his hands stuffed in his jeans pockets.

“What?” I demanded, so angry I could stake him right there. He’d known about Beau the entire time we’d been together. Listened to me talk about how awful it was to not know what happened to him. Knew how much it hurt. And he’d had the answers the entire time.

Asshole.

Everything had been a lie. He’d used me. Dated me after being assigned to me. Spent time in my bed. My skin crawled with the now-tainted memory. I couldn’t even look at him. “Go home, David. I don’t need your protection anymore.”

“Wait.” He glanced over at Phoebe, either not catching the venom in my voice or choosing to ignore it. “I’ll take her home.”

Phoebe met my gaze, her eyes raised and amusement tugging at her lips.

“No, you most certainly will not.” I scowled and pulled the car door open, glaring at David. “I’m not your property. Stop acting like you own me.”

He held his hands up in surrender. “I never thought you were.” He sighed. “Please, Willow, I have a few things to explain.”

I huffed. “I don’t want to hear it.” Though I was more than mildly curious how he planned to explain away a whole year of our lives, a sudden breakup, and secret orders to keep an eye on me.

My aunt leaned in and whispered, “It might be better to get this over with now, rather than later.”

I stared at her, my mouth open. Was she kidding?

She shrugged. “It’s been my experience vampires don’t give up easily. If you let him have his say and then tell him to stick a stake where the sun doesn’t shine, he might start to get the picture.” Smirking at David, she climbed into the front seat of Phoebe’s car.

David shifted to move in front of me, blocking Phoebe and Maude from my line of sight. Regret and something close to shame flashed through his tortured eyes. “Please, Willow. One car ride, and if you tell me to get lost, I will.”

“Wil?” Phoebe asked, poking her head around David’s frame.

I stared at my ex, anger coursing red-hot beneath my skin. But when I gazed up at him, a piece of me softened. And I hated myself for it. I waved a hand at Phoebe. “Go on. I’ll be right behind you.”

“You’re sure?” She glanced up and down the street, eyeing the traffic jockeying for her spot. “We could wait.”

“And have that car block traffic for ten minutes?” I gestured to the red Mustang hovering behind us. “I don’t think so. Go on home. I’ll be right there.”

“If you say so.” A second later, the car squealed away from the curb, leaving a rubber trail on the road.

I turned to David. “Where’s your car?”

He started to say something, but my expression must have made him change his mind because he closed his mouth and started walking. “This way.”

I stayed a few steps behind him as I followed him down the block and around the corner to a small parking lot.

He pushed a button on his remote. A silver Mercedes beeped twice and then he opened the passenger door for me.

I wasn’t impressed. No amount of chivalry was going to salvage this fake relationship.

Once inside the car, David sat there, staring out the windshield, hands wringing the wheel.

“It’d help if you put the key in the ignition,” I said.

He clutched the wheel tighter. “It wasn’t a lie.”

“What wasn’t? That you happened to wander in my shop that day? Or that you were just a regular guy working the oil rigs? Or maybe that you weren’t close to your family and that’s why you never talked about them? Or was it that you were being transferred to Texas, and it was better we broke it off rather than have a long-distance relationship?” I sucked in a breath. “No, it’s none of those. Because clearly, those were all lies!”

He turned to me, his eyes swimming with regret. “I know I owe you an apology.”

“An apology? Do you think I could ever forgive the fact that our entire relationship was fabricated? That you knew the answers to my past but you hid them from me?”

Pain flickered over his features, then in one blink, he was stoic and controlled, exactly the way he always was. “I love you.” His voice came out strong and sure.

I jerked in my seat, ready to explode at the audacity of his statement, but he cut me off before I could get the words out.

“That was never a lie. The rest… Well, you know why I didn’t tell you the rest.” He shoved the key in the ignition. “I’m not asking forgiveness. I’m not asking anything. I only wanted you to be certain of that one thing.” He turned to meet my frozen gaze. “I never lied about loving you.”

Stunned, I sat there, speechless while he put the car in gear and finally took me home. I stayed silent the entire ride. I had nothing to say. What could I say? I’d loved him. More than I wanted to admit to myself. Even if he hadn’t turned vampire, his lies had canceled out everything we’d shared. Trust was everything, and he’d broken mine. Not to mention he’d turned into something I didn’t understand. Sadness slowly melted away the rage that had been feeding my resolve. When he came to a stop, he killed the ignition.

“David,” I said tentatively.

He watched me, waiting patiently.

“You bit Maude against her will, and who knows who else.” I gazed out the window, focusing on nothing. “I can’t… I mean, it’s not right.”

I could feel his eyes on me, and the silence stretched out in front of us. When I couldn’t stand it any longer, I turned to say goodbye, but he caught my hand, resignation lining his tired expression.

“That was Nathan. It’s his job to coerce cooperation from our enemies.” His voice was low, but not apologetic.

“And you just happened to be there? I saw the blood on your shirt.”

“What do you want me to say?” His controlled, emotionless mask slid back into place. “I was there. I didn’t stop it. We believed she was working for Asher. What did you expect us to do?”

“I don’t know. Maybe find some proof before you tortured innocent people,” I snapped.

He frowned. “Torture was the fastest way to get answers.”

I shook my head. “And you got nothing, right? Other than finding out Felton was the real director. And where’s he now? In another torture chamber?”

David closed his eyes, clearly not wanting to discuss this. But when he opened them, he met my determined gaze. “He’s been eliminated.”

Fear made my blood run cold. Goddess above. “He can’t be. Nathan said I could request a visitation.”

“Nathan has not been told of Felton’s fate. Father made the decision a short while ago.”

Of course he had. Felton had messed with Nicola. Son of a bitch! He should’ve stood trial. Every time the vamps took the law into their own hands, the rest of us lost a tiny bit more of our personal rights. Their disregard for all authority was so common it had become accepted, expected even. How long until the vampires had complete control of the city? They almost did now.

I stared at David as if really seeing him for the first time since he’d changed. He was vampire. A product of Allcot’s upbringing. We were polar opposites in every way. One life, one death. Physically and spiritually.

“This,” I said, waving a frustrated hand to indicate the two of us, “can’t happen. Besides the political landmines, I can’t stomach what happened tonight.” What you’ve become. I let out a hollow laugh, realizing I’d known the whole time whatever was between us had died the moment he’d turned vampire. The David I’d known had never been real.

“I know, Wil. I know.” He got out of the car and came around to open the door. He held out his hand. I hesitated out of habit. He hung his head. “I can’t change what’s happened. I respect your decision, but you should know, I’ll always be here, ready to stand by your side. I’ll always be your friend, whether you want me to be or not.”

My heart cracked a little, and I slid my hand into his large one. The coolness numbed my fingers, but I didn’t care. This was the last time I’d let him touch me. I was still pissed as hell, but vulnerability wasn’t something I’d seen in him before. All it did was make me sad.

I moved up the front walk, and our hands disconnected in slow motion. “Good night, David.”

“Good night.” He waited for me to get inside and then sped off into the night.

I leaned against the closed door, catching my breath. So many emotions in one day.

“Did you cut off his balls?” Phoebe asked from the living room couch, lying under a cream-colored throw. A cup of what I’d bet my last dollar was Chimney Bark sat on the end table next to her.

I smirked. “It’s over.”

“Good. Talisen’s waiting for you in the kitchen.”

The tension instantly drained from my shoulders. Then guilt and trepidation took over. What would he say? The temptation to hole up in my bedroom was strong, but I couldn’t put off talking to him. And right then, I needed my best friend. I started up the stairs and asked Phoebe, “Where’s Maude?”

“Resting in my room. I offered it to her for the night. Talisen said she might need some restorative fae thing later. He said he wanted to keep her close for a few days, then she’s going to go back to her place. But not before I search it for all evil-director paraphernalia or tampered edibles.”

I smiled. “That’s kind of you.”

She shrugged. “She’s your aunt.”

“Thanks, Phoebs.”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s what I do.”

I grinned.

Nervous energy trickled its way through me as I slowly climbed the stairs to the second floor. What would Talisen do once he knew the truth about Beau? Would he go back home? The mystery was solved. There was really no need for him to stay. A hollow ache filled my chest. I didn’t want him to leave. Not yet.

I rounded the corner and stopped in the doorway, watching him scoop varying sizes of cookie-dough balls onto a baking sheet. Link was curled up close to his feet. I smiled, noting the batter covering the counter. “Looks like you could use a baking lesson,” I said, keeping my tone light.

He glanced down at the mess in front of him, then grinned. “They’re definitely not Martha Stewart style, but wait until their chocolaty goodness is melting on your tongue.”

My mouth watered. And not from the thought of eating his cookies. His easy charm combined with the flour gracing the front of his jeans made me want to… I shook my head. Never mind. I’d basically just broken up with David for good, and here I was thinking about undressing Talisen. I took a seat at the table. “I can’t wait.”

Watching him work, I said, “I thought you had something important to do. You left The Red Door awfully fast.”

“I did.” He scooped another large mound of dough into his spoon. “University business. I had to meet one of the professors for the project we’re working on. I’d already canceled twice. One more time, and I’m pretty sure he’d have cut me loose.”

Yikes! This was his career, and the only reason he’d miss an appointment was because of me. “I’m sorry. I hope everything’s okay.”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” A couple of minutes later, he popped the dough in the oven, set the timer, and rinsed his hands. He grabbed a couple of beers from the refrigerator and joined me.

I took a swig of the Turbo Dog he handed me. “I’m sorry about earlier. The way I bailed on our conversation and calling you to Allcot’s place. I know I put you in a tough position.”

His smile vanished. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have brought it up. Bad timing.” Reaching out, he grabbed my left hand, caressing my fingers. “But don’t think that conversation’s over.”

My heart did a flip-flop in my chest.

“And don’t worry about calling me to Allcot’s. The way I see it, I owe you an apology. I was still pissed you’d left, but after I saw your aunt… Well, you obviously had your priorities in order.”

“Tal, I—”

He held up his other hand. “Really. Let’s forget about it. Now, Phoebe says you have news.”

Right. I cleared my throat. “It’s about Beau.”

He stopped drinking mid-sip and slowly lowered his bottle. “I’m listening.”

I stared at our joined hands and took a deep breath. “I have something to tell you first.”

When he didn’t answer, I glanced up and met his patient eyes. He nodded.

My breath caught as a lump formed in my throat. Talisen always knew what I needed. Knew I didn’t need to be pressured, that I’d explain everything as soon as I found the words. He knew me. Sometimes better than I did. I swallowed. “I talked with David tonight.”

His eyebrows pinched in anger and he pulled back, releasing my hand.

A sharp pain tore through my heart. I wanted his hand in mine. But I had to get this out first. “I won’t be seeing him again.”

Surprise flickered over his face and he sat back, waiting.

“I mean… son of a… This is hard to tell you, you know.” I bit my lip and searched his face for some clue of what he was thinking.

He nodded slowly. “I guess it would be.”

It wasn’t much, but enough to keep me talking. “When David and I broke up, I was blindsided. I mean, I had no idea it was coming. Usually girls can sense when the relationship is going south. But I got none of that. Everything was fine, and then the next day I get a Dear Jane text message. I mean, talk about the worst way to break up with someone.”

“Brutal,” Tal agreed.

“Yeah,” I huffed out a laugh. “Anyway, then I was called home, and I had such a great summer hanging with you, I hardly even thought of him. I was doing fine.”

“Until you came back and found out he was a vampire?” His brows pinched again. “Wasn’t that enough? He’d turned vamp, for fuck’s sake, Wil.”

“I know. If you’d asked me four months ago if I’d ever get involved with a vampire, I would have scoffed. Laughed in your face. But…” I paused. “I wasn’t over him. I still loved him despite the changes.”

Talisen’s face fell, and a dark shadow clouded his deep green eyes. “Do you still… love him?”

The words hung in the air between us. Slowly, I shook my head. “I care about him. It’s hard not to. We have history, and I changed him into a daywalker.” I suspected because of that, we’d be tied to each other whether I wanted it or not, but I couldn’t tell Talisen that. Not right now. “But do I love him? No. The things I’ve seen him do make it impossible to be part of his world. Not to mention the lies. I can’t give my heart to someone like that.”

Talisen’s shoulders eased, and he reached for my hand again. His long fingers wrapped around mine, bringing warmth back into my being. “He hurt you.”

“He can’t anymore. I told you, his touch doesn’t affect me.”

“No, Wil. He hurt you.” Tal pointed to my chest. “You trusted him and he let you down.”

“Oh, that. Yeah.” He had, but it was more than that. The violence and the unjust way his father treated people. The way he thought nothing of human life if he thought someone wronged his family. And David accepted it. Went along with whatever Allcot said. It was disturbing and wrong. “I think he thought he was doing the right thing. Heck, maybe he was. I don’t know. I just can’t be part of his world. It isn’t me. You were right. I need life and he’s death.”

Tal squeezed my fingers. “I’m sorry.”

I chuckled. “No, you’re not.”

His lips twitched. “You’re right. I’m not sorry to hear you’ve come to your senses. But I am sorry about the way I acted. I’m also sorry you’ve been hurt.” His intense green eyes locked on mine and for a second, I swore I saw a flicker of joy. Love even.

My heart soared. “There’s one more thing.”

He pulled back again, but this time he didn’t let go of my hand.

“Nothing happened between me and David.” Much. “Not after he turned, anyway.” For some reason it was important to me that Talisen knew I hadn’t shared a bed with David.

Talisen’s smile came back in full force. “That’s good to know. I’ll keep it under advisement.”

I laughed at his obvious pleasure, then sobered.

Talisen’s grin faded and all seriousness returned. Once again, he understood me like no one else. “You need to tell me something about Beau.”

I took a deep breath. “He was murdered.”

Tal stared at me, his face suddenly blank of emotion. “That’s what we’ve always thought.”

“Now I know why.” I let the words hang in the air until Talisen leaned forward and grabbed my other hand.

“Why?”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you unless you agree to a silencing spell.”

His eyes narrowed with suspicion and then understanding smoothed out his features. “Allcot’s request?”

Sighing with relief, I nodded. “I know it’s awful.”

“It’s all right. Do what you gotta do.”

I jumped up and ran to my supply cupboard. A pinch of augmented dill and thyme would hold his tongue. “Everything we say for the next thirty minutes or so after you swallow these will stay between you and me.” I strode back to the table and handed them to Tal. “Okay?”

In answer, he swallowed the concoction and chased it with his beer.

I sat across from him, taking his hands in mine once more. Then I explained everything Allcot had told me, about the family history, Beau’s ability, Asher’s psychotic religious beliefs, and Allcot’s theory that the ability somehow transferred to me because I was Beau’s twin.

Talisen’s eyes went wide with disbelief. “Beau was killed because he could sense vampires? Feel them like you do?”

“Yes, but he also would’ve been able to turn vamps into daywalkers.” I pulled one hand back and started to pick at the label on my beer bottle.

“But he never said anything about it to me.” His brow furrowed.

“Me neither. But Carrie knew.”

“Carrie?” He straightened and his confusion turned to surprise.

“She’s here.”‘ I filled him in on the rest of the story, and by the end, silent tears leaked from the corners of my eyes. “My nephew’s name is Beau.”

“Oh, baby.” Talisen got up and pulled me to my feet. His arms came around me, holding me tight to him. He rested his chin on my head and lightly stroked my spine. “It’s been a really rough week.”

A laugh got caught in my throat and came out as more of a sob.

“Shh. I know it’s hard. But we have answers now,” he soothed.

I nodded, clutching his shoulders, willing him to stay there with me, forever. But I knew deep down he’d go home now. My fragile heart started to rip in two. He’d come to help me find out what happened to Beau, and now we knew.

“Did Carrie seem open to letting you spend time with Beau?” Talisen asked gently.

“Yeah.” I sniffed. “But we need to be careful. His life is at greater risk than mine if anyone finds out he exists. I can’t let anything happen to him.”

Talisen hugged me tighter, understanding this was all I needed.

Eventually the oven timer buzzed and pulled us apart. I took the oven mitt from Talisen, needing to distract myself for fear I’d burst into tears again. I set the cookies on a cooling rack and turned to face him. “What happens now?”

The worry left his face, replaced by serious eyes and a raised chin. “I’ll watch Maude tonight to make sure she doesn’t suffer any lasting effects from that piece of shit Nathan. You’ll finally take those self-defense classes Phoebe’s been harping about. I’ll finish what I started with the university here and then we’ll go back to our normal lives. We’ll figure everything else out as we go along.”

My heart sank. Go back to our normal lives. Mine here in New Orleans and his in Eureka. I was too chicken to ask how long he planned to stay, but he’d already been here a week. It couldn’t be much longer. “You’re right. Back to normal.”

It’s what I wanted. Right?

Tal gave me one more hug, kissed my temple, and headed out of the kitchen. “I’ll be in Phoebe’s room watching Maude if you need me.”

After he left, I scraped the biggest cookie off the sheet and stuffed it in my mouth. Despite the presentation, the warm chocolate melted on my tongue, and I decided they were the best damn cookies I’d ever tasted. Or maybe I was too distraught to notice the difference.

After scraping half a dozen cookies onto a plate, I snapped my fingers and Link and I headed off to bed. I only hoped my oak could heal my tattered heart while it rejuvenated my tired limbs.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Over the next three days, between the catch-up needed at The Fated Cupcake and Talisen’s meetings at the university, we only spent about twenty minutes together. And that had been while rushing around the house getting ready for our respective days. Absolutely zero time to discuss the future.

“I’m sure he’ll let you know when he makes his plans to go back to California,” Maude said from a stool in the middle of my lab. We were at The Fated Cupcake, working on an antidote to the modified Influence the Void had been producing under Director Felton.

“Yeah,” I agreed absently. I wasn’t at all sure he would. I’d tried bringing it up that morning but he’d brushed me off, dodging the question altogether. It was classic Talisen avoidance when he didn’t want to tell a girl he’d moved on. A hollow ache formed in my chest right where my heart should’ve been.

I suspected now that David really was out of the picture, his interest in me as more than a friend had vanished. Of course it had. The challenge was gone. And an invisible wall now stood between us. Exactly why I hadn’t wanted to cross that line.

I rolled my shoulders. “It doesn’t matter that much anyway. He can’t stay forever. He has a job in Eureka.”

Maude used a paring knife to chop up dandelion roots in a rapid motion. She paused. “You had a job there before you moved here. That didn’t stop you.”

I ignored the remark. Talisen had never shown any interest in leaving the redwoods. He was fae. It was in his blood. “I just want to know when, so I’m not surprised one day when I wake up and his duffel’s gone.”

“Understandable.” Maude glanced at the clock on the wall. “I’ve got to get to the Arcane building. President Fischer’s coming today to appoint the new Director of Ops.”

I pushed a piece of hair behind my ear. “Are you in the running?”

She shook her head. “I doubt it. Not after Felton managed to control me. Makes the entire Void branch look vulnerable.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ll continue to be a field agent, which is all I ever was to begin with.”

“Except everyone thought you were appointed after Felton supposedly stepped down.” The Arcane was keeping a tight lid on recent events, just as they always did, except this time Maude had made many enemies while being controlled and hardly anyone knew the real story. “You won’t have nearly as many resources to fight back if anyone comes after you as a field agent.”

“I have you.” She stood. “Don’t worry, little one. We’ll handle it.” She gave me a kiss on my cheek and headed to the door. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“I’ll be here.” I waved and the door shut with a soft click.

I spent the next thirty minutes moving the dandelion stems, blossoms, and leaves to separate jars and cleaning my work table. Tomorrow, I’d work on the first test batches of antidotes. It wouldn’t do me any good to start with a distracted mind. I logged the augmented plants, made a to-do list, and tacked the sheet of paper to my corkboard.

It was just as well Talisen was too busy to spend any time with me. I was way behind on business. We were completely out of Truth Clusters and Mocha in Motion. The Truth Clusters could wait, but not the Mocha in Motion. I grabbed a tray full of already augmented dried cocoa pods and a gallon of my hand-roasted coffee beans. After a trip through the industrial grinder, the mixture was ready to be brewed, using my secret blend of caramel-and-vanilla-infused liquid. I was bottling the concentrate when a soft knock sounded at the door.

“Come in,” I called, twisting the cap on a glass bottle.

“Willow?” Tami poked her head in. “You have a visitor.”

“Okay, I’ll be out in a minute.” I put the prepared drinks in the walk-in and wiped the counter down one last time. Back in the storefront, Tami was busy helping a customer and pointed to my office.

Who the heck would be in my office? Phoebe? No, she was busy delivering the new agent Maude had tried to saddle her with to the Baton Rouge office. She couldn’t be back already. Oh, no, David? It was still light out. He shouldn’t be visiting me, especially so blatantly. I scowled and yanked my office door open, letting it crash against the inside wall.

Talisen sat in the seat across from my desk, his eyebrows raised in amusement. “Tough day?”

I stopped short in the threshold. “Hey.”

He got up and gently pulled me into the room, closing the door behind us. “Hey, yourself.”

I let him lead me to the old, comfortable couch against the wall. “It’s been a while,” I said and sat next to him, stiff with anxiety.

“Just a few days.” He leaned forward, his hands clasped lightly.

Right. A few days after I’d told him my life was in danger, and I’d heard barely a word from him. “Yeah. Only a few days. Are you leaving?”

Surprise flickered through his eyes. “What makes you ask that?”

I shrugged. “You’ve been working hard to finish your business with the university. I figured you needed to get back to California.”

He sat back, studying me. “Do you want me to leave?”

I shrugged again, avoiding his gaze.

Talisen was quiet for a moment, then he chuckled. “You’ve pegged me all wrong. Again.”

“Huh?” I jerked my head up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

His face turned serious, almost angry. “It means you’re thinking the worst of me, as usual. Do you really think I’d leave you now? After finding out about Asher?”

“But…” I rubbed a hand over my eyes. “Where have you been the last three days?”

“Interviewing.”

“What? Here?” My heart started to hammer against my ribcage.

He nodded. “And apartment hunting.”

I sat up straight, hope and fear fighting for dominance in my chest. A tiny smile tugged at my lips. “You’re staying, then?”

He nodded, his eyes crinkling as he tried to hold back a smile. “Yes.”

I flung my arms around him, burying my head against his shoulder. Tears of happiness burned my eyes. His strong arms came around me and we sat together, holding on to each other as he stroked my hair. “Thank you,” I said, my voice muffled by his shirt.

“Shhh, there’s no need to thank me. After Beau died, I made a promise to myself I’d protect you. No matter what. That’s what I intend to do.”

Protect me? I pulled back and got to my feet, my fists on my hips. What was I, a charity case? “I don’t need a freakin’ baby-sitter.”

He gritted his teeth in clear exasperation and stood toe to toe with me. “Jesus! Stop that. I don’t want to be your damned baby-sitter.”

“Then what do you want?” I yelled, hurt and beyond frustrated.

He stared at me, shaking his head, and then laughed. Actually laughed at me. “I want to be with you. And only you.” He cupped my face with both his palms, his intense gaze boring into mine. “Don’t you get it? The reason I never stay with anyone is because I’m meant to be with someone else. It’s you, Wil. It’s always been you.”

Speechless, I gazed back.

“I know you heard me. You’ve got that look you get when you don’t quite believe what I just said.” He tilted his head down, his lips inches from mine. “Believe it.” Closing the distance, his warm, firm lips brushed lightly over mine. I opened to him, welcoming his slow and deliberate exploration.

He tasted of sweet cream and coffee. Goddess, he felt good. I clutched his shirt, my head spinning with his gentle, yet commanding, kiss. A kindling of wonder filled me as his steady hand cupped my neck and the other traced my jawline, tender and sensual at the same time. This was what love felt like. My full heart threatened to burst into a million pieces.

All too soon, he pulled back and brushed the hair out of my eyes. “Does Saturday at seven work for you?”

“Huh?” I stared up at him, dazed.

“Our first date.” He grinned and gave me another light kiss. “I’m asking you out. This is where you refrain from breaking my heart and say yes.”

I blinked and a slow smile claimed my lips. “Yes.”

“Good.” He caressed my cheek, taking me in.

Something inside me melted into a gooey mess.

His hand fell to his side. He took a step back as his cocky grin slid into place, and I had the distinct impression he somehow knew exactly what he’d just done to me. Damn him and his intuitive fae magic. Not fair. But the grin didn’t leave my face.

I cleared my throat. “Saturday, then?”

Grabbing the doorknob, he nodded, his eyes sparkling. “I’ll pick you up at seven. And if you’re lucky, I might even let you con your way into my new place by the end of the night.” He winked and disappeared back into the store.

I laughed and flopped back onto the couch. Link looked up from his place on his doggie bed. “I’m definitely in trouble now. Or at least my heart is.”

The door swung open and Tami bounded in. “Oh my God! Was that him? The infamous Talisen?”

I nodded, my cheeks starting to ache from my perma-grin.

“He asked you out, didn’t he?” She clutched her chest in a mock swoon.

“Yes. We’re going out on Saturday. But that’s not all. He’s staying. Permanently.”

“Oh, goodness.” She fanned herself. “You better buckle up, girlfriend, cause he’s hotter than high noon on a mid-July day.”

“You’ve got that right.” I flipped my calendar over, marked the date, and then counted backward. Four days until my first date with the man I’d been half in love with my entire life. Oh boy. This required serious planning.

I picked up my old-fashioned rotary phone and dialed. “Phoebs? Clear your schedule. There’s shopping to be done.”

***

Get the rest of the Crescent City Fae series here:
Irresistible Magic (Book 2, Crescent City Fae)

Intoxicating Magic (Book 3, Crescent City Fae)

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Author Bio

New York Times bestselling author, Deanna Chase, is a native Californian, transplanted to the slower paced lifestyle of southeastern Louisiana. When she isn't writing, she is often goofing off with her husband in New Orleans, playing with her two shih tzu dogs, or making glass beads. For more information and updates on newest releases visit her website at www.deannachase.com

Forbidden

Selene Charles

Welcome to Whispering Bluff, Tennessee. Where the guys are hot. The girls are sweet. And nothing is what it seems…

Flint DeLuca is sick and tired of moving. Her and her dad have moved three times in the past year. But that’s the life of a carnie. Even an ex-carnie like her. Her father swears this is the last move. All Flint wants now is to graduate from High School and put the carnival life behind her. Unfortunately, one of the two ain’t gonna happen. So now not only is she back in the life she can never seem to get away from, she’s also met this guy who pushes all her “I totally hate you” buttons.

Cain. No last name. Wears shades in school. Dresses entirely in black. And only speaks to her when he’s insulting her. She hates him. Hates him. And yet… there’s something about the Goth boy that draws her like a moth to flame. God, she can’t wait to graduate and get away from Whispering Bluff, only problem is she’s pretty sure her high school is infected by vampires. Cain might be one of them. And for some reason, she seems to be on their menu.

Sometimes High School really sucks…

Forbidden: Tempted Series, Book 1

Copyright 2014 Selene Charles

Cover Art by Damonza

Formatted by D2D

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This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Marie Hall, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in the context of reviews.

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Thank you for respecting the hard work of all people involved with the creation of this ebook.

Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Selene Charles.

Unauthorized or restricted use in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patent Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

Published in 2014 by Selene Charles, Hawaii, United States of America

When a butterfly flaps its wings in one part of the world, it can eventually cause a hurricane in another.

My mom told me that a long time ago.

I laughed. How could a butterfly possibly do such a thing?

She held my face and stared deep into my eyes…

“Because, Flint,” she said, “sometimes in life we do things. Things that don’t seem to matter at the time. But in truth, it’s just the beginning of the ripple effect.”

I wonder if she knew?

If she knew and was warning me? Because, looking back, it all started the next day.

The day she died.

~Flint DeLuca’s journal

Chapter One

“This is it.”

Flint stared into her father’s excited brown eyes as he slapped the folded newspaper down on the kitchen table, sending her spoon sailing through the air to land with a plink on the cheap linoleum tile.

Now, instead of eating a bowl of cornflakes, she was wearing the bowl of cornflakes.

Hissing, she reached across the narrow kitchen and snatched the faded blue dishrag off the sink to swipe at her I love sparkly boys shirt. She sighed, biting back an aggravated remark.

Like the fact that she’d had to babysit the Smith’s five-year-old twins two nights in a row just to afford it. “Dad,” she groaned.

He ran blunt fingers through his spiky hair. “Sorry, baby, sorry. But look.” He tapped the newspaper.

She smelled like milk. She couldn’t go to school smelling like this. First day of her senior year, just freaking awesome. Now what was she gonna wear?

Tossing the rag away, she glanced at the highlighted article. He’d circled it in red, as if she couldn’t have pieced together which article had made him this excited. Dad only loved three things in the world.

Mom. Her. And the circus. Especially a circus in need of fliers. Or trapeze artists as most non-carney folks called them.

She sighed. “I thought you said no more of this, Dad. After Mom—”

He clenched his jaw, ten days’ worth of stubble looking gray in the dimly lit galley kitchen. “I need to work, Flint. That’s what I know, that’s what I can do.”

It wasn’t easy for either of them. Mom’s accident. It’d happened a year ago, and Flint had finally stopped having the recurring nightmare of watching her mom plummet to her death from the fifty-foot-high tightrope. She missed her mom, but it was no longer the jagged ache it once was. More like a dull throb that twinged on rainy days.

And it rained most days.

But it was different for her dad. She didn’t think he’d ever get over it.

He’d started drinking again. He tried to hide it. She was pretty sure he didn’t want her to know he’d fallen off the wagon, but it was obvious when she’d come home and find him passed out on their ratty sofa, TV on and breath reeking of scotch.

He shifted on the balls of his bare feet, excitement coming off him in waves. She hadn’t seen him this happy in forever. The day they’d buried Mom, it was like a part of him had died.

She nibbled on her lower lip. “Did you call them?”

He nodded, grin cutting a huge path across his face. “Yup. Told them I was a catcher for fifteen years and mentioned that you were a pretty good flier yourself, but an even better tightrope walker.”

“No.” Flint jerked out of her seat and set her empty bowl in the sink. “I told you I won’t do it again.”

His eyes lost some of their luster.

She patted his upper arm, immediately regretting snapping at him. Being around Dad lately was a lot like being around a tomcat that’d been declawed, just a shell of his former self. “Daddy, you don’t need me there. I don’t have the same passion for that as you or Mom did.”

Such a lie. But the truth would devastate him.

He nodded, already distracted, likely itching to get things started. “Circuses always need catchers, right?”

“Yeah, Dad. I gotta go change my shirt.” She frowned down at the offending pale stain circling Edward’s name.

“What time does school start?”

“Fifteen minutes.”

“Better hurry then.” He reached into the fridge and grabbed a carton of eggs.

Flint turned on her heel, then stopped. “Dad?”

“Hmm?” He cracked two eggs into a sizzling skillet.

“Wait for me after school. I’ll go with you, ’kay?”

He smiled and she rushed off. Stupid milk stain, now she’d have to wear that hideous Tinker Bell shirt Nana had given her last Christmas. Which wouldn’t be so bad except that her grandmother had forgotten Flint had boobs now, and Tinker just so happened to be touching her wand to the tip of Flint’s right boob—a kaleidoscope of colors shooting like a firework out of the wand. Might as well just wear a sign that read “I’ve got boobs, feel free to look.”

Groan.

~*~

Whispering Bluff, home to the Tennessee State Conference finals football team, the Woodchucks.

Intimidating.

Flint hiked her book bag up on her shoulder, shuffling through the dense crowd of kids high-fiving and giving hugs. They all knew each other. She wished she knew just one person. Why did going to a new school always make her feel like she’d suddenly sprouted a third eye in the center of her head?

Cheerleader types were dancing in the halls, clapping and doing some sort of silly routine while conspicuously tossing flirty glances at the football jocks walking around in their letterman jackets.

Boys were leaning against lockers, sizing up the girls like they were some sort of lunch special. Someone catcalled, “Heya, red, what’s your name?”

Blushing hard, she shoved past a group of kids blocking her path.

“Hey!” a girl yelled.

“Sorry,” she muttered and pressed on.

When Dad had moved them—third time in a year—to Whispering Bluff, she’d been so not happy.

Wasn’t fair to go from LA to here—Nowheresville, Tennessee. She’d never even heard of Whispering Bluff until his finger had randomly pointed to it on his map.

The map. The equivalent of a Ouija board for him. Whenever he’d get that tingle that he’d stuck around long enough—really, whenever he’d start to feel the ghost of her mother resurface—he’d run far, far away. As if moving really helped… but whatever. Anyway, out would come the map. A finger-point later and they’d move on. He’d always been the restless type, which was why circus life had been perfect for him.

He was a true nomad in every sense of the word.

Dad was a big believer in karma and serendipity. A total hippie and prone to go whichever way the breeze took him. Which was usually no place cool, interesting, or remotely exciting.

Until LA. That place had been alive, and for the first time since Mom’s death, Flint had been able to breathe and laugh again. Felt like her life was finally starting to move forward.

Whispering Bluff felt a lot like ten giant steps back, and try as she might to be nice to her dad, Flint also was pissed. Pissed that she wasn’t yet eighteen, pissed she was stuck, moving from one crappy place to the next, pissed that no matter how hard she tried to get away from her past life, things always just seemed to circle right back around to the circus. It wasn’t Dad’s fault, but it wasn’t her fault either for feeling like she did.

Flint glanced at her sheet of paper. She had chemistry first period but couldn’t find it. It wasn’t like the school was huge, nothing like LA, but there were a lot of hallways. Like an obscene amount of them.

She’d already had to backtrack twice.

“I’m pretty sure you passed me a minute ago.”

“Huh?” She frowned, glancing up and smiling into a pair of warm brown eyes.

Skinny, with a smooth face and wavy brown hair, he seemed nice and friendly. “Hi.” He stuck out his hand. “My name’s Abel. What’s yours?”

“Flint DeLuca,” she said, shaking his hand, shivering at the touch of his cold fingers.

Lifting his brows, he glanced at the class schedule she held tight in her hand.

“You’re a senior? And new, right? Either that or you’re really into power walking.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “You know you did a total loop, right?”

She nodded. “Yeah.” Heat rose in her cheeks. “Why are the halls so long? I’m trying to find room 201, but I get to 200 and then the next one is 202?”

He laughed. It was a nice sound. Open and friendly, and the butterflies dancing in her gut eased off a bit.

“It’s because the teacher’s union was smoking crack when they designed this place. You’re actually supposed to be two hallways down. I can walk you, if you’d like?”

“That’d be awesome.”

The first bell rang and someone jostled into Flint’s back, pushing her into Abel. He gripped her by the shoulders. She turned to look at who it was and saw that it was a slim girl with short black hair.

The girl glanced at her with thickly bloodshot eyes before quickly turning around and disappearing back inside the crowd.

“What the eff?” She huffed at the girl. “Rude much?”

“C’mon.” Abel took her by the elbow. “Before we get run down in this stampede.”

Flint stuffed her schedule into her back pocket, turning to glare one last time at the girl who’d long since vanished.

“What grade are you in?” she asked a second later.

“Junior. My brother’s a senior too, even has your class. I saw his schedule this morning. This should be so much fun.”

She frowned. “How come I don’t like the way you just said that?”

Abel laughed, and again it was a really nice sound. Clear and rich. “Cain is…” Abel twisted his lips, gripped the black straps of his book bag tighter, then glanced at her from the corner of his eye and grinned. “Well, he’s Cain. You’ll see soon enough.”

He didn’t elaborate and she didn’t ask, but the cryptic comment did make her curiosity come out. Abel turned down a hall she hadn’t walked through earlier, probably because all the doors were labeled three hundred and up. Until the last one, room 201.

She snorted, glancing back down the hall. “Seriously?”

Abel was skinny. Pretty much nothing but skin and bones, and supertall. She wouldn’t be surprised if he weighed less than her one eighteen, and he towered over her five-foot-seven-inch frame by at least five inches. He wasn’t exactly swoon worthy, but when he smiled and flashed that deep dimple, it wasn’t hard to see that if he could ever put any meat on his bones, he’d be hotter than any sparkly vamp out there.

Course, his clothes could use some sprucing up—saggy jeans and yellow Doc Martens were a little old-school.

“Here.” He waved. “I’ve got lunch same hour as you. I’ll save you a seat.”

“Thanks.” She smiled.

With a final grin, he disappeared back into the colorful, buzzing hive of students.

“New meat.” Someone snickered from inside the classroom.

Pressing her lips tight, Flint walked in.

The teacher, barely out of diapers—with his baby-butt-smooth skin and light brown hair—smiled at her and said, “You must be Flint Deluca.”

She nodded mutely, trying to ignore the constant hard stares and chatter of her classmates.

He touched the tip of his nose just as the final bell rang. “Process of elimination since you were the last one in. And everyone else”—he eyed the class sternly—“I know from last year. Isn’t that right, boys and girls? So be nice.”

Girls twittered and a boy somewhere in the back of the class snickered. “Stupid name.”

Not the first time Flint had heard someone make fun of her odd name. She rolled her eyes.

“I’m Mr. Wickham, and welcome to twelfth grade chem. Now take your seat.” He turned his back to her, and picking up a piece of chalk, he started to draw something on the board.

Clearing her throat, wishing she could just crawl into a hole somewhere and die, she spotted the only seat available.

All the way in the back corner, and sitting next to it was a brooding giant of a boy, with muscles stacked upon muscles and wearing the darkest pair of shades she’d ever seen.

For a second she wondered why he hadn’t been forced to take them off.

Sighing, she walked between desks, tripping over a bright orange pair of Chucks. A black boy lifted his brows and put his thumb next to his ear and a finger by his mouth.

“Call me,” he mouthed.

And tripping her was the best way to flirt?

With a huff she scooted past, finally able to drop into her seat.

Why did teachers always feel like they had to do that anyway? Make it obvious that you were new?

For once she’d love to just walk inside, sit, and be left alone.

“Hello, class. Like I said earlier, I’m Mr. Wickham. This year we’ll be learning about…”

He was saying stuff, but she could hardly focus on it. She looked to her left, at the wall of muscle sitting silent as death beside her.

He was tapping his pencil on the corner of the desk, each tap pounding like the hard beat of her heart.

Dressed all in black. Black jeans, black Ozzy shirt, black boots with loose laces, black shades… the typical anti-jock, “don’t look at me or I’ll kill your kitten” cretin. But she liked the way he styled his hair—messy but kind of not—and then she noticed when he shifted that he had a tattoo. The bottom of it peeked out from under the edge of his sleeve.

From the little bit she could see, it almost reminded her of a shredded moth’s wing, but with a filigree pattern along the edge. It was strangely beautiful; she wondered what it actually was.

She licked her lips, body tightening and surging with crazy dips in her lower stomach. He had a nice jaw, square and all hard lines. Especially when he clenched it like he was doing now.

Suddenly she was aware of the growing hum of laughter. Glancing up, she looked into Mr. Wickham’s humorless brown eyes. He had his arms crossed and was giving her that look.

The one that made her want to slump farther down in her seat. Especially because all eyes were trained on her. Except Goth. He was still looking straight ahead.

“Ms. DeLuca, instead of making mooney eyes at Cain, pay attention. That way next time I call your name four times in a row, you might actually hear me.”

“Yes, sir,” she muttered, sinking into her chair, wishing she had a hoodie to cover her face with.

Oh jeez, could this day get any worse?

For the rest of the period, she refused to glance at Goth Boy, a.k.a. Cain, keeping her eyes firmly on the chalkboard in front of her.

But that didn’t mean she’d stopped thinking about him. It didn’t seem possible that friendly, scrawny Abel was brother to the antisocial, hot, ripped-muscle—did she mention uberhot —Goth boy.

She sniffed. He smelled good too. Like that woodsy cologne her mom used to buy Dad. Flint’s heart pounded as his pencil-tapping increased. Jeez, he smelled so good. She sniffed harder. It was crazy, but his scent literally seemed to be reaching out to her. If she could have gone into a lab and created her ideal cologne, that would be it.

“Ms. DeLuca.”

Flint jerked as heat crept up her neck and settled in her cheeks.

“One more time, and it’ll be detention.”

The class laughed.

Ugh. It was official, her life sucked.

Chapter Two

Flint was pretty sure this had to have been the worst day of her life. And it was only halfway over; she’d spilled some sort of blue liquid out of her beaker in chem class, making her hunter-green Tinker shirt look like it’d decided to take an acid trip. Then in gym, she’d tripped over her loose shoelace, taking a face-plant into the bright red wrestling mat.

She was never clumsy.

But she couldn’t stop thinking about Cain and that tap-tapping pencil. He hadn’t spoken a word to her all through chem, had refused to look at her even though she knew he could feel her staring.

He’d only tapped harder.

When the bell had rung, she’d gotten up, depressed and moody with no idea why. She’d been shoving books into her bag and when she’d turned, he was there. Standing in front of her. Breathing hard, smelling good, making her heart do some sort of stupid thing in her chest, and even though she couldn’t see his eyes behind the thick-as-smoke shades, she’d felt his glare all over her. Making her feel like she’d stepped through flames, making her tingle everywhere.

Flint had to try to remember how to breathe.

Then he was shoving past her, still without saying a word.

Now she was in the cafeteria, ready to say “screw it,” dump her food in the trash can, and wait outside on the bleachers for lunch to finish.

“Flint!” Abel cried, shoulder-bumping her and making her smile with relief.

“A friendly face.”

“You happy to see me?” His thick wavy hair slipped into his eye.

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Well, come on, I want to introduce you to my gang.”

Flint followed, laughing. “So does it make you guys cool to be sitting with a senior?”

He snorted. “No, it makes you cool to be sitting with us.”

His eyes twinkled and she liked him a little more.

A petite Asian waved at them. The weird flutters in her stomach started up again. It wasn’t that she was shy, but it was always awkward doing the whole “hi, I’m new” thing. You’d think after three moves, it would get easier. But it never did.

It wasn’t until Flint dropped into her seat that it dawned on her the table next to theirs was full of Goths. Black-wearing, thickly muscled ones. All of them sporting shades, and at their silent center… sat a very brooding Cain.

“Rhi couldn’t make it,” the Asian girl said from the corner of her mouth.

Abel rolled his eyes. “Lemme guess, working on her routine or something?”

“Or something.”

Flint swallowed hard, back running thick with goose bumps as she felt the force of Cain’s heated stare penetrate her thin cotton shirt.

The Asian girl smiled and held out her hand. “Hey, I’m Janet!” she chirped, flashing a deep right dimple. She wore cat’s-eye glasses and was dressed in a colorful blue-jean skirt and cream top. Her bangs were blunt-cut and straight, and her hair was beyond perfect. Beautiful, black, and thick. So the antithesis of Flint’s wild auburn waves.

Grateful to have something to focus on other than Goth Boy, Flint smiled weakly at Janet.

“Hey,” she said, shaking hands.

The tinkling jangle of Janet’s ornately decorated golden wristbands drew her eye. Different from anything Flint had ever seen before, they barely moved, almost seeming to be painted on, and yet they definitely made a chiming noise. Which was weird.

Flint didn’t much do the jewelry thing, but she might for the slim bracelets. They were gorgeous, looking crafted by a master goldsmith. “Hey, where’d you get those?”

Janet glanced up and a brief flash of… something… danced through her eyes. As quick as it appeared, it was gone. Flint blinked and shook her head, wondering if she was going crazy. For a second it’d looked like the golden flicker of flame.

“Oh this.” Janet wiggled her wrist, and deep brown eyes with no trace of whatever Flint’s crazy mind had conjured up smiled back at her. “Mom bought it from some witch doctor in Budapest.” She shrugged and pressed her lips tightly together.

Budapest. That was awesome, but Janet was giving off strong vibes that the topic was closed.

Turning toward Abel, Janet nibbled on a french fry and said, “New meat, huh?”

Abel nodded at her knowing look, a deep scarlet blush staining his cheeks. He muttered something and then took a huge bite out of his tuna-fish sandwich, leaving crumbs on the corners of his lips.

Flint wiggled in her seat, feeling suddenly strange. Like there was a silent conversation happening between them, something they didn’t want her to know about but that somehow involved her. She frowned, weirded out and wondering if maybe she should go out to the bleachers after all.

Janet shook her head, wiping away whatever censure she’d turned on Abel and again the mood was back to normal.

Maybe she was going crazy? Maybe Cain’s stare-down in chem was making her way more prone to seeing things that weren’t there.

“So where you from?” Janet blinked huge owl eyes at her, tone chirpy and not in the least bit annoyed like it’d seemed to be earlier.

Flint picked at the gooey cheese on her slice of pizza. “Everywhere.” She grinned. “Though no place as cool as Budapest.”

Janet snorted. “Really? That sounds cool.”

But the way she said it made it sound anything but. Janet popped a fry in her mouth.

Flint pushed her tray away, her nerves taking up too much space in her stomach for her to think about eating right now.

Feeling a strange need to redeem herself, she said, “But we just moved here from LA.”

“Ooh, wicked.” Abel grinned and sucked loudly on the straw of his chocolate milk. “I’ve been a couple of times. Loved the Whiskey, you ever go there?”

Flint laughed, forgetting about the hot press of eyes on her back thanks to Abel’s inquisitive gaze. The Whiskey a Go Go on the Sunset Strip, the hottest club for up-and-coming rock bands. You were the epitome of cool if you could get in. But you could never get in. Not unless you could find somebody to hook you up with tickets.

“Umm, no… It was always sold out. How did you get in there, anyway?”

Abel wiggled his dark brows. “I gots my secrets, girl.”

Laughing, she popped a green grape in her mouth, its sweet juices bursting on her tongue. Rearranging her plates of food, she opened her carton of milk. This school wasn’t so different from all the others she’d ever gone to.

Perky blondes and smoky-eyed brunettes sat at the center tables, reigning like a bunch of queen bees as the jocks and studs circled them like sharks. Beside them were the cool—but not quite cool enough—groups of boys and girls. Dressed in nice clothes with the latest haircuts, eyeing the squealing cheerleaders with green-eyed envy. At the fringes were the outcasts. Some tables consisted of one boy or girl, bent over a book, eating and reading and pretending the rest of the world didn’t exist.

Then there was her side. The dark side. She snorted and took a sip of the lukewarm milk. Grimaced—gross—but she was thirsty.

It was an appropriate title though. Totally strange, but most of the kids on this side were dressed darker. Not all of them sported black head to toe, but they weren’t in the bright, cheerful colors of the other side, except for Janet.

She was a special kind of snowflake.

But only the ones sitting with Cain wore the shades. Unlike him, however, they were both blonds and looked eerily identical—from the full bottom lips, to the strong, aquiline noses, right down to the slightly cleft chins. They must have been twins. But even they weren’t the strangest things sitting on the dark side.

The table closest to the lunchroom doors was full. Eight heads tipped forward, whispering low, barely pausing to eat as they obviously discussed something of monumental importance.

Like maybe what kind of hat Justin Bieber wore on the Letterman show last night. Probably not though. With their washed-out complexions and formless, baggy clothes… they were likely plotting what would be the best time to bomb the school.

Flint shivered at the thought.

One of the heads popped up and Flint flinched as the bloodshot gaze lasered across the room and landed square on her face. Several tables sat between them, but the girl was studying Flint without blinking, making no bones that Flint was the bug under her microscope. And then it dawned on her; it was the same girl who’d bumped into her that morning.

Flint hadn’t gotten more than a fleeting look at her then.

Her skin was a sickly brown. With a little sun, she’d probably look like a bronzed goddess, but the heavy purple bags under her eyes ruined the effect. Her hair—cropped short to her head—gave her elfin features a hard edge. Those bloodshot eyes narrowed, and Flint sucked in a sharp breath—no, she was not crazy. It wasn’t her imagination that suddenly she felt pressure pulsing against her body, a choking sensation stealing the breath from her lungs and making her dizzy as she tried desperately to gulp air into her starved body.

Flint broke eye contact first and could finally take a deep breath of sweet air, hands shaking as her body flooded with adrenaline. What had that been about? And what was up with psycho chick?

Then a terrible thought popped in her head. Were they dating? Cain and psycho? Or maybe exes? And that was the reason for the stare-down? But she’d been with Abel this morning and now at lunch, not Cain. Not only that, but something told Flint the girl wasn’t Cain’s type. Then again, weirder things had happened. She knew jack about Cain other than he had a fetish for all things black.

“What is she doing here?”

And speak of the devil.

Flint didn’t need to look to know Cain was the source of that question, even though she’d never once heard him speak. It fit him, deep and resonating with a heated shiver that whipped down her spine and flexed through her bones.

Flint looked up, wishing her heart would stop doing that stupid somersault thing whenever he was near. Cain was staring down at his brother, impossibly large arms folded across his thick chest.

Cain looked way too old to be in high school. No boy her age looked like that. Not naturally anyway. Maybe he was on the juice?

“Because she’s my friend.” Abel gave Cain a tight smile.

“She’s new. You don’t know her.”

Okay, he did realize she was right here, right? Flint gritted her teeth, counting slowly to ten in her head, wondering for the millionth time how two brothers could be so opposite.

“Go away, Cain. She’s fine.”

Flint could almost picture sparks shooting off Cain—the fine hairs on her arm stood up when he turned that hot glare on her. She wished she could see his eyes.

Why didn’t anyone make him take those things off? He was probably hideous. Missing an eye or something.

“Why are you here?” He snarled and she blinked… was it possible that his arms suddenly seemed bigger?

“Excuse me?” Flint wished she knew where the animosity was coming from. She’d barely sat down.

Cain advanced, each step seeming to tug at the very depths of her soul, reaching for something she couldn’t understand. But she knew in the pit of her heart Cain would burn and consume her if she let him.

His lips curled into a semi smile, and yeah, her stomach was definitely flopping down around her knees. Her chest heaved as heat and shame crept up her neck. Why couldn’t she control her emotions around him?

Was it hot in here? Because she was pretty sure she was starting to sweat, and her heart was definitely thumping like a rabbit on crack.

“Stop messing with my brother,” he growled.

Growled, like a full-on throaty animal snarl. Her knees went weak, and not from fear.

Abel flicked a french fry at him. “I’m not a kid, she’s my friend, she stays!”

Finally her tongue came unglued from the roof of her mouth. Flint stood on wobbly legs, narrowing her eyes to thin slits. “I’m not messing with your brother. I’m new, he’s nice, unlike some people. He asked me to sit and I sat. What’s your problem?”

Fear, and loathing, and anger so sharp it knifed her, made her words piercing.

Cain was in her space, breathing her air, body crackling like it was alive. She tingled, every nerve in her flaring to life, and again she was struck by how good he smelled.

So not fair.

“I don’t know who you are. You show up here and what—”

“What?” she hissed. “Show up here and what? I’m not trying to eat his brains, or worse… make him my personal boy toy, so what’s the big deal? I’m. Just. Eating. Lunch.”

Janet chuckled. “She thinks making you a boy toy is worse than eating your brains? Watch out, Abel.”

Flint rolled her eyes.

Anger buzzed like a hornet’s nest in her blood. But beyond the anger was a palpable and dangerous tension that made her reckless and scared. The stare-down with psycho chick made her already-frayed nerves stretch to their limits.

Then his face was right in hers, and his lips were so close and hers tingled when he said, “You don’t fool me.”

He took a step back and the movement was so fast she almost fell forward, not realizing she’d been leaning in. Cain jerked his head at the two other guys who’d been sitting next to him. They stood, each of them looking at her with that same hot press of eyes, before following him out.

Hands still shaking, she looked at a shocked Janet. A french fry dangled from the corner of her mouth.

“Oh em gee,” she whispered, “I’ve never seen Cain act like such a jerk before.”

Abel had his arms crossed over his chest, a sour look on his face.

Flint sat. “So he’s okay with you?” She pointed to Janet. “Which clearly means he doesn’t hate girls.”

“Cain wasn’t always like that,” Abel said, apologizing. “He’s usually okay actually.”

“Great.” Flint twisted her lips, picking at the stem of her apple. “So it’s just me.”

“Ah.” Abel flicked his wrist, some of the moodiness evaporating. “Don’t worry about it. Anyway, how long have you lived in Whispering Bluff?”

Flint stared back at the doorway, the thread of kids casting her strange glances as they tossed their uneaten food away making her blush harder. Bad enough being the new girl; she didn’t need that kind of attention.

“Got here right before summer. Dad didn’t enroll me because there were only two days left of school.” She sighed.

“Lucky.” Janet smiled. “I’m pretty sure my parents would have enrolled me and told the teachers to give me the entire year’s worth of homework to take home while they were at it.”

Abel chuckled. “Probably.”

“But I don’t get it.” Flint looked at Abel. “Aren’t you new too?”

“You gonna eat that?” He nodded to her pizza.

“No.” She pushed it toward him.

He picked it up with a happy gleam in his eye, took a huge bite, and said, “I’ve been going here my whole life. Mom and Dad split their time together because of his job. Sometimes I go visit him, but mostly I stay with Mom, Cain with Dad. Pop’s back in town for a while, so…”

“Ahh.” Flint lifted her brows. “Makes so much sense now.”

“What’s that?”

“Why you’re nothing like him.”

Abel winked, warm brown eyes twinkling with unspoken laughter.

“Oh shoot,” Janet squeaked, shoving her chair back and picking up her tray. “I promised Rhi I’d help her with some homework. Gotta bail. Nice meeting you, Flint.”

Flint smiled as Janet walked away. “It’s the first day of school. Homework?”

Abel shrugged. “Overachievers.”

He sounded fond of them.

Flint picked up her milk carton. “She’s nice. You guys have a thing?”

“Who, Janet?” Abel gobbled up the rest of the pizza. “Nah, her parents would neuter me if I tried.”

She laughed.

“What are you doing this weekend?” he asked after he swallowed his mouthful.

Laundry, cooking, homework… “Nothing.”

Abel stood up. “We’re going to the hole, come with us.”

“What’s the hole?”

He smiled, flashing that deep dimple again. “You’ll just have to come with us, now won’t you?”

Chapter Three

“I’m home,” Flint called out to her dad when she opened the apartment door. A habit she’d acquired recently. A way to give him time to hide the booze. Their way of life now, nothing but smoke and mirrors. She knew there was a problem and so did he, but as long as neither one acknowledged it… then they could pretend it didn’t really exist.

So she was surprised when he met her at the door smelling freshly showered and cleanly shaved, dressed in one of his more garish spandex costumes. Rhinestoned and bedazzled, it was pretty horrific. But Mom had made them wear it when they were a trio, the flaming DeLucas. She had to admit she did not miss the days of the funky spandex.

He turned with his arms out, a happy gleam in his brown eyes. “Still fits. I wasn’t sure.” He patted his chest. “I want to head out soon.”

The circus. Oh groan, she did promise him, didn’t she? Flint grimaced. “I’m totally there, Dad, but I’ve got a crap ton of homework. Can I at least finish my math before we go? And maybe get some food? I’m starving.”

She dropped her book bag next to the door, heading back into the kitchen to scrounge up whatever there was. Opening a cabinet, she huffed. A bag of chips lay half opened. The fridge was hardly better. She yanked out the bread. “Only the heel. Is there even any cheese?”

“I don’t know, baby, I’m sorry.” He looked flushed and she felt guilty.

“It’s okay, Dad. I know you’re busy.”

They both knew it wasn’t true, but he smiled and nodded anyway. “Becca would have never let it get that way,” he said in a sad voice, making her feel like an even bigger jerk.

She loved her dad, knew it was hard on him. Eventually he’d snap out of it—she had to believe that.

Flint pulled the heel out of the bag and took a huge bite. “Mmm… don’t even miss the cheese.”

He grimaced and she forced the slice of bread down her throat, wondering why bread companies insisted on putting heels in since most sane people hated them anyway. After three stale tortilla chips, she called it good and turned around. “Homework and then we can go. Give me about an hour.”

He glanced at his watch, a worried frown marring his brows. “Okay, but be fast. I want to make a good impression.”

“Daddy.” Flint blew him an air-kiss. “It’s just math. You know I can whip that out in no time. What time is your appointment anyway?”

Now he looked nervous. “Seven,” he admitted reluctantly.

“Seven.” She snorted, staring at the stove clock. “It’s barely even four.”

“Yeah, but in case we get lost—”

Flint grabbed her book bag, dragging it behind her by a long black strap. “Dad, you do realize we live in the boonies, right? I think I saw all of two stoplights in town. We won’t get lost. And now I know I can even take a shower.”

“Flint DeLuca.” He used that voice on her, one she hadn’t heard in years. The one that said you’re in big trouble, young lady. It was good to see him so excited, but…

Flint turned the knob on her bedroom door, flicking at the pink princess tassel dangling off it. “Can’t look desperate, Daddy. Relax—we’ll have plenty of time.” With a final air-kiss, she flew inside the door, clicking the lock shut behind her.

Poor Dad, like a puppy with a new toy. Her heart thumped loudly in her chest. But it was kind of refreshing to see him like this again. She just hoped he got the job, because she dreaded the thought of what might happen to him if he didn’t.

Plopping down on her twin bed, she yanked out her books, and a scrap of white fluttered to the beige carpet. Curious, Flint bent to retrieve it and then unfolded it.

They’re watching you.

~T

Kicking off her bright pink Chucks, she scooted back against the edge of the bed, staring at the words as if she could divine who’d written them by the size of the scrawl. Tracing the words, she tried to remember all the people she’d met today.

Two faces came to mind. Cain and the psycho with the bloodshot eyes. But Psycho hadn’t gotten anywhere close to her.

Flint nibbled her bottom lip, stomach twisting with something close to nerves. Was it him? And if so, why? Why did he seem to hate her so much?

Just thinking about Goth Boy made her lips tingle and her spine stiffen. She rubbed her striped socks together, toes digging into the moss-green paisley sheets of her bed. He was an irrational, muscle-bound mystery.

Flint traced the words again; the writing was too pretty and neat to be his. Not that she had a clue what he’d write like, but everything about him screamed hard. Hard muscles, hard attitude, hard… writing? She grinned. Why was she obsessing about him at all? Shouldn’t a note like this totally freak her out? It probably wasn’t normal that aside from the dip of her stomach, she was more curious than terrified. She was too new to have developed a stalker. Besides, she was no shrinking violet. Being raised in circuses most of her life, she’d learned many tricks of the trade, one of them being blades and how to handle them.

Mouth feeling like cotton, she jerked when her father bellowed, “Flint, I don’t hear you writing!”

“Jeez, Dad,” she muttered, mentally grabbing her rapidly beating heart and tucking the note into her jeans pocket. What was he doing anyway, pressing his ear against her door?

It was hard, but she managed to focus long enough to finish her math.

~*~

She stared out the passenger-side window of her dad’s ancient Ford pickup. A rusted tin boat, held together by scraps and pieces. The sun was beginning to set, making the world zooming past her window look like an orange-and-pink mirage of flames setting behind the woods.

Huge trees dotted either side of the two-lane highway as they drove out of town. They crossed a bridge, and a chipped red-and-white painted barn sat like an abandoned ghost, a dry creek bed running alongside them.

It was beautiful out here. But kind of creepy, especially as the world began to grow dark with the first blue tints of night. They had to reach a clearing soon. Circuses couldn’t go up in woods, no matter how cool it would look. The large trees would be a hazard in lightning storms.

No sooner had she thought it than a clearing full of corn spread out for miles around them. Their flat, broad leaves seemed to wave at them as they sped by.

Pain bloomed behind Flint’s closed eyes. She’d showered, dressed in a pair of tight black pants—refusing to analyze why she’d chosen that particular color—and slipped on a crimson tank top. It was late August, and humidity levels were high enough to cause her auburn curls to frizz like a wild halo around her head. She’d tried to do something pretty with her hair, plait it like her friend Bethany had tried to show her over a hundred times. But Bethany’s dad was a hairstylist to the stars; doing hair had been a genetic trait beautiful, blond Bethany had in spades.

Flint’s fingers were strong enough to smash walnuts in her closed fist, but nowhere near nimble enough to do something pretty with her hair. She’d finally given up on her hair as a lost cause, pulled it back into a tight ponytail, and tied a blood-red satin ribbon around it.

“You’re awfully quiet.” Her dad glanced at her. He was still dressed in the spandex suit but now with black combat boots on his feet.

She hadn’t had the nerve to tell him he looked ridiculous.

“Just thinking,” she mumbled, eyeing the ghostly silver-white moon as it became visible in the sky.

It was silly maybe, but she couldn’t stop thinking about Cain. Her gut reaction to him was intense; even now her body tingled with just the thought of him and his woodsy musk, his full lips so close that she could smell the mint on his breath. Not to mention the anger radiating off him in waves.

The sane thing would be to run scared—most girls would. But she wasn’t most girls. For years she’d stared death in the face, defying the laws of gravity with some of the stunts she’d performed. Fear could not exist in her vocabulary, not if she wanted to live. That didn’t mean she thought he was likable. What she thought of Cain was the complete opposite. Pompous. Arrogant. And… bastard pretty much summed up her feelings about Goth Boy.

And then there was gorgeous,  heart-pounding, and mesmerizing. Her stomach twisted in a hard knot when she thought about the almost-kiss she’d given him at lunch. Flint bit the corner of her lip; it was like she couldn’t control herself around him. Some magnetic force was pulling her in. She didn’t like him, didn’t want to like him, but couldn’t stop whatever train wreck was headed her way.

But that wasn’t the only thing obsessing her.

The note. Had he really sent her that? And when did he stick it in her book bag that she hadn’t noticed? What in the world did it even mean? She picked at a loose thread in the hem of her tank top.

“About what?” her dad asked, cutting her off from her thoughts.

She wrinkled her nose, trying to shake the moody weight of all those questions. It was Dad’s time and she wouldn’t ruin it by acting like a silly girl.

“School. Homework. I think my chem teacher hates me.”

He flicked the blinker on and turned left down a gravel road. Rocks pinged like a symphony against the bumper.

He laughed and again it was really good to hear that sound. She’d almost forgotten how infectious his laugh could be.

“So, lots of detention this year again you think?”

Flint rolled her eyes. “Gah, I hope not. I wasn’t even talking. I was just staring at a…”

Twitching, heart going nuts, she clamped her mouth shut, realizing what she’d almost admitted.

But her father wasn’t dumb; he figured it out in less than a second. “A guy?”

Flint wiggled on the leather seat, hauling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms under her thighs. “Dad, I really don’t want to…”

He held up a hand. “I know, I’m your dad. It’s not cool to talk about boys with me.” He sighed and she gnawed on the inside of her cheek. “Your mom was so much better at this than me, but you know. Be safe. Okay?”

“Oh my God, Dad, seriously!” A hot trickle ran down Flint’s spine as heat spread through her belly. “I so don’t want to have this conversation.”

He frowned. “Just promise me, Flint. We can’t have any babies right now.”

She groaned, hiding her flaming face against her knees.

“I do a crappy enough job taking care of you. We can’t have another human being to be responsible for.”

“Dad!”

“Just promise, honey.” His voice dropped to a sad whisper.

It took everything she had to return his sincere gaze.

She’d never even been kissed. Sex was so beyond the realm of possibility at this point. It wasn’t like she even knew anyone she’d want to lose her virginity to. Then a pair of dark shades and a body built like an NFL lineman popped into her head, calling her a liar. She nodded as her heart pounded. “I promise.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, he stared back at the road. “Good. That’s good.”

Wishing she had some bleach to scrub the past ten seconds from her brain, she contented herself with gazing out the window. Her eyes widened as it finally dawned on her that they were here. Or at least at the entrance of the circus.

Though it was nothing like what she’d expected.

She’d been looking for a red-and-white-striped tent, half-drunken clowns parading around their trailers, and the yip-yapping of house dogs.

A large, black-spiraled gate loomed like a specter before them. The carnival was completely enclosed, set within the massive field. Black and dark red tents lifted like steeples above the gate. A wooden sign read:

Welcome to Carnival Diabolique

The words looked like they’d been clawed into the wood and then painted over in black.

The wrought-iron Gothic framework opened on soundless hinges.

“Wow, this is different,” her dad muttered before slowly creeping inside.

“Where’re the people?” Flint stared out the window in open-mouthed wonder as the enormous scope of the place revealed itself to them.

A giant tent took up the center of the massive square. It loomed like a giant, drawing the eye and making her muscles tense with something sort of like shock. A spiderweb network of smaller tents surrounded it.

There were a couple of rides, one that might have been a carousel, but instead of horses there were wolves, bats, and something that even resembled a serpentine dragon with its golden scales and sharp-toothed mouth open in a silent scream.

Flint could clearly make out the cages of a Ferris wheel and a spacecraft-looking shape. None of the lights were on, and more than that—apart from the carousel—they weren’t even colorful. Everything looked painted black. But instead of it being flat and dull, this black gleamed like obsidian in flame. There was a rich sparkle to the scene as their headlights bounced off the shapes.

Silver-bullet trailers sat at the fringes of the clearing—lights off, looking empty and devoid of life. Just like everything else around here.

Flint shivered as a terrible sense of foreboding crashed into her. “Dad, this place is—”

“Creepy, huh?” A frown furrowed his thick brows. “Yeah.”

He parked the truck in front of the only building that was lit, cutting the lights. His rabbit’s-foot key chain jangled as he bounced his foot on the floorboard.

Flint unlocked her seat belt, twisting to stare out the back window. “It doesn’t even look like it’s been run in a while. Where’re the customers? The performers?”

Scrubbing a hand down his smooth jaw, his brown-eyed stare was wide. “Should we go? Too much?”

He was asking. But she could hear the desire still trembling in his words. He’d leave if she asked him to, she knew that. “Are you sure your meeting was today? Maybe they said tomorrow?”

“No, I’m sure they said today.”

Shadows flexed and swayed between the trailers, a sudden stirring of movement that made her stomach drop to her knees. This place was just creepy. The circuses they’d worked at before were always obscenely colorful. As if they felt the need to scream, “We’re a circus!” This was dark, and dangerous, and mysterious.

Words that’d been running through her mind all day.

Flint jerked her head. “No, we should go look, Dad. There’s probably someone in there.” She pointed at the lit metal frame in front of them.

Something thrilling and exciting coursed through her veins. The unknown. There’d been a time in her not-too-distant past when she’d thrived on the heady rush of adrenaline. It was still in there, that desperate desire to skate the fine line between life and death, never knowing which side of the coin she’d land on.

Since Mom’s death, she’d tamped it down, but now the seedling of that need stirred a tendril of longing that gave her feet wings. She opened the door and hopped out.

Dad grinned, grabbed the keys, and followed her up the rickety wooden steps.

Pulse hammering, she looked around. The light shining like a beacon inside the quiet, humming office was the only sound of life around. Gripping the base of her skull as it tightened with a ball of tension, she knocked on the door.

Somewhere an owl hooted, and the wind whistled so loudly through the trees the branches shook.

Cold sweat dotted her upper lip. Suddenly her need to be reckless paled in comparison to the need to get back in the truck and drive as far and fast away as possible. This didn’t feel right.

A bird called and she stiffened as the quiet buzz of energy filled her limbs. Someone was watching her.

Them.

Flint glanced over her shoulder. Dad had his arms crossed, a sure sign he felt the same sense of unease she did.

Blackened trailer windows were the only things she saw. Like vacant eyes in silver faces.

“Do you think we should…”

Whatever her dad might have said died the moment the door swung open and the hottest man she’d ever seen stepped up to the door. He looked her dad’s age, late thirties. Early forties, maybe. His hair was dark and lightly dusted with shades of silvery gray at the corners. Stubble dotted his cheeks and jaw, forcing the eyes to the full lips and harsh planes of his razor-blade cheekbones. But it was his eyes that really captivated Flint—they were the bluest depths of an ocean, almost black, and at their centers, molten swirls of silver light danced within. Where had he gotten those contacts?

He was gorgeous.

And intimidating.

A long jagged scar cut a path from the corner of his right eye, narrowing down to a fine point at the edge of his lip.

He was also huge.

His body was as big as Cain’s. Bigger even. He wore a black shirt tapered and cut to his frame, revealing the impossibly thick expanse of burnished biceps.

“Holy sh—”

“Flint, we don’t talk like that,” her father hissed. And she knew he’d been standing in awe of the behemoth himself.

Whoever the man was, he commanded attention.

After brushing his right hand on his pants, her father held it out. “Hi, I’m Frank DeLuca. I called about the flier position that was available.”

The man stared at the hand for a while, and Flint shifted on the balls of her feet. Was he really just going to leave her dad hanging? Fire burned in the pit of her gut. Big or no, she had to bite her tongue just to keep from giving him a piece of her mind.

“Are you Adam?” Her father tried again, and she was proud that his voice didn’t waver despite his nervousness. She knew he was tense by the way he kept flicking the rabbit’s foot around and around on his finger.

Finally the giant nodded and clapped hands with her father, a powerful movement that nearly made her dad lose his balance. He wasn’t a big man—fliers normally weren’t. But he was strong and Flint couldn’t help but wince at the way Adam flung her dad around like he was little more than a gnat.

“Come on in.” His voice was cordial, deep, and smooth, and made Flint’s body rush with a flood of tingles.

What was in the water out here? First Cain, now Adam. Even Abel had a nice quality to his voice.

Adam was obviously trying to be less intimidating, choosing to sit behind his desk and gesturing for them to sit also. But Flint really just wanted to go. This was a super hugely bad idea.

Her dad smiled, taking a seat and dragging Flint down next to him. He tossed the advertisement from the paper onto the desk and proudly pointed to his chest, in full salesperson mode now.

“I’m the best catcher around. I’ve been doing it for over fifteen years. I know my way around the wires—rigging isn’t a problem. I can set up and take down…”

Flint stared at the dark teal carpet, toeing it with her foot and nibbling on the edge of her thumbnail. She should have told him not to talk too much, to take deep breaths during his sales pitch, but she hadn’t and her stomach kept sinking lower and lower as her father continued to nervously chatter.

She could feel Adam’s gaze on her face.

“Is that so?” Adam’s deep voice made her mouth dry.

Her father shut up, catching the condescending note behind the question just as she had. Flint squeezed her eyes shut. If it wasn’t so important to her dad, she’d leave and beg him to go too. They didn’t need this. They could get a job at a burger joint, just until they could find a more suitable situation. He didn’t need to put up with this. She placed her hand on her father’s arm and her heart clenched at the trembles vibrating up her fingertips.

He wanted this position desperately.

“Why is this place so dead?” She cursed herself for being all sorts of stupid.

She didn’t want to ruin it for her father, but Adam was being a douche.

Adam’s lips rolled into a slow grin, stealing the breath from her lungs. There was something about this man that wasn’t right. She felt it in every fiber of her soul. Something dark and dangerous emanated from him.

“This circus operates from dusk till dawn. We’re a midnight show.” He glanced at her. “Which means it’s mostly for grown-ups.” The snobbery was thick.

“Funny,” she almost snapped. Almost. It took every ounce of self-control she possessed to keep that comeback on her tongue. God, she was really coming to hate this backward hovel called Whispering Bluff.

Dad scrubbed his jaw. “So work starts—”

“At midnight. Yes.” Adam sat back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head. “Is that a problem?”

“Baby?” He looked at her. “I’d never get to see you. I couldn’t… it wouldn’t, be right. Right?”

He hardly saw her anyway. There was a time when they’d been close, really close. But times had changed. She gave him a weak smile. “I’m not a kid anymore.” She glared at Adam before turning back to her dad. “I can handle myself.”

He seemed relieved.

Still irritated, Flint pinned Adam with what she hoped was haughty disdain. His eyes sparkled, a cat-ate-the-canary grin on his face. She hated him already. Why would her father want to work here? For this guy?

“Where are all the people? I see the tents, but where’re the performers? Even if it starts at midnight, they should already be here, right?” she asked again, this time determined to get a proper answer.

Adam cocked his head and she was pretty sure that she amused him. Her fingers dug into the faded blue cushioned armrests, Italian blood demanding she smack the smirk off his face.

“You ask a lot of questions for someone who isn’t planning on signing on.”

Her father threw his arm in front of her as if shielding her from Adam. “I’d appreciate if you keep your sarcasm away from my daughter. We’ve done nothing to you, and she’s simply asking an honest question.”

Score one for Dad. He was so getting a kiss on the cheek when they left this freaking place. Heart a little warm and fuzzy, she smirked back at Adam, raising a brow.

Adam only nodded. “Apologies.”

And even though he’d apologized, Flint could not escape the thought that before them sat a predator. One who might be dressed in nice clothes and speak with manners, but that was just a mask hiding the true face beneath.

“They’re resting.” Adam looked back at her, those enchanting blue eyes weaving a sick spell over her yet again.

It was a struggle to rip her gaze away, and she felt like she was a charmed cobra, helpless to the pull and sway of those greedy eyes.

Flint kept her eyes firmly glued to a small bowl of orange slices on the corner of his desk.

“Are you the ringmaster, then?” her dad asked.

“No, my son is.”

Son? Forgetting why she shouldn’t look at Adam, her eyes rocketed back to his, only to note they were narrowed and shrewdly studying her.

Heart thumping chaotically, she forced her gaze back down, nails clawing grooves into the armrests now. Just because he reminded her of Cain didn’t mean he was Cain’s father.

True, he looked like the son of Satan, and Cain seemed built from the same stock. But the odds of that were astronomical.

“I can start tomorrow. Tonight, even,” her father said, the excitement creeping back into his voice.

Nerves, weirdness, none of that mattered to her dad. Flying was like crack for him. He was close to getting his next hit, and it would take an act of God to make him walk away now. Truthfully, Flint was surprised he’d gone a year without it.

“I never said you were hired.”

Flint bit her tongue, sparing a glance for her dad. His shoulders were slumped and his smile frozen in place.

“Oh.”

“I need to see what you can do before I decide. Then I’ll see what my staff thinks. But first…”

The door swung open, sending in a welcoming breeze. Flint turned and her eyes grew wide as the last face she expected popped inside.

Janet was waving and smiling madly. Her warm brown eyes were a welcome relief.

“Janet,” she cried as the petite Asian threw herself into Flint, giving her a quick hug. “Hey.”

It wasn’t strange at all that she barely knew Janet, had only met her this afternoon at lunch—or that that meeting had at times been totally weird—seeing her now was like a balm to her frayed nerves. She hugged her back and then laughed when she noticed the pink tutu around the girl’s slim hips.

Flint lifted a brow. “You part of the circus too?”

“Yep.”

“Out!” Adam boomed, making Flint jump because she’d briefly forgotten all about his presence. “I’ve business to discuss. Janet, out.” He pointed to the door.

But his words weren’t sharp or cruel, or even remotely sarcastic. He spoke to her with an edge of something that sounded suspiciously like fondness. With a sloppy salute, Janet grabbed Flint’s wrist and dragged her to the door.

“Dad, I’ll be—”

“With your friend.” Her dad winked and Flint squealed when Janet slammed the door shut behind them.

“Oh my gosh, thank you! You saved my butt. I don’t think I could have taken another second around the devil’s spawn.” Flint chuckled, feeling some of the curling tension in her gut begin to unwind.

“Adam can be pretty intense sometimes, but he’s all right. His bark is worse than his bite.”

Flint threw a parting glance over her shoulder at the office beginning to fade from sight. “You sure, because there didn’t seem to be anything remotely warm and fuzzy about him.”

Janet jogged toward the huge tent in the center of the grounds. The one that’d caught Flint’s eye earlier.

“I didn’t know you were a carney too.” Janet still hadn’t released her grip on Flint’s wrist—a surprisingly strong grip for someone who probably only weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet.

“Umm, I’m not.”

“Oh,” Janet said, sounding like someone had burst her bubble.

“Well, I was. But not anymore.”

“Oh!” The light gleamed bright in her eyes again. “So cool. Someone who knows the life of a circus freak.”

“Well, you hardly look like a freak.” She eyed the svelte, raven-haired beauty. The pink tutu looked completely garish, but perfect, on her. It paired nicely with the white leotard and spotted animal-print stockings.

“Oh, but I am. My parents came here from Japan. We’re contortionists. Oh, and then there’s Rhi. Rhiannon”—she waved her hand—“though she prefers Rhi. Anyway, she works here too.”

Janet pushed back the heavy black flap of the tent and the smell of hay and dirt smacked Flint in the face, the scents and sights of the big top so familiar they brought a small pang to her chest.

She remembered warm-ups, the excitement of watching the crowd trickle in, the pull of her muscles as she twirled and dived, maneuvering through the air like a bird with no wings. It’d been fun.

Smiling, she looked around, floored by the scope of the place. It was easily twice the size of any tent she’d ever worked under before. Blue lights added a ghostly ambiance. Black chairs—seats folded up—surrounded the entire length of the center circle.

It might be bigger, but it wasn’t all that different when it came down to it. Muscle memory had made Flint one of the best and most fearless. She bet if she tried, she could do it again without too much effort.

“Isn’t this place awesome?” Janet looked around as if she were trying to see it the same way Flint did. For the first time.

“Yeah.” Flint shoved her hands into her pockets. “It’s huge. And awesome. Wow, so you’re a carney, huh? I would have never pegged you.” Flint unlocked one of the seats and sat.

Janet shrugged. “Not like we wear a tattoo or something. I had no idea you did stuff either. What did you do by the way?”

“Lots of things. I grew up in this.” She flicked her wrist. “But mostly I did walking and flying, and every once in a while I’d juggle knives. I was being groomed to sword swallow, but my gag reflex couldn’t really handle that.”

Janet’s eyes widened. “You did all that? Do you know how impossible that is? I mean all that stuff take years to master. Who trained you?”

When she put it that way, maybe it was sort of impressive, though Flint had never thought of it like that. “Mom was a walker and Dad a flier. My best friend Evan—a retired Vietnam vet who occasionally moonlighted as a clown for birthday parties and a sword man at night—trained me in knives. Which totally pissed Mom off, but I loved it.” She chuckled, remembering all the times her mother would wail that her poor daughter would lose an eye one day. Her smile slipped, because it hadn’t been her to get hurt first.

Shaking away the gloomy thought, she struggled to remember what she’d been saying. “Every… every other day I’d work with one and then the next day the other. And then at night I’d play with knives. Mom always said it was amazing how well I picked up everything, but from the moment I started walking they were all training me.” She shrugged. “So I never realized it was weird or different until later. When others told me.”

Janet’s grin was huge. “I so wanna see that.”

“Oh, well. It’s been… a while. I’m probably pretty rusty now.” Though not as rusty as her father might think. Flint hadn’t given up the arts completely; she just didn’t want to do it in front of a thousand eyes anymore.

Janet cocked her head, a look of concentration on her face. Frowning, Flint tried to listen, hearing nothing but the eerie hum of the generators.

“Rhi’s calling for me. I’ll be back—you stay here. I wanna see you walk, ’kay?”

Flint frowned. She hadn’t heard a sound or a word. Janet bounded down the steps, running through the ring and then exiting through the curtained tunnel.

Drumming her fingers on her leg, she stared at the cable rigging fifty feet above her head. She had done lots of tumbling at her last high school, but she hadn’t walked in forever. What if she couldn’t do it anymore?

Twitchy, overcome with the queasy anticipation of walking, she stood. It really wasn’t safe to walk without a harness. But she’d gotten so good at it at one point that she’d stopped needing one. Glancing around, she looked to see if anyone was coming. No surprise that she didn’t hear another soul around.

Ignoring her better judgment, eager to feel that thrill again, she walked quickly down to the tower, easily maneuvering her way up to the small platform, proud that her body didn’t tremble or shake with nerves.

There was a net beneath. It looked like braided rope, not something she cared to fall into. It could scrape the skin right off her body, especially if she landed wrong. Which meant she had to do this without falling.

The worst part of walking was the nerves. If she let herself think she was too high, she’d fall. And she’d be lucky if all she did was get a giant bruise on her thigh and butt. Lots of walkers had suffered broken legs, backs, some—like her mom—had even died.

The sport was dangerous, but it was in the blood—a lure that drew the chosen few in like a moths to flame. Was that why she’d worn her walking slippers today? Hoping, maybe, she’d get a chance to walk the rope again?

Flexing her thighs, she slapped them, getting the blood to circulate. The sting of opening her blood vessels only heightened her tension, her desire to do it.

Testing the tensile strength of the rope with her foot, she sighed with relief as she felt it give just slightly. It was perfectly balanced. She didn’t have a balance bar, but she’d been training before Mom’s accident to learn to walk without it.

Her mom had told her once that her skills were superhuman, beyond amazing, which had only made Flint push harder. This had been her passion once too.

The first step was always the hardest. Finding that perfect balance between life and death, upright or falling.

Her calves shook as her toes gripped the black cording. Sweat dotted her brows. Flint threw her arms out to the side and slowly, inch by terrible inch, settled more and more of her weight on the rope. It shook for a moment, making her tighten her abs in response as she went perfectly still and breathed through the first initial step.

When she settled and the rope stopped swaying, she took the next step. Leaving the platform and getting back on the platform, that was the most dangerous part of the entire stunt. That was where a walker lived or died.

The rope shook harder and her heart stuttered, beating wildly in her chest. Forcing herself to reason through the panic that was trying to claw up her throat with desperate fingers, she waited until the wave of vertigo passed before lifting her back foot and stepping forward again.

Somewhere between the fourth and sixth step she found her rhythm. Smiling, she increased her pace just a little. Not jogging, definitely not running, but moving at a brisker stride.

Exhilaration pulsed through her blood like a drug, bringing back all the memories. The roaring of the crowds, the clapping of hands, and the silent hush when she’d performed her trickiest stunt, a backward handspring.

Though she didn’t think she was quite ready for that.

Flint moved, becoming one with the memory of the girl who used to be her.

Alive, and proud, she picked up her pace. Up here she wasn’t a clumsy girl with the hots for a creep who didn’t even know her name. She was Flint DeLuca.

A seriously bad-a walker, who though a year out of the game, still had it.

In the middle of giving herself some major props, she heard a distinctive murmur of voices. Deep and resonating with a scratchy burr.

Flint stilled, gaze frantically dropping to the ground just as the shadows moved into the light, highlighting the dark features of a boy she couldn’t seem to forget.

But the momentary lapse in concentration cost her.

Flint fell.

Chapter Four

Cain slammed Abel’s trailer open. The constant anger inside him buzzed like a disturbed hornet’s nest. “You can’t talk to her anymore.”

He crossed his arms, filling the doorway with his massive frame. He was still unused to the girth of this new body. Two years ago, he’d looked just like Abel.

Abel glared at him. “Flint?” He stressed the name as if daring Cain to deny it. “She’s my friend. And why did you have to act like such a bastard at lunch today? What happened to you, man?” Abel sneered, flicking his pencil down on his bed and making a beeline for the kitchen.

Cain shut the door behind him.

“You used to be cool. Now you always whine and moan about everything.”

“No, I don’t.” Cain gnashed his teeth, fighting to remember that this was his brother. A brother he loved.

A brother who didn’t understand. Didn’t know the truth. But Cain did. Cain knew a lot of things. Like the fact that Flint DeLuca shouldn’t be here.

“You need to stay away from her.” He tried to warn Abel again.

“Why?” Abel yanked on the kitchen door, sending a bottle of ketchup whizzing through the air to land with a dull thud in the tiny sink. “She likes me, and I like her.”

An image of Flint filled Cain’s head. She’d been staring at him all through class, her molten brown eyes studying his face, almost feeling like a warm caress against his skin. Her scent of flowers punched him in the gut, tightening things and driving him insane. He’d ignored her, kept his eyes pasted to the chalkboard, refusing to give in to the sick craving to look back, the agonizing need to stare and imprint her fine-boned face in his memory.

He’d succeeded until the end of class.

Cain had stood in front of her, unleashing the full force of his gaze onto her flesh, knowing she felt the look on a visceral level, deep in her soul. She’d had freckles on her nose, a bow-shaped mouth, and a heart-shaped face.

Something in the center of his chest had knocked painfully against his ribs. He’d call it a heart, but he wasn’t sure he had one of those anymore.

Cain pushed it back. Abel needed to stay away. There were things in this world that he couldn’t understand, violent things. Evil. Things that on the surface appeared alluring and tempting, but peel the layer back and what beat within was something insidious and macabre.

He was too innocent to know better.

All these things flooded his tongue, but what he said was, “She doesn’t like you.” And he hated the way his words growled.

Abel snorted, dumping a pile of mustard on his sandwich of ham and cheese. “Well, I doubt she likes you, if that’s what you’re implying. In fact, I’m pretty sure she called you a jerk-wad and another name that sounded like bastard hass. But I might be a little sketchy on that last word.” He grinned.

Fire gutted his veins, making his skin rush with a wave of heat as his muscles throbbed and grew. Cain stalked his brother, slamming his open palm on the counter, dumping the sandwich to the floor.

“See, that. That’s the crap I’m talking about.” Abel groaned, eyeing the sandwich forlornly.

He was eating a lot. The change would come upon his brother soon. Cain clenched his jaw, remembering who he was, not a beast. A man. Breathing heavily through his nostrils, he fought the red haze trying to creep through his vision.

Abel didn’t know.

He didn’t know.

“Stay away from her,” he growled, sweat gathering on his brow as he fought to keep it together. Something about the girl made him this way.

Her scent, her look, and the way she’d leaned in at the lunch table today. Her sweet breath mingling with his, her pupils dilated and her skin flushed with blood. That wild hair that reminded him of flame—deep red with hints of gold.

She should fear him, just the way others did. They sensed the darkness in him, but not her. She’d leaned in and her eyes had begged for something he couldn’t understand but desperately wanted to.

Violence again crowded his vision, tried to claw its way out of him. But he wouldn’t let it. He was still a man. Still human.

“No.” Abel scooped up the sandwich and dumped it in the trash can. “If you don’t like her, that’s fine. But I invited her to the hole and she’s coming.”

“You did what?” Cain roared, barely hanging on to his sanity. His skin prickled with a violent rush of heat. He gripped his skull, counting slowly to ten. “She doesn’t belong among us, Abel. We don’t know her. She could be dangerous.”

Abel laughed, wiping up the last smear of mustard on the floor. “Yeah, all one hundred pounds of her. Get bent, Cain. It’s my life, and I’m not gonna have you or Dad telling me what I can and can’t do.”

If he didn’t leave now he was going to pound his brother to a bloody pulp. The veins in his arms and neck throbbed with a liquid rush of adrenaline. Cain yanked open the door, inhaling the fresh scent of the night, the cornfield-sweet aroma and humid Tennessee air, letting the smells roll through his nose, smoothing his frayed edges and bringing back the sanity he could barely control anymore.

Abel was right; he didn’t used to be this way. He could laugh at one time.

Hand gripping the knob, feeling the metal soften beneath the flex of his hand, he asked, “Did she really call me that?”

Abel laughed, the sound harsh. “Wait. Do you care? Oh please, tell me—”

Cain slammed the door, rattling the trailer behind him.

Janet was running with Rhiannon in tow. They were giggling, twirling, and laughing breathlessly. “I hear she’s a walker, and a flier annnd throws knives. It’s ridonkulous. Come look.”

Rhiannon nodded, her blond hair trailing behind her like a banner in the breeze.

Cain knew everyone in the family, and he’d never heard of a flier and walker. He stepped in front of Janet, crossing his arms. “Who’s that, Ja?”

She stopped, the smile on her face freezing in place, brown eyes wide as she shook her head. “Cain.”

The smell of her punched him in the gut—lilac and lavender, the scent of Flint was all over Janet.

An icy fist rammed through his heart.

“Where is she?”

Janet wasn’t stupid, she knew who he meant, and she didn’t try to deny it. “In the big top.”

He shook his head. “You know better, Ja. Abel might not. But. You. Know. Better.”

Fury sparked in the depths of her rich brown eyes, a flash of the beast that lurked within the façade she wore. “She’s not like that.”

“You don’t know that. You don’t know anything about her. Why is she here? Why now? You don’t think it’s suspicious?”

“Chill, Cain.” Rhiannon’s voice rolled through him like warm honey. She had her arms crossed in front of her. “She’s just a little bitty human. What could she possibly do to the big bad rager?”

Disgusted, he turned his back on her smirking face. “Ja, come on. You know how these things always end.”

“She might be who she claims to be. I ate lunch with her today, and I detected no deceit. I’d know. You know I’d know. I like her. She’s clumsy. Human. Normal. And God knows I need some of that right about now.” Holding her chin high, her entire body began to tremble.

But not with fear, with the beating of her monster coming to life like a slumbering dragon flexing its wings.

He didn’t know what, but the girl had a way about her. If she was capable of turning a kanlungan into a pussycat, he had to find out who she was. And if she was what he thought she might be… he’d destroy her.

Cain turned on his heel, marching toward the big top.

“Cain, stop.” Janet tugged on his arm.

She might be a monster, but so was he. He shook her off.

“Her dad came for the job.” Janet jumped in front of him, punching his chest with her flat palms, pleading with her eyes for him to stop. “It’s not like that, Cain. Adam’s talking with him now. It’s legit, Cain. This is none of your business—leave it.”

He shoved his face into hers, letting his poison leak into his eyes, knowing they now glowed an eerie shade of crimson red. “This is my business, you’re all my business. Why are you fighting to protect something you don’t even know? This is how we get hurt, Ja, trusting. I won’t make that mistake,” he snarled, ignoring the hurt gleam in her eyes.

Whipping around, he followed the scent of lilac and lavender.

Each step ratcheted up his pulse. Dizzy with the scent of her, he threw the flaps aside. Janet continued to plead with him to listen. But he was past listening. They all knew better. They’d been down this road before. Never trust what you didn’t know.

Her smell was everywhere. That crazy sick feeling beat at his chest, his throat. Then he looked up and a haze of red swept his gaze.

She was running, hair whipping behind her slim shoulders, a look of pure joy radiating from her face.

His muscles throbbed, pulsed with an angry shot of power.

She must have realized she wasn’t alone. Flint turned toward him, her mouth dropping open for a second. And then she was falling.

There was a net, but a roar—primal and feral—ripped from his throat and he ran.

Chapter Five

Hands yanked on her arms, making her squeal as a bright bolt of pain flared through her shoulders.

“Why are you here?”

Dizzy, a scream still trapped in her throat, all she could do was stare at Cain with a mixture of shock and terror. How had he grabbed her? One second she was falling into the net, legs braced to her chest to absorb the impact, and the next she was plastered against a chest that felt as hard as rock, staring into a face that looked like he wanted to rip her limb from limb.

But the violence lurking on his face was second to the fact that he actually had his glasses off, the eyes she’d been so obsessed with earlier now glowed back at her.

Deep, bloody red.

She sucked in a breath, words lost to her as she lost herself to the chaotic rhythm of those swirling eyes.

Flint wasn’t good at science, pretty much hated it with a passion. But she remembered a video she’d watched once. When Earth was first forming and how the world was nothing but sea and lava. Looking in his eyes was like seeing the beginning of time.

“Answer me!” He shook her harder.

“Contacts?” she breathed, wondering if she’d really said that out loud. It had to be contacts. Nobody had red eyes. Especially not swirling red eyes.

He narrowed them, and he had thick brows—perfect thick brows that sloped along the graceful lines of those crazy-colored eyes. Her fingers clenched.

Cain looked confused, his hand shifting slightly down her bicep, gripping the muscle, sending a hot shiver to race like wildfire through her blood.

How sick was it that all she could think about was the rough texture of his palm on her naked arms? How his heat literally seemed to leak straight into her pores, warming her from the inside out?

Slowly it dawned on her that she’d better answer or he’d probably try to shake her head off her neck. Gnashing her teeth, she shoved him back. Or tried to; he barely moved.

“How did you get up here so fast?” Flint wrapped her arms around herself, still caught in his snare.

“Who are you?” He snarled, legs braced wide, hands flexing by his side. “Why are you here? Who sent you?”

Flint kept backpedaling, trying to get away from his toxic touch, nearness, and hate. But he followed her, each question bringing him one step closer, and then she had nowhere else to go. At the edge of the rope and nothing but twenty feet of empty air below her, she couldn’t jump.

“What is your problem? Why do you keep harassing me?”

He grinned and her heart stopped. It wasn’t fair—why couldn’t she feel like this about Abel, anyone else but Cain? He was a one hundred percent, grade-A jerk, and yet her body didn’t seem to give a crap.

Currents of electricity sparked like her namesake inside her, heating her blood to a boil.

“I will find out.” His words were low, edged in velvet and steel. Massive arms swayed toward her.

She had nowhere to go. Pulse thundering in her ears, she held her chin high as his rough hands clamped on her arms, pulling her gently back to his chest. Then his fingers traced a slow path down her arms with the tenderness of a butterfly’s caress.

Cain’s breathing was heavy, his eyes glossed over with an emotion she could hardly comprehend.

“I will find out who you are.” His thumb burned a fiery trail, one she couldn’t see but could feel deep in her bones.

Licking her lips, her body shot with a tiny jolt when his eyes homed in.

“Did you leave me that note?” she whispered. “Did you say they were watching me? Why?”

His nostrils flared and his thumb stopped moving and all she wanted to do was beg him to never stop. She clamped her lips together, hating what she felt. What he made her want.

Cain didn’t answer as he stepped away.

Angry, excited… Flint ground her molars. “You want answers, then you answer me.”

Anger pulsed off him in thick, choking waves. He moved on the netting like it was nothing, never getting snagged in the holes the way she would if she wore his shoes. Almost like he was walking on air, then he was climbing down, disappearing into the dark tunnel ahead.

Confused, Flint didn’t move.

Janet chuckled. And though the girl stood twenty feet below, Flint had no problems hearing her. “You’re right, it is just you.”

Chapter Six

Cain slammed his fist down on the table. Eli and Seth stared back at him with raised brows. Twins, they were more than identical—the two moved and breathed as if they shared the same soul. His cousins on his father’s side, and also his right-hand men, they’d all gone through the change at the same time.

Eli stood, blond spiky hair mussed around his head. “Cain, man… you’re pulsing.”

He didn’t need Eli to tell him that. Cain felt the blood roaring through his veins like a tidal rush, filling his limbs, stretching his veins, punching through his heart like a fist. “Find out everything you can about her.”

Green eyes narrowed with a devilish glint. Seth’s slightly deeper voice chuckled. “Lemme guess, Red driving you nuts?”

Their trailer wasn’t large, and with three big bodies in it, moving around was next to impossible. Eli grinned, full lips curving into a smiling snarl.

Cain clenched his fingers, counting to ten as the haze of violence tried to slither across his vision.

The twins must have recognized what was happening. Suddenly the leering smiles were gone, replaced by grim determination. Eli gripped Cain’s wrist, squeezing so hard it would have snapped a human’s bones.

Seth punched him. He barely felt it.

Cain trembled, biceps clenching and flexing as his breath blew out like a bellows.

“Don’t sink, man,” they both growled. “Stay out of the haze.”

Thick hairs ripped through his biceps, a growl gathered deep in his gut. Their voices were so far away, like listening to chatter underwater.

“Come on, dude. Wake up, Adam will go ape if you destroy another trailer.”

Cain squeezed his eyes shut, knowing they glowed a bloody red. The fuel of fury gathered in his bones, his blood.

She’d looked so small. Fragile. He could have crushed her neck with one jerk. Snapped her spine in two with a casual flick of his wrist, but she hadn’t trembled from fear. There’d been fire, an answering gleam in her gaze. And her smell—it saturated his lungs, buzzed through his head like a fog bank. Thick and viscous and disturbingly appealing.

His heart rate began to settle down, the blinding fog of rage slowly lifting as he thought of Flint. It took several deep breaths to get his body under control, the hot rush of anger becoming a gentle tide.

Cain opened his eyes. Eli and Seth stared at him like he’d sprouted a second head, a look of shock plastered on their faces.

“Man,” Seth whispered, slowly releasing his grip. “I thought we lost you. What happened? We don’t get like this unless we’re…”

Cain jerked his hand back, forking his fingers through his hair.

“Is it the girl? Is she really…” Eli said, words trailing off at Cain’s narrowed glare.

Growling, Cain cocked his head. Holding her had been a bad idea. But seeing her falling, it’d snapped something long dormant inside him. She’d felt good in his arms. Too good. Then she’d mentioned that note.

“Her name is Flint,” he muttered, the animal still in his voice. “You guys need to find out everything you can about her.”

Seth nodded, grabbing his laptop.

Seth and Eli might look like gym rats, but there wasn’t a computer system they couldn’t crack.

“I need to know why she’s here.” He licked his lips. “I saw the hive eyeing her at lunch. She got a note today. Eli, you find out who sent it. Report back to me immediately.”

“What’d the note say?” Eli grabbed a black tank top off the corner of the bed and slipped it on.

“Doesn’t matter.” Cain opened the door. “You just tell me when you find out. Order’s gonna be calling Adam tomorrow. I need to know what to report.”

He left the door hanging open behind him and jogged toward Adam’s trailer. Adam hated to be surprised, as demons often do. But Cain wasn’t in the knocking mood.

Adam lifted his brow at the sound of the cracking boom when the door hit the thin metal wall. “And to what do I owe this honor?” he drawled.

Cain smelled her everywhere. She’d been in this office, staring at Adam. “You can’t hire them.”

Adam licked his teeth, standing slowly. “I’m not hiring them. I’ve hired him. She’s just a… consolation prize.”

Nostrils flaring, knuckles flexing, Cain’s eyes didn’t swerve from Adam’s mesmerizing ones. “You know that ad wasn’t for them. It was for the hive.”

“And how do you know they’re not part of that hive? Hmm?” Adam popped an orange slice into his mouth, filling the room with a sharp citrus scent. “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Besides”—he sat on the edge of the hard wood desk—“we need catchers. They’re terribly hard to come by anymore.”

“Get someone else. Not them.”

Electric-blue eyes narrowed to pinpricks. “You’ve got the stench all over you.”

Cain was aware of that. He reeked of pheromones and lust, the animal nature in him wanting to claim the redhead as his own. Not because he loved her or even liked her—he didn’t even know her—but because his beast said so.

Adam smirked. “Listen, Cain. I’m running a legitimate business here.”

He scoffed. “So that’s what you call this place?”

“Legitimate enough not to get caught.” Adam’s deep voice shivered with the faint stirrings of laughter. “Keep an eye on your girlfriend. If she’s hive, kill her. End of story.”

Wiping his hands on his jeans, Adam stood and nodded toward the door.

“Screw you,” Cain muttered through clenched teeth.

Adam flashed bright white teeth. “Thanks. But I’ve got that covered. Now get out of my office. Come back when you’ve got something good to report.”

Cain turned on his heel. He needed to get away, get away and burn off the excess adrenaline flooding his body like jet fuel before he did something really stupid… like torch the place to the ground.

“Oh, and, Cain?” Adam’s voice was a lazy drawl. “If you like the girl at all, don’t sleep with her. Because I swear if you do, I’ll kill her myself.”

Cain slammed the door so hard the top half slipped off its hinges. Adam’s laugh echoed behind him.

There’d been a time when he’d been just as innocent as Abel, when he’d thought the world was as simple as black and white. But he knew better now.

He’d always sworn he’d kill himself before turning into his father.

God help him…

He pounded the dirt road, walking to his black Ford Mustang. A gift from Adam, for living through the change. His rebirth into hell.

Flint called to him at a visceral level. The type of girl he’d have obsessed about before. The type of girl he’d have invited to the hole. Cain swallowed hard. But she wasn’t for him. Couldn’t be.

Because Adam was right, if she was hive… Cain would kill her.

He’d gut her, twist her head off, and never look back.

Chapter Seven

Four days.

Four days had gone by since that night.

The night she’d been in his arms, his warm breath mingling with her own, making her light-headed and breathless. And then nothing.

She gazed at his empty desk. Every morning she’d come to class, not sure what she’d say to him. Demand an answer to her question? Try to make sense of the crazy feelings he inspired in her? Two parts hate, one part… what? Something not quite hate?

Each night she’d gone to sleep, stomach churning with nerves and the bated anticipation of knowing that maybe tomorrow she’d see him. Maybe tomorrow… but he was never around. Not at his table at lunch, not in class.

Abel didn’t seem fazed by it, and the one time she’d sort of hinted for an answer as to where he was, Abel had shrugged and quickly changed the subject.

She nibbled her bottom lip, banging the tip of her pencil on her desk as she counted down the seconds until…

Brinnnnnnggggg.

The bell rang.

Snatching up her books and her bag, she got out of Dodge, rushing toward Abel’s locker. He had his back to her, a baggy pair of jeans almost slipping off his butt as he dug around his locker for a book.

Flint tapped his shoulder, then scooted to the other side of him just as he glanced to the spot she’d vacated.

“Wha…?” He frowned and looked the other way, then grinned and revealed a large dimple. “Flint, what’s up, chica?”

“Missing you,” she said, leaning against the locker.

His eyes twinkled and he slammed his door shut.

Sick to her stomach with a terrible case of nerves, she stared at the hundreds of laughing, talking faces moving through the halls. Some she was beginning to recognize.

“We still on for the hole tonight? Got some of the gang from the circus meeting us there.”

Gang. As in brother, maybe? She had to bite her tongue to keep from asking. Flint didn’t want Abel to know. Whatever it was. This felt private, personal… and all hers. It was sick, and she knew that. So she nodded instead.

“Good.” He shifted, lifting his strap higher.

Maybe it was just her imagination, but Abel looked kind of bigger today. Still stick scrawny, but not quite so skeletal-looking? Maybe it was just the lights. She grabbed his bicep. “Hey, you working out?”

He flexed the not-so-impressive muscle. “Nah, been eating like a cow though. Got sent to the principal’s office for sneaking a pack of Twinkies in class.”

She laughed. “Well, you can afford to put on some weight.”

“Yeah.”

The conversation started to get awkward at that point. Why was she doing this? Flirting with Abel? She shouldn’t do it, he was nice, she shouldn’t make him think anything was up, but being near him sort of helped ease the tension that was in her gut with Cain’s absence.

“Yeeeah, welp.” Abel lifted his brows and hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “Gotta jet, calculus awaits.”

“Calc, huh? Jeez, Abel… aren’t you in eleventh grade?”

“Yeah.” He grinned, exposing that serious dimple again and making her heart give the tiniest of flutters. He really did have one of the best smiles she’d ever seen. “It’s a curse, what can I say? Cain always tells me my genius is peeking out when I work on numbers.”

“How is Cain by the way?” she asked, eagerly latching on to the mention of his name and then mentally kicking herself when Abel frowned. Flint licked her lips. “I mean, I haven’t seen him in a couple of days, and it’s kind of nice not to have to deal with his PMS. Wondered how long the vacation would last?”

She was totally going to hell for that one. Abel thinned his lips, his easygoing manner gone.

“I don’t care where he is. He drove off that night you and your old man came to interview for the job. Haven’t seen or heard from him since. But that’s not uncommon. Part of why he’s a still a senior.”

Still a senior? As in, this wasn’t his first year being one?

Yet another mystery for her to obsess over.

“Oh.” She tried not to let herself sound too down. “Cool.”

Abel jerked his head toward the door just as the first warning bell sounded. “Class.”

“Yeah, see you at lunch.” Flint waved and then dragged her feet to music class, hoping Mr. Barry hadn’t already handed out the instruments by the time she got there. What she needed was something to bang out her aggression on, like the drums.

What she got was a pair of cymbals.

~*~

School rushed by in a depressing blur. Even the hot stare of the psycho crew by the door didn’t inspire a sense of anything other than “Yeah… whatever, been there done that.” Rhiannon, Janet, and Abel had carried on a constant chatter that helped her because all she basically needed to do was insert an “uh-huh” or an “oh yeah” and they were none the wiser.

She’d been so desperate for any link to Cain that she’d even turned in her seat a couple of times, staring at Cain’s posse. Twin blonds had stared back at her. They wore sunglasses too, but either she was getting used to deciphering what a raised eyebrow meant, or she was slightly psychic.

Either way, the way they were staring at her, she knew Cain had left because of her. Which was just plain weird. He was the one warning her off, telling her to run, and in the end it’d been him who’d run away.

Finally home, Flint opened the door to her apartment. “Dad,” she called.

He popped his head out the door, wearing a bright smile and an oversized winter jacket that fell to his knees. Black spandexed legs stuck out the bottom.

“Umm…” She lifted a brow, fighting a giggle, and then she groaned when the scent of buttered onions teased her nose. “Gonna tell me what all that’s about? And… are you cooking?” She sniffed appreciatively.

He nodded. “Yup. Got paid today. Baby, I think I’m gonna love this place. Haven’t even worked there a whole week yet. Two thousand bucks! What do you think of that!”

Flint cocked her head and headed toward the kitchen. “I think that’s obscene and something’s probably wrong in Accounting. We never get paid that much. Are you sure—”

Her dad nodded, shushing her with his hand as he continued to stir the pot of sizzling onions. Her eyes almost rolled to the back of her head when she saw him drop a pound of ground beef into it. And the smell, oh wow… the smell took her back to a time before Mom’s death, when they used to eat dinner together at the table.

Hard to believe, but her dad was an amazing cook… when he wasn’t too drunk to stand at the stove. A pot of boiling water steamed on the stovetop.

“Get the pasta.” He gestured toward the counter. “I did ask Adam. Though I didn’t want to let go of so much money.”

Flint grabbed the box of spaghetti and dropped the pasta into the water, stirring it quickly before placing the lid on.

“And?” She hopped on the counter. Her stomach grumbled loudly.

Her dad grinned. “And he said Accounting didn’t make mistakes, not to waste his time with stupid questions, and hung up.”

“Yeah, Dad… seriously, what an ass. I can’t believe you want to keep working for that guy.”

“Flint DeLuca, no swearing.” He frowned, then popped a can of tomato paste onto the can opener, which buzzed loudly.

She could have told him that she’d been swearing like a sailor for the past year, that he’d been too drunk to notice and that he’d even joined in occasionally, but that would be cruel. It was good to see her dad acting all domestic and concerned again—she wasn’t ready to pop his bubble.

“Fine.” She held up her hands, crunching on a raw piece of spaghetti she’d left in the box. “But for real, he’s really mean. I don’t like how he talks to you.”

He shook his head. “And I appreciate that, but it’s going to take a lot more than a couple of brusque words for me to bow down. I’m a man too, Flinty.”

“Daddy…” She kissed his cheek. “Of course you are. The best one I know. I just love you, that’s all.”

The grin was back. Bruised male egos, God help them… her mother used to always say a kiss and a hug went a mile when it came to soothing the beast, and of course, she’d been right.

Her dad squeezed her shoulders, then he scooped the tomato paste into the meaty, oniony richness.

She inhaled the tangy pop of tomatoes. “Wow, that smells good.”

“Things are gonna change around here, DeLuca. You’ll see. From now on, we’ll have dinner together. I know I won’t be home at night, but I’m trusting you not to bring home any weird boys with piercings and tattoos.”

“Dad,” she moaned, rolling her eyes. “Are you serious? Please, stop embarrasing me. Besides, I might be gay.”

“You’re not.”

She huffed. “What if I am? What if I haven’t told you because I’m afraid?”

“Flint DeLuca, are you trying to tell me something?” His brown eyes pierced her. “Are you?”

Flint shook her head. “No. I’m not. But you just assumed it was gonna be a boy. It could be a girl and then you wouldn’t have to worry about babies.”

He lifted a brow as he stirred quickly. “You drive me crazy, girl. And for the record, it wouldn’t matter. I’d love you anyway. Got that?”

His brows lifted when she didn’t answer. “Got it?” he asked again.

“I got it, Daddy. And I love you too.”

“That’s right you do.” He flashed her a quick grin, which only made her roll her eyes and smirk back. “But for real, to use your lingo, no babies.”

Her father wasn’t a prude, in fact he’d made it pretty clear that he understood she was reaching an age where she might begin to do things with guys, but she just wished he’d drop it already. She wasn’t stupid.

“Oh my God, Dad. Wrap it up, I get it. Jeez.”

“You better. If you don’t have any, I’ve got some in my bedroom dresser. Top drawer.”

She curled her nose. “I’m, yeah…” Flint dropped the half-eaten spaghetti stick and hopped off the counter. “There are no words. And besides, why do you even have those? Have you met someone?”

Scoffing, he lifted the spaghetti lid and stirred the noodles one last time before giving a satisfied nod. “I was married once you know, Flint. Mom and I didn’t want any more babies, not in our line of work.”

She loved her scatterbrained father, she really did, but sometimes she felt like more of a grown-up than him. “You do know those things are probably moth-eaten by now, right? They’ve got a shelf life.”

“And how would you know that, young lady?” He slipped on a pair of oven mitts and carried the pan of pasta to the sink, draining the water out. Steam curled around his face.

“After-school special. Just, Dad, I got it. Okay. Trust me. Now please, let’s just drop the subject.”

“Fine. Adam wants me to start catching tonight.”

“What?” She grabbed two plates out of the kitchen cabinet. “He does know that you have to have time to set up a rhythm with the fliers, right? It’s not as simple as that.” She snapped her fingers, setting the plates down on the table.

“I’ve been practicing with the girls, Flint. They’re amazing.” Awe gathered in his words, a soft smile gracing his lips. “Nimble and—” He blinked as if remembering who he was talking to. “They’re good.” He cleared his throat, then dumped the pasta into the tomato-sauce-and-meat mixture.

Her heart sank. He’d met someone. He didn’t say it, but he wouldn’t look at her. She’d seen his eyes sparkle like that before. “There’s a woman, isn’t there?”

He closed his eyes, and that spoke louder than any words.

It had been a year. Part of her felt like maybe it was time, but the selfish side—the irrational side—kept thinking… it’d only been a year. Surely he wasn’t ready to move on? She wasn’t.

Flint knew they couldn’t hang on to the memory of Mom forever. She never would have wanted that for them, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

She’d been preparing for this day, but not now. Not yet.

“I like her, Flinty. She’s really nice. But that’s all it is right now. We’re just friends.”

Her smile was strained, but she kept it in place. “Water with dinner?”

He nodded and served her a large spoonful of spaghetti.

“Will you come watch my show tonight?” he asked as he scooped himself a massive plate of noodles.

Abel wanted to go to the hole tonight. She didn’t know if it was a club or just a big hole in the ground. But there was no way she’d miss her dad’s debut. “Absolutely.”

“Thanks.”

They didn’t speak again after that and all Flint could think about was whether she’d get to meet the new woman.

She wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

~*~

She hadn’t known what to wear, so deciding on something safe, Flint had pulled out a pair of distressed blue-jean shorts and a green-and-blue flower-print crop top. It made her hair really pop a deeper red.

Growing up, she’d been embarrassed about her bright red hair, but as she’d aged, it’d turned less orange and more red. Her mom had always said that she’d give anything to be a natural redhead. Flint couldn’t understand it, especially coming from a blond bombshell, but it’d helped her feel better.

Lights flickered. “Ladies and gentlemen.” A loudspeaker cut through her thoughts. “The show will begin shortly. Please find your seats.”

This place was so different compared to any other circus they’d ever been to. For one, there were no kids in sight. No blaring elephants in the background, no silly clowns walking around and waving merrily to the guests.

Sitting all the way in the back of the circular ring, she had an unimpeded view of the people around her. This place didn’t cater to the mainstream, that was for sure.

Women were dressed in punk or Goth gear. Some of them were exotically beautiful, like the woman three rows down, dressed in sheer cream lace that edged up her throat. The formfitting gown looked like something straight out of the Victorian era. Antique, and yet sort of sexy because of how tall and slim the woman was. She had dark curls piled high on her head, exposing the long line of her swanlike neck, pale skin gleaming blue under the prop lights.

The men were similarly eye-catching. Either they were totally sleeved up and dressed in a scruffy, cool style, ripped jeans and white tee… or they were in suits and ties.

Some of them definitely looked human. Especially the ones wearing wide-eyed glances and staring around the way she was, but others (the ones dressed way too formal for this place) had an addictive, eerie draw to them that made her believe that maybe the supernatural did exist.

The woman in the cream dress turned around then, a knowing smile painted on her face. Lavender eyes (and no way were those real) gazed at her, daring her to look away. But Flint couldn’t—she was enthralled by the otherworldly beauty of the woman.

She’d looked pretty from behind, but seeing her face—the model features—something was off. Very, very off about all of this. She was too beautiful. The ones dressed up, they were too pretty. Even the men. It was like she’d taken a wrong turn somewhere and walked into a model convention instead of the circus.

Why did her father want to work here? Couldn’t he sense it? More than just Adam’s nasty disposition. Couldn’t he sense the… offness?

The woman smirked and turned back around.

Every cell in Flint’s body knocked together, causing a rushing tingle of friction to burn through her veins.

Then the lights dimmed and loud, pulsing music spilled like liquid through the tent. Performers came out like line of ants from their tunnel, their sparkling faces stretched into fake smiles, outfits—not quite as garish as most—catching the light. She smiled when she saw her dad. Without the coat, she could readily admire the cut of his black suit. Red and orange rhinestones looked like flames the way they curled around his thighs and chest. With a quick bow, he raced back and she clapped, even though she knew he couldn’t hear.

She saw two other women wearing similar suits, one a brunette and one a blonde. But it was a quick flash and they were gone. Flint couldn’t help wondering which one it was. Then Janet was in the center; she held her arms out in front of her, fingers clenched, forming a circle that she easily stepped through, contorting her body in ways that weren’t natural at all, and Flint laughed.

“Bizarre.” It wasn’t like Janet hadn’t already told her she was a contortionist, but seeing her perform a stunt was toe-curlingly weird.

She bit her lip, eyes scanning the performers’ faces as they did a quick hop or twirl for the crowd. But her heart sank when the last man, who was in a top hat, bowed to the audience, raising the mike to his lips. His eyes glowed as he tipped his face up to the lights and slammed his top hat back down on his ash-blond head.

“Welcome to Carnival Diabolique, home of the damned…”

She shuddered. Not that she was superstitious or anything, but that was just creepy. Her father was Catholic. Not that they went to Mass much anymore, but why wasn’t he as weirded out by all this the way she was?

“Hey, you made it!”

Flint glanced up, smiling at Abel’s happy face. Plopping down in the seat, he shoulder-bumped her.

“You ready?” He practically had to yell to be heard over the blaring drumbeat.

She shook her head. “Gotta watch my dad first.”

Giving her a thumbs-up, Abel settled back in his chair, crossing his hands behind his head.

She smiled, eyeing his outfit. “Why are you wearing swim trunks?”

He lifted a brow, prominent dimple in bold relief. “The hole. You forget?”

Oohs and aahs rang out as a tumbler wearing a snowflake-patterned leotard did a twirl midair, landing in a makeshift net of arms.

“No, I just didn’t know what that was.”

He eyed her jean shorts. “Hope you’ve got a bathing suit under that.”

Flint pinched his arm. “If you wanted me to have a bathing suit on, you should have told me what it was. I thought you were taking me to a club.”

Wrinkling his nose, he swatted at her arm. “What would give you that idea?”

From the corner of her eye, she caught the glint of orange and red. “My dad.” She pointed to him as he solemnly led the procession of fliers toward the tower. And in that moment, she remembered the thrill, the exhilaration of the crowd. Wild applause pumping through her body like a rush of endorphins, making her feel like she could fly.

He was almost regal how he toe-pointed like a peacock toward the tower, looking at everything and nothing all once. A natural-born showman, his steady but slow walk amped up the crowd; an expectant hush fell instantly over the chatter.

“Wow,” Abel breathed.

She grinned. “I know, right? And he hasn’t even started flying yet.”

A part of her had worried that too many weeks of heavy drinking and not enough training would have turned his muscles to mush, but her father slinked up the tower like a cat. Smooth and graceful. The girls followed close behind, their red and orange stripes streaking like flames down their legs whenever the light pinged off them.

Her dad gripped the swing and Flint sucked in her breath, holding it between clenched teeth when he hopped on and hooked his knees over the catch trap before dropping down, suspended fifty feet above ground.

Flint’s stomach dipped, clenching her fingers tight to her knees as she willed her dad to work through the initial dizzy rush of blood to the brain. His eyes were wide and so were hers, then he smiled, waved his arm, and she released the breath that’d made her vision start dancing with spots.

The first woman to grab the bars was the blonde. She took the jump smoothly, raising her legs in a perfect hold, and for a moment Flint studied her. Thin, as all fliers tended to be. Too high for Flint to make out the eye color, but the shape of her face and the curve of her lips made Flint think of her mother.

With a sinking heart, she realized this must be the woman.

Dad always did have a thing for blondes.

Blondie released the bar, flying effortlessly through the air. Twirling once, twice, and a half, before grasping her father’s forearms in a tight grip. The butterflies in Flint’s stomach never stopped dancing through the entire routine.

At one point she’d stopped watching the act completely, failing to join in when the crowd gasped in awe at something the brunette had done. Some sort of jackknifing flip. Why? Because Flint had eyes only for Blondie.

A knot building and brewing each time the woman latched arms with her dad, Flint judged the woman’s skills as a performer, sneered when she over rotated, and if not for the quick thinking of her father, Blondie would have landed in an ungraceful heap in the net. Blondie bit her lip when her dad yanked to keep her from falling. Flint knew how much that hurt. It felt like getting a bone wrenched out of socket.

But she’d stopped making that mistake two years into her training. Her father would have never let her fly until she’d become proficient.

She tapped her finger on the armrest, hating that she felt so petulant at the moment. But a side of her wanted to grab her dad and tell that woman that she didn’t get to do that. Not now. Not when she was only just getting her dad back from the pit he’d been living in the past year.

Flint was grateful the moment it was over, not even having the heart to clap.

“Your old man’s good, DeLuca.” Abel elbowed her with a wide grin, still heartily clapping along with the rest.

“He’s okay,” she mumbled and stood. “You ready?”

Strobe lights flashed around as a loud roar punctuated her statement. Spectators cried out with glee and fright as a huge striped tiger made its way to the center ring, its handler walking slowly behind it with only a whip as protection.

Flint’s heart seized and her mouth went dry. Not without a cage, not legal without a cage. Panicked, she glanced at Abel and he chuckled.

“It’s only Janet and the gang.” He snorted and pointed and sure enough, what had appeared to be a tiger in the dim and crazy strobe lighting was now four people taking a bow.

“Let’s go.” Abel gestured.

“How did they do that?”

He wiggled his fingers. “Magic. You ready or what?”

Still shaking from an excess of adrenaline, she nodded. “Wasn’t Janet supposed to come?”

He glanced at his watch. “She’ll be done in another fifteen minutes.”

Asian-themed music with a techno backbeat spilled through the tent as the contortionists danced and maneuvered themselves into obscene and ridiculous stances. For the first time in a long time, Flint found herself spellbound by the lithe beauty of the performers, but Abel didn’t give her time to appreciate any of it—he grabbed her elbow and, with a dimpled grin, dragged her out.

“Where is the hole?” she asked the moment they stepped out of the tent.

“At the quarry. ’Bout five miles down the road.”

Flint shoved her hands in her pockets. “Five miles? Abel, I think you seriously hate me. Why didn’t you tell me we were gonna have to walk that long? First you don’t tell me we’re going swimming, now I’m wearing sandals and you tell me we’re wal—”

“Will you relax?” He shook her shoulders in a gentle grip. “I’ve got something better.”

She frowned when he pulled out a small silver key from his pocket—didn’t look like any kind of car key she’d ever seen. She desperately hoped he wasn’t planning on opening up some shed with that thing and passing her a bicycle. Midnight biking in the sticks held zero appeal at the moment.

“And that is?”

“The keys to freedom, baby.” He waggled his brows and she couldn’t help but giggle. “Now c’mon before the old man sees me and rips me a new one for stealing his toy.”

Stealing one of Adam’s toys? Oh yeah, she was so there and followed behind Abel as quiet as could be even though her nerves were taut with the thrill of doing something forbidden.

That is until he walked to the shed behind Adam’s office. But there weren’t any bicycles waiting inside when he opened the doors.

“Help me roll this thing out, will you? Don’t want to start it up here.”

She grinned at the cherry-red ATV. “You’re awesome. Have I told you that lately?”

“Aww, shucks.” He grinned, dropping his head in a silly, shy smile. “I try.”

A pile of leaves stirred outside and they stilled, holding their breath, and then chuckled when it turned out to be nothing but a field mouse scampering off.

“Now hurry up, missy.” Abel jerked his head toward the opposite handlebar on her side. “My dad’s got the freakin’ nose of a bloodhound.”

Not that she didn’t want to “borrow” the ATV, because she totally did, but… “Abel, don’t these things lock automatically? I think you’re gonna have to start it so we can get it moving.”

“Umm, how ’bout no.” He lifted a brow. “My dad catches me over here, I’ll be the one scraping horse dung out of the stalls the rest of the week. Look, it’s easy, I’ve done it before. Just pop the clutch and it’ll go.”

“This is a standard? Are you sure you can drive it?”

He huffed. “Flint, this isn’t my first rodeo.” He pointed. “Now pop it.”

She did as he ordered and was surprised how smoothly it rolled out. She stifled a giggle as they eased it past Adam’s trailer, past the tents and the sounds of a roaring crowd, and out the gates.

“I can’t believe we got away with that and no one caught us,” she said, eyes wide with adrenaline.

Abel hopped onto the front and patted the small space behind him. “Not really made for two people, but you’re small enough, I think.”

She snorted. “You’re smaller.”

He rolled his eyes and started the machine. It idled like the gentle purr of a kitten. “I’m pretty sure I just got a new muscle today. Here, look.” He pointed at his sad-looking bicep, flexing it with a grin.

Flint laughed and hopped on.

“Hold on.” Abel hit on the gas and Flint wrapped her arms tight around his waist, his chuckle the only thing she heard.

Chapter Eight

Cain punched her again, splitting her lip open. “Tell me where she is!” he snarled, blood pounding so hard through his veins he thought they’d break open.

She laughed, the sound high and dry, then wiped the blood from her mouth. “You think a few hits will make me talk? You’re even more pathetic than I thought.”

The Aswang drone’s eyes were bloodshot and wild, high on blood and adrenaline. Her skin—if he should even call it a her—was pale and peeling at the edges of her face. The monster was shedding, days away from its metamorphosis.

The dead body by its feet made Cain wonder how many it had already killed. He’d tailed the drone out to the docks, knowing that while its skin peeled, it needed blood. It was the only way to make the transition fully from drone to full-blooded hive.

Cain gripped it by its shirt, his voice deep and full of fire as he asked, “Where is your queen?” Spittle flew from his lips.

The Aswang licked its lips and moaned, eyes homed in on Cain’s neck. “Your pulse beats like thunder in my ears. How do you taste, rager?”

The skin under Cain’s eye twitched as he barely restrained his natural instinct to maim and thrash and beat the creature to a bloody pulp. “One last chance to answer me. Where is your hive?”

Its bloody eyes narrowed into twin slits. “What is your weakness, rager? Hmm?” Its sibilant tone crawled over Cain’s body like writhing maggots.

His smile was cocky. “So it seems you won’t be answering me?”

The red haze covering his vision began to slowly clear once he stopped trying to control himself. Now that he knew he was going to kill it, staying in control was so much easier. He raised a brow.

It moved its head like a charmed cobra, lecherous grin tipping the corners of its fanged mouth. “Our soothsayer says you have one. You all have one.”

The blood in his veins turned to ice.

“Is it your brother? Hmmm? We’ve seen how you try to protect him. We will find out. And when she does,” it hissed, “it will be the beginning of the end.”

Cain’s hands slowly slid up the creature’s body, coming to rest against the peeling cheeks. “I have no weakness,” he snarled, and then with a surge of strength, he torqued the thing’s neck until the bones cracked and the Aswang slumped lifeless at his feet.

Body still pumped full of adrenaline, Cain jerked upright and with a roar ran into the green dumpster in the abandoned alley. Over and over again, he slammed his weight into the metal, bending it like a straw, burning through the fuel of his rage until the shaking stopped, until his vision cleared.

The slick pavement ran with water and blood.

He stared at his knuckles and then the buzzing in his head quieted and he heard the terrified murmurs hiding within shadow.

A homeless couple stood fifty yards away, hugging one another, gazing at him with terror and wonder.

Nostrils flaring, muscles beginning to relax and return to normal, he turned on his heel and ran back to his car, leaving the carcass to burn in the morning light.

He needed to talk to Adam and he needed to do it now.

Chapter Nine

Flint got off the ATV, laughing as she finger-combed the knots out of her hair. “That was—”

“Awesome, right?” Abel gave her that killer smile again.

Driving through the dead of night, barely able to see the path ahead as they twisted and turned around stumps and ruts… Yeah, it’d been reckless and unbelievably exciting.

A sliver of moon peeked through the cloudy night, but she shouldn’t have worried she’d drown in the water. Someone had lit what looked like a hundred torches everywhere. At its center a large pool of black water rippled softly.

They stood about sixty feet above the water, the rocky ledge that led down to the water’s edge making her slightly nervous.

“This is the hole? And you expect me to swim in that?” She gave him a good-luck-with-that smirk.

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, I expect you to swim in that, wuss. Besides, I don’t think it’s got a Loch Ness monster lurking in there.”

“You don’t think?”

Abel flung his arm over her shoulder, guiding her down the hill. “I know, okay? Mom’s got a friend who works the quarry—there’s not even fish swimming in that thing.”

“Hmm.” Flint still wasn’t too sure, but she also didn’t want to be the only one who didn’t swim. She’d wait to see what everyone else did when they got there.

Once they got to the bottom, he guided her over to a large cooler nestled in the grass, popped the lid and handed her a beer.

“Beer, Abel? Don’t you have anything other than that?”

“Girl Scout,” he mumbled, chuckling low.

She bristled as he dug around for something else. Not that she hadn’t gotten smashed in her life, she had, but Flint had seen something most kids probably hadn’t and that was a dad so wasted he’d pissed himself almost every night an entire year straight.

Drinking wasn’t as much fun when you got to see the other side of it while stone sober. She snatched the water bottle out of his hand and refused to say thanks.

“Anyway”—he popped the top of his beer and took a huge draught of it before finishing his thought—“how was the first week of school?”

“It sucked.” She twisted the cap on her bottle, glanced at the water, then screwed the cap back on. She really wasn’t thirsty.

Abel kicked off his flip-flops and sat on the grass, crossing his ankles. The humidity of earlier had faded, the night was pleasantly warm. Flint dropped down next to him, crisscrossing her legs.

“You hear ’bout that father-daughter/mother-son dance next week at the rec center?” He burped, glanced at his bottle, and curled his nose, a quick grimace that let her know he hadn’t really developed a taste for the stuff yet.

“Yeah. I’m not telling my dad. Does anyone even go to those things really?” Then it dawned on her that she might have insulted him. “Umm… I mean. Are you taking your mom? If so, that’s cool.”

Abel rolled his lips. “Even if I wanted to, which not in a million years, she’d never come. Mom’s…” He looked at her and shrugged. “She’s yeah… whatever.”

“Whatever?” She wrinkled her nose. “Does she work in the circus too?” Flint mentally rewound all the people she’d glimpsed tonight and none remotely resembled either Cain or Abel.

Abel scratched at the paper wrapping on his glass bottle. His jaw was clenched tight, and in that moment it was uncanny how much he reminded her of Cain. A solid eighty pounds lighter, but the resemblance was definitely in that scowl. Then his thick brown brows smoothed out.

“My mom’s completely disfigured, Flint.”

Oh, she’d stepped into that one. That awkward moment when she asked a totally random and innocent question, only to find out the answer went so much deeper than she’d wanted to go. “I’m so—”

“Sorry?” he supplied with a grim set of his lips. “Don’t be. Happened a long time ago.” He shrugged. “It is what it is.”

He sounded glum, and she so didn’t want to poke old wounds. Tonight was supposed to be about fun, about forgetting everything and just being young. But she couldn’t help but wonder as other kids from the show started trickling in how Abel’s mom was disfigured and what could have done it.

Finally she spotted Janet and, with a sigh of relief, hopped to her feet. “Janet’s here.”

Abel plunked his less-than-half-drank beer down. “So’s Rhiannon.” He pointed at the petite blonde walking beside a waving Janet.

Both girls were still wearing their cheetah-spot tights and tutus.

But unlike Flint, the moment they got to the water’s edge, they rolled down their stockings, unhooked their tutus, and stepped out in matching black bikinis.

“Lovely,” Flint drawled. “You knew too?”

Rhiannon laughed, eyeing Flint’s blue-jean shorts. “That’s gonna suck to swim in.”

Then, taking a running dive, she slipped easily into the water. Janet followed close on her heels. Abel dragged his shirt off, finger-waved at Flint, and cannonballed in, getting Flint completely soaked.

He popped out of the water a second later and flicked water at her. “Get in—you’re not getting any younger.”

And since pretty much everyone had jumped in, there didn’t seem a point in staying out. Flint took off her top. Yes, it was a bra she had on, but thankfully she’d worn her hunter-green one, which meant it pretty much looked like a bikini top anyway. But the shorts were definitely not coming off.

Swimming in denim was going to suck as Rhiannon had put it so nicely, which meant Abel was totally gonna pay. Flint cannonballed in, shocked immediately by the sharpness of the cold water that seemed to cut straight through her bones.

Shivering, she popped to the surface and growled. “It’s cold!”

Abel snorted and Janet shook her head. “Nope,” they said together. “You’re just a wimp.”

A few more seconds and she finally felt able to breathe without clacking her teeth together. “I’ll show you wimp.”

She dove underneath, this time prepared for the cold, and with a quick stroke reached Abel’s side. Flint latched on to his shorts and jerked them down.

“Flint, I’ll get you!” he cried when she resurfaced, and then proceeded to chase her around for the next ten minutes.

Thirty minutes later, Flint was done. She could barely feel her fingers anymore and wondered why no one else was shivering as violently as she was. She shoved the hair out of her eyes and nodded to the bank.

“I’m getting out. Too cold.”

Janet floated on her back next to her, gently swishing her hands in the water, not reacting except to open her eyes when a group of five rowdy guys swam close to her, splashing so hard the water landed on her face.

“I think Rhi brought you a towel. It’ll be next to the ATVs. Look for the one with Hawaii printed on it.” Then she dipped under the water and disappeared.

Abel was splashing around with Rhiannon and a few other kids Flint recognized from the procession earlier. Arms shaking with cold, she hoisted herself out of the water and sat for a moment, body so numb she wasn’t sure she’d be able to walk straight right now.

But the brush of air that’d felt so warm and inviting earlier was now making her skin crawl with ice. The denim was definitely not helping; the second she stood, she wanted to strip it off. And might have if Abel hadn’t shot her a knowing look just then.

Hissing at him, she turned on her heel and walked back up to the parked ATVs. It wasn’t far, but it might as well have been—stones kept gouging her feet as the cold continued to beat through her body.

Thankfully, she found the stack of towels and tossed them aside until she found Hawaii. With an audible sigh, she wrapped it around her body. She really wanted to go home now.

She and cold did not mix.

Flint plopped down, wrapping the beach towel completely around herself, huddling underneath it for whatever warmth she could. She wasn’t sure how long she’d sat there when she suddenly became aware of the sensation of being watched.

It started out with a prickle in the back of her neck. She rubbed the spot and frowned, beginning to freak at the thought of someone spying on her.

Glancing over her shoulder, heart pounding so hard she heard it echo in her ears, she scanned the darkness. At first she couldn’t see anything, but she knew there was something there. A second later, she saw glowing red eyes.

“What are you doing here?” The gruff voice shattered her silence and with a scream, Flint jumped to her feet and raked her nails down the face of the voice, not knowing until a second later that the face belonged to Cain.

Twin welts ran the length of his cheek, beads of blood welling at the bottom.

“You scared me!” She grabbed her chest, only just realizing she’d lost the towel.

The look he sent her had nothing to do with the scratches and everything to do with what he was looking at. Namely her breasts.

“You’re wearing a bra.”

It wasn’t a question, more an accusation, and she bristled, shoving wet, flopping strands of hair out of her eyes. His sneer and complete disregard for the scratches she’d clawed down his face made her furious. Flint clenched her fists, wishing she’d drawn more blood. She wanted to bend down and pick up the towel but felt somehow that doing so would be like telling him he’d won. So she held her head high.

“I haven’t seen you in days, and that’s what you say to me? A hello might be nice.”

Cain stepped in close, and it was then that she noticed the large rip in the sleeve of his shirt. And he smelled good. Like really good. A deep, musky scent of pine and something spicy and woodsy. Wishing she could pinch her nose shut, she glowered back at him.

“Aww, did you miss me?” His lip curled up and her stupid heart did that stupid pitter-patter thing again and she really wanted to punch him. Like lay him flat and then kick him in the junk for good measure.

“Get over yourself, loser.” She’d started to turn when he grabbed her elbow and her entire body literally seemed to burn from the contact—it snapped and sparked like a flame coming to life. Confused and slightly breathless, she shook him off.

“You need to go home,” he growled, and her spine went stiff because he was so close, his heat hugging her from behind, his warm breath whispering in her ear, smelling of mint.

“You know.” She twirled on her heel, pinning him with a hard glare, ignoring the fact that he hadn’t moved back a step, every cell in her body traitorously aware of him. “Funny, because I was just thinking to myself how very badly I wanted to go home, except I don’t have a ride.”

He glanced at her feet. And she was pretty sure she’d seen a flash of humor skate across his full lower lip before it again became that perpetual frown she associated with him. “Then walk, princess.”

Glaring, furious, she counted slowly to ten, refusing to give him the satisfaction of yelling again. “Fine.”

She had zero clue how to get home from here. Riding behind Abel, she hadn’t exactly been paying attention. Flint stomped back down to the quarry, searching for her shoes and shirt. Her breathing was hard and her body shaking, but not from the cold, rather from a fury so bone deep she seriously wanted to hurt something.

Namely something that started with a C and ended with an n.

Abel called her name, waving at her to come back. Flint shook her head and mimed that she was sleepy. She was so angry by this point she was pretty sure talking right now would be explosive. She slipped her sandals on, yanked her shirt over her head, and marched back up, refusing to even look at Cain as she passed him.

She felt his look, that same hard look that’d pressed in on her earlier. Flint made it about a hundred yards out of the quarry, each step making her blood boil hotter, before she was jerked to a stop.

He’d yanked her arm. Again.

“What!” she snapped.

“Shouldn’t walk out here all by yourself, princess.”

“Screw you, Cain. This princess can take care of herself.”

His brows rose and those lips she hated so much—only because she couldn’t stop obsessing about them—curved up into a grin that was like a kick in the gut. If he would only just look pretty and not say a word. Ever. Then they could probably get along.

A twinge of fire set up residence in the back of her skull, hammering away. She’d have a major headache by the end of the night.

“Princess, I seriously doubt that.”

Flint narrowed her eyes, fed up with his princess crap. “For the record, the name’s Flint DeLuca. Use it. And secondly”—she unhooked her elbow from his hand—“take a Valium. You told me to walk, I’m walking.”

“Do you always do whatever anybody tells you?”

He was smirking again, that cocky, self-righteous…. Delicious… She hated him.

“You are such a jerk.”

“My car’s back this way.” He jerked his head. “I’ll give you a ride home.”

“I’d really rather walk.”

He lifted a brow. “Not gonna happen.” He grabbed her arm again and she jerked.

“Stop grabbing me,” she snarled.

“Follow and I won’t grab, make a run for it and I’ll fling you over my shoulder.”

She huffed and then sputtered, “You’re… that’s…. I…”

“That’s what they all say.”

“Pig!”

He snorted and then walked to his car. She debated whether to make a run for it, but in the end decided she didn’t want to test his threat.

His grin was rakish as he looked back at her. “And, princess, you might want to take that shirt off and sit on it—don’t want my seat stained.”

“I hate you.”

His laugh was the only thing she heard.

Chapter Ten

Cain slammed his car door with a world-weary sigh and leaned against the hood for a second. The sky was that hazy color of lavender right before dawn—he hadn’t gotten any sleep last night. After dropping Flint off, he’d scouted downtown, looking for more hive, but hadn’t found any. He’d gone back again tonight, and again, nothing. Like the hive had disappeared. Which he knew wasn’t true because the maggots were still infecting the school.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. The adrenaline that hummed constantly through his veins was now nothing but a whimper. And the entire time he should have been focusing on finding the hive, he’d been thinking about Flint.

She’d been in a green bra. And had let everyone see. He blew out a furious breath.

On top of that, she was definitely being followed by hive. He had no doubt the note was left by hive, because the night at the quarry there’d been one of the hive there. And it’d been watching her. If he’d had more time he’d have bound the maggot and transported it back to the circus, but she was too close. She might have heard. Plus, he didn’t want it to escalate in front of her.

Humans could never know his world.

There’d not been a choice other than to kill it and wait for the sun to do its thing the next morning.

“Hard night?”

The sultry, exotic voice made him open his eyes. “You could say that.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

Aunt Pandora gave him the once-over. Her raven’s-wing brow quirked. “Where have you been? Adam went ballistic tonight. Said you were supposed to muck out the stalls during the show.”

He shrugged. “Adam can just suck it. Besides…” He settled in, crossing his booted feet at the ankles. “We both know that’s not why I’m here.”

Pandora leaned beside him.

In truth, she wasn’t really his aunt. Not by blood anyway. Adam and Pandora were the same species. Nephilim, demon-human hybrids, and two of a very rare group anymore. The clan liked to stick close together—strength in numbers was what she always said.

But she’d been around as long as he could remember, and he’d never known her as anything other than his aunt.

“Order’s been up my butt about some area in Venice.”

His aunt was the theatrical type; she loved dressing up like an old Victorian Goth. Her dress was satin cream and buttoned all the way up her throat, reminding him of a Gothic angel.

But he’d seen her in a killing haze once before. Nephilim were no angels. And when she was in full-on demon mode, that was the stuff of nightmares.

“So you’re leaving? Really could use you to help me crack into the hive.”

She nodded. “Sorry, guy. Got my marching orders tonight. Luc’s packing up our van right now.” Pandora pointed to a dark blur of shadow a few yards off.

Luc was her off–again/on-again… something. Blond hair, lavender eyes, and mean as the devil. Cain never had liked the bastard.

“A word of advice, Cain.”

He cocked his brow.

“Don’t get too caught up with that girl.”

“What girl?” Instantly he felt the stirrings of the beast flare to life.

“Whoa there, cowboy.” She grinned and patted his forearm. “You know me and you know exactly why I’m urging caution here, right?”

Cain forked his fingers through his hair.

Peering at him with hypnotic lavender eyes, Pandora nodded. “You saw what your dad did to your mom. How that totally screwed him up. Don’t be a statistic, Cain. It never works for us. Why do you care?”

“I’m not one of you guys. Besides”—he smirked—“I thought demons don’t have feelings.”

She gave an unladylike snort. His aunt might look like a delicate flower, but beneath the pretty façade lurked a monster that even he feared.

She cupped his cheek, her warm hand instantly quieting the hum in his blood. There were monsters worse than him in this world. Easy to see the pretty face and never realize she was over five thousand years old.

“Yeah, that’s the biggest lie we tell ourselves, isn’t it?”

He ground his jaw when she pulled away and glanced over his shoulder, holding up a finger.

A second later he knew why when Luc’s voice cut through their conversation. “C’mon, Dora! Time is money.”

“Shut your piehole, Luc!” she yelled back and then gave Cain a weak grin. “Boss man’s getting impatient.”

“Yeah, whatever.” He flicked his wrist and pushed off his car, making to head to his trailer and catch an hour nap before school.

“Oh, by the way…” She grinned, and her teeth were no longer blunt, but sharp and sickle-shaped. “Left a little surprise for you in the shed.”

He cocked his head.

“She, at least I think that’s what it is with all its skin flapping off, is pretty pissed.”

“You caught a drone?”

“Caught something.”

He grinned. “I was just gonna bag one at school this morning. Last one wasn’t in a talkative mood, had to kill—”

Pandora hissed and grabbed his elbow, curling her fingers around until they resembled claws. “Don’t you ever do that, Cain. You follow our laws and keep it by the book. Don’t want the Order breathing down our necks—trust me. There’s something going on there, I dunno…” She twisted her lips and then sighed. “Just promise me, Cain, by the book. Kill as many hive as you need to find that queen, but keep it by the book.”

Her voice was cold, a rumbling grate that tore down his spine and made him shiver, but her eyes glittered with something close to fear.

What could make a five-thousand-year-old demon tremble that way?

Whatever it was, it wasn’t something Cain wanted any part of. He already had enough problems. “Yeah. All right.”

“Pandora. Woman,” Luc roared.

She rolled her eyes, gave Cain a quick, hard kiss on the cheek, and then moved off as quietly as a ghost.

Exhausted, he licked his teeth and headed for the shed.

~*~

An hour later, the drone was dead. Nothing but a bloody pulp of bits and flesh. He was panting, breathing heavily when a hard hand clapped his shoulder.

“Crap, Cain.” Seth’s gray eyes roamed the length of the blood-splattered shed. Aswang was everywhere, on the roof, on the floor, on Cain’s clothes. “Did you at least find out where the queen’s being hidden?”

Heaving for air, hardly able to talk, Cain stood in a dazed sort of shock. Killing wasn’t what bothered him, what bothered him was the violence of this attack. Because tonight he discovered the real reason why the hive was so obsessed with discovering his weakness. He was emitting pheromones, pheromones they could smell.

Pheromones the queen could control by controlling his weakness.

He turned to Seth, a snarl on his face. “What’d you find out about Flint DeLuca?”

Seth held up his hands; outside Eli stood as stunned as his twin. “Nothing, man, clean as a whistle. No priors, born seventeen years ago, her mom died walking the tightrope, her dad became an alcoholic, few calls to the police for drunken disorderly… but nothin’, they’re clean.”

Cain grabbed fistfuls of his hair and growled. “This can’t be happening!”

“What man?”

Cain shoulder-bumped Seth out of the way and then walked out of the shed, heading to Adam’s trailer, not caring if he woke him up. Cain stomped up the steps and flung the door open, rocking the trailer.

A startled female cry rang out and then everything was a blur as Adam rammed his forearm into Cain’s throat, pinning him against the wall as it heaved with a violent shudder.

“What do you want?” Adam’s blue eyes were merciless.

“Adam, stop!” Cain’s mother sat up on the pullout couch mattress, wrapping the sheet around her upper body, her long black hair covering the left side of her face. The one that looked like someone had doused her in gas and lit her on fire.

Adam’s nostrils flared. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t rip your head off your shoulders right now.”

Throat tight from a lack of air, blood pumped full of rage, Cain punched Adam in the side of the head, dazing him just long enough to flinch.

It was enough.

Taking a greedy gulp of air, he twisted out of Adam’s grip but couldn’t stop from slumping to the ground, coughing and hacking as he tried to clear his airway.

Adam glanced down in disgust. “Get up. You’re man enough to come into my house uninvited, then get up.”

Black spots swimming in his eyes, Cain slowly got to his feet. His throat hurt like a mother, but he forced himself to speak through it. “You told me I wasn’t anything like you. You swore it couldn’t happen to me.”

A slow smile curled Adam’s lips. “Dora’s parting gift. Take it the drone talked, did it? What’d it tell you?”

Adam planted his bare feet shoulder width apart. Dark hair tousled from sleep, and wearing nothing but a pair of checkered boxers and a white shirt, he didn’t appear as anything other than a human. But it was merely the bait that set the trap.

“Enough. The truth.” Cain clenched his fingers by his side, glancing at his mother who looked frail and so fragile in that large bed. “What do you have to say about it? Anything?” He lifted a brow.

Adam chuckled. “I lied. You’re just like me. You’re all just like me.”

“Adam, honey, please don’t do this.”

Breathing heavily through his nose, Adam dropped his head for a brief instant, but not before Cain caught the rare glimpse of pain filter through his eyes. When he looked back up, it was already gone.

“If they told you what I think they told you, then you make sure you don’t get attached to anything. You do, you kill it.”

His mother sucked in a sharp breath. “How dare you, Adam?” She clutched the sheet tighter. “How dare you? You wouldn’t do it to me, why in the world would you force that on him?”

The muscle in Adam’s jaw tensed, and his eyes looked like cut glass when he said, “You do as I say, Cain. You already know how bad it can get.”

Cain shook his head and flexed his fingers. “I’ve got to shower, got school.” He turned on his heel.

“Oh, and lock that door behind you,” Adam drawled.

Hand on the knob, Cain smiled viciously. “By the way, old man, got a mess in the shed that needs cleaning up.”

Then he slammed the door behind him and didn’t lock it.

Chapter Eleven

Flint took her time getting ready for school Monday morning. Not that she had much of a selection, but there had to be a dress somewhere in the pile of clothes. It would probably help if she weren’t so tired, but Saturday and Sunday night she’d tossed in bed, somewhere between dreaming and being half-awake. And every time she did dream, it was to see those red eyes, which she’d convinced herself this morning had to have been Cain’s taillights or something.

Her theory was riddled with holes. Like for instance, she’d seen him with red eyes in the big top the night he’d nearly caused her to break her neck. She’d been trying to convince herself that  he’d been wearing some sort of freaky contacts and that he wore sunglasses in school because of extreme eye sensitivity, anything other than the fact that he had honest-to-God red eyes.

She flung item after item over her shoulder, moving the large pile from in front of her to behind her, one piece at a time. Finally she found a soft teal-blue sleeveless sundress. She sniffed it.

There’d been a time when that wouldn’t have been necessary. But ever since she’d taken over keeping house, well… Things had slid downhill a little.

Satisfied that it was good enough, she slipped it on, brushed her teeth, did something with her hair. Hated it and decided to just let it hang, as usual, then put on some eye shadow. Hated it, but didn’t have time to scrub it off. With a groan, she sprinted to the kitchen.

“Dad?”

He was at the counter, drinking a cup of coffee and reading the morning paper, looking fresh and clean and wearing a pair of slacks and a blue button-down shirt.

He glanced up with a smile, and then his eyes widened and the mug stilled by his lips. “Wow, baby, you look—”

Running her hands down the front of her dress, she headed to the fridge and grabbed the first thing she saw. Which happened to be  a bottle of orange juice and an almost completely brown banana. She grimaced but grabbed them anyway. “Didn’t expect to see you up so early.”

He shrugged. “Someone’s gotta stock that fridge, right?”

She frowned. “In slacks and a nice shirt?”

“Yeah, about that.” He folded the paper and set it down on the counter, then rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m inviting Katy over for dinner tonight.”

“Whoa.” She plopped down on the stool beside him, her stomach knotted up for an entirely different reason. “Isn’t this moving kind of fast?”

His brows dropped. “No. I’m a forty-year-old man, Flinty… I’m not some boy trying to flirt, and I’m pretty sure she knows that.”

Peeling the banana open slowly, Flint barely refrained from rolling her eyes, sick in her gut at the thought of some blond stand-in eating at their kitchen table tonight. No wonder he was going shopping. He’d never bothered to do it for her.

Resentment curled its claws in her as she ate the disgusting and overly ripe fruit. “Bananas don’t go in the fridge, Dad.”

He sighed. “Flint, it’s been a year. I’m not the type that can…” Swallowing hard, he pressed his lips together.

She took a sip of the juice and then scraped the stool back as she stood. “Look, I can’t stop you. What do you expect me to say?”

A hurt look flitted in his eyes. “Weren’t you the one telling me to get out and date? That’s what I’m trying to do.”

“No.” She jerked her book bag onto her shoulder. “I told you that it was time to stop drinking and grow up! Not move on to the first bimbo who bats her lashes at you.”

“Katy’s not like that.”

She rolled her eyes. “And how would you know, Dad? You’ve known her all of what? Two weeks?”

Then she heard the squeal of the school bus.

“I gotta go before I miss my bus.”

“She’s coming over, Flint.”

“I heard you the first time.”

She didn’t look back because she knew if she did, she’d start crying. Flint hadn’t expected it to hurt this bad. She was almost eighteen for crying out loud, all grown-up. Shouldn’t she be able to handle her dad moving on?

But as she boarded the bus, she had a sick feeling that this day was only going to get worse.

And it did.

She didn’t know why she’d expected Cain to suddenly change. Maybe because he’d driven her home last night. And because he’d been halfway nice by the time he’d dropped her off.

But the second she entered homeroom, she knew. This time, not only was he wearing his shades, but he also had on a pair of earbuds, and the tinny strain of rock music annoyed her all through class.

She kept glancing at Mr. Wickham, expecting him to take Cain to task like he’d done her on the first day of school. But no, completely oblivious.

And Cain… might as well have been a statue for all that he noticed her.

Feeling all sorts of stupid for wearing a dress, sure that he knew it was because of him, she wanted to kick herself. Really hard.

Of course he didn’t care. Why would he? Nothing had changed. He’d driven her home.

And as her anger mounted, so did her stupid. Before she had time to realize what she was doing, it was already done. She’d torn a sheet of paper out of her binder and crumpled it into a ball, then thrown it at his chest as hard as she could.

He glared down at the white ball in his lap like it offended him.

That seemed to get his attention. Turning, she felt his glare like scalding water.

“What?” he growled.

Annoyed with herself, hurt by her father, she said the first thing that popped into her head. “I really hate you.”

He smirked. “I think we already established that, princess.”

“And why do you wear so much cologne?” she said with a snarl. “It’s really distracting.”

He leaned forward, tugging the earbuds out of his ear. “What did you just say?”

She had to be going crazy, because she could swear that his voice just growled. Like animal growled, reverberating with the echo of something deep and throaty. She shivered, both hot and cold, heart banging hard against her ribs.

“Cain and Flint, why am I not surprised?” Mr. Wickham gave her a scathing look. “Anything you’d like to share with the class?”

“Yeah, Flint says she needs to go to the bathroom; she just started her period.”

The guys in class erupted in laughter, the girls look embarrassed for her, and Flint just wanted to run away or punch him. She clenched her fist, anger beating so hard in the back of her throat she could taste it.

“I didn’t—”

“Ms. DeLuca, go to the office. Cain, stay after class.”

“What!” She jumped to her feet. “How come I have to go to the office?”

Mr. Wickham planted his hands on his hips. “Because this is your third offense, and only Cain’s first. Now gather your things and go.”

Ears flaming candy-apple red, she shoved her books into her bag and yanked it over her shoulder. Cain simply grinned at her, but she refused to rise to the bait. Lifting her nose high in the air, she walked out of class, attempting to ignore the jeers of the class behind her.

She hated him.

She really, really did.

~*~

“Oh my God, Flint!” Janet and Rhiannon squealed in unison. “We heard about today.”

“Cain is such a jerk,” Janet growled.

Abel nodded. “Told you.” He shoveled a fistful of fries in his mouth.

“So what happened?” Rhi peered at Flint with worried blue eyes.

“Got detention for thirty minutes,” Flint grumbled, drawing with her french fry in the pile of ketchup on her plate before finally tossing the soggy thing down with a loud sigh.

“Forgot to tell you earlier.” Abel glanced at her. “You look really nice today.”

Janet laughed. “Abel!”

“What?” He frowned. “Flint’s having a bad day, only trying to be nice.”

Flint smiled. Wrong brother, but… “Thanks, Abel.”

Feeling like a total jackass and needing some space, she got up. “I’m gonna sit out on the bleachers until lunch is over. Have a trig test next period and I want to get some studying in.”

Abel looked like he wanted to pout. “You want company?”

“No, thanks.” She picked up her tray, walked over to the trash can, and dumped it. She felt Cain’s stare on her. Even from all the way across the room, she felt it like a brand. Hot and sticky. But she wouldn’t look.

Flint walked out the back door and took a deep breath of the flower-laden air. Every step away from him felt better.

Why had he done that to her? She’d thought in the car maybe he’d finally gotten over whatever weirdness he’d felt, but no… today had been worse than ever.

Not to mention the fact that she’d acted like an idiot with her father this morning. If he wanted to start dating, he had every right. Maybe it was time she followed her own advice and let go of the past. Mom would never have wanted this.

A hot ball of tears had gathered in her throat by the time she finally reached the bleachers and sat.

Pulling her trig book out, she opened it to chapter two but couldn’t make out the page as her eyes swam with tears.

Chapter Twelve

Cain watched her walk out. A tight frown screwed his forehead.

Why had he embarrassed her that way this morning?

He hadn’t meant to.

But she’d told him she could smell him.

She’d smelled him.

He clenched his jaw, stuffing half his sandwich in his mouth with one bite as a cold sweat broke out on his back.

Cain dropped his head, not used to feeling this out of sorts about anything. Why was this bothering him so much?

Seth elbowed him in the ribs. “Hive at four o’clock.”

Clenching his jaw at the mere mention, he looked as the group of hive at the farthest table got up and dumped their trays, then headed in single file out the same door Flint had walked through a minute ago.

“Janet,” he barked, gesturing for her to come over.

“What?” she snarled.

And for a second he was shocked, not used to Janet acting like that with him. Of all the people who knew who he really was, she was one of the few he actually got along with.

Unless of course… she was taking Flint’s side.

“Come here,” he said, using his authority over her.

Her body went rigid. She hated when he used his right as master over her, but Janet was his kanlungan, which meant whether she liked it or not, she had to do what he said.

Reluctantly she walked up to him, each movement forced as her eyes gathered with the darkness that lurked in her soul. “What do you want?”

“I want you to tail Flint.”

“Excuse me, what?” She crossed her small arms over her neon-green shirt. “You mean the girl you humiliated in class today? She’s my friend, Cain.” Her eyes were almost fully black. She glanced at Seth and Eli. “I know she’s not hive,” she whispered. “Your goons already told me”—she ignored the twins when they huffed—“which means she’s safe.”

Her words were like a knife twisting in his heart. “Look, she’s important, okay. Hive wants her.”

That snapped the anger right out of her. Her eyes widened. “Why?”

Cain was very aware of Abel’s eyes on them—his brother was trying hard to hear what they were whispering about. Abel still didn’t have a clue about the world around them, and Cain meant to keep it that way for as long as he could.

“I’m not sure,” he said, remembering what the drone had said before he’d killed her. Did they think Flint was somehow the key to mastering him? The back of his skull ached with a low throb. “I want you to just stand outside and make sure they leave her alone.”

“Then why don’t you do it?” She twisted her lips, the defiance coming back.

Clenching his jaw, he gripped the edge of the table. “Just do what I told you to do, Kanlungan.”

She hissed, then whirled around, heading back to her table. But he knew her eyes would be normal again by the time Abel saw her.

“I’m gonna go outside and check on Flint,” she said woodenly. “Come on, Rhi.”

Rhiannon frowned but nodded. For once there wasn’t a snappy comeback from her.

“I’m coming,” Abel said, making to stand.

“No.” Janet tossed a dirty look back at Cain. “Just girl time. Finish your lunch.”

Then the girls were gone.

Abel glowered, swallowed his chocolate milk in one gulp, and then marched to Cain’s table, planting his hands on top. “What did you say to her?”

“None of your business.”

Abel shook his head, disgust and fury burning bright in his brown eyes, and for a split second Cain saw the vein in Abel’s left arm bulge. His heart sank. He’d protected Abel for years, never wanting this life for his baby brother. But he couldn’t stop genetics no matter how much he wished he could.

“You’re such a bastard, Cain.”

“Pretty sure Flint already started that fan club—you should join up.”

“Ugh.” Abel stormed off, leaving his table littered with half-eaten food.

Seth and Eli glanced at Cain.

“Dude, this thing is going to hell in a handbasket,” Eli mumbled. “Listen, I know you might not want to hear this—”

“Then don’t say it.” Cain lifted a brow.

Seth shook his head, taking over for his brother. “But maybe you should listen to Janet. Guard the girl yourself.”

“I can’t,” he ground out, picking at the crust of his second sandwich. Just thinking about her made his body burn with heat and adrenaline. Her scent, her smile. How she’d looked today in that teal dress. His heart had done a summersault in his chest when she’d walked into class.

It was too dangerous. For her. For him. For everyone.

And the last thing he needed was a princess getting in the way.

Eli quirked his blond brow. “Dude, you’re so obsessed with crying over a stupid girl…”

Cain growled.

“A girl,” Eli said, correcting himself, “that you’re missing the big picture.”

Cain smashed his fist on the table. “And just what is the big picture?”

Kids at the table nearest to them jumped, startled, casting the trio worried frowns. Cain settled down, taking a deep cleansing breath, wishing for a second—just one second—that he was normal. Not some freak with anger issues.

“We’ve been trying to find that queen all summer, man. We’ve prevented the workers from kidnapping more victims and making baby drones, but that’s small potatoes. We can’t stop the swarm unless we kill the queen. Without the queen, all of this is fruitless.”

“Don’t you think I know that?”

Eli opened his eyes wide, an are-you-stupid look on his face. “So if you keep an eye on her, you’ll have more access to hive out of school, which means a trail, which means…”

A slow smile curled his lips. “We might find someone who can lead us to the queen.”

Seth laughed. “Ding, ding, ding. We’ve got a winner.”

But the problem was that being around Flint fractured Cain’s precarious hold on his sanity.

“There’s got to be another way,” he mumbled.

The twins groaned.

“Well,” Seth said, “if you find one, let us know, because what we’re doing isn’t working out so well.”

They walked off, heading to gym class. Cain got slowly to his feet, gathered his brother’s leftovers, and dumped everyone’s trash.

Glancing outside, he saw her. She leaned her head against Janet’s shoulder while her own shook. Clenching his jaw against the tight flare in his chest, he headed to English, wishing he could redo the morning.

Chapter Thirteen

“You really didn’t need to ride my bus home from school,” Flint said, looking at Janet who was busy peering out the window.

She turned to Flint with a distracted smile. “Actually, I kind of wanted to see where you live.”

“Really?”

Janet had never mentioned that, but then again, maybe she thought Flint was on her way to cracking after her meltdown on the field earlier. Flint picked at the math book in her lap, which had helped not at all on the test. She was pretty sure she’d failed, having been way too distracted to focus.

“I love Abel, but he’s a boy. I need girl time sometimes.” She grinned.

Flint laughed. “I guess.”

“Hey, what are you doing today?” Janet’s brown eyes were bright.

She sighed.

“Ohh, the dinner.” Janet grimaced. “Duh, forgot.”

Flint waved her hand. “Yeah, tonight’s a no go.”

“Okay. Well, what about tomorrow?”

She shrugged. “Don’t know. Dad has the day off, but I’m pretty sure he’s gonna want to spend it with her. Why?”

Janet waved her fingers. “Manicure.”

“I don’t have any polish at my place,” Flint said as the bus began to slow down, rolling up to the first stop.

The girls in the seat in front of them slipped out. Flint’s stop was the next one.

She didn’t live in the crappiest place in the world—in fact, these were the nicest apartments she’d ever lived in. The buildings were a soft tan color, and Flint was lucky enough to live in the apartment right across from the pool.

“What kind of a girl are you?” Janet rolled her eyes with a happy snort.

“A low-maintenance one.”

The bus pulled up to Flint’s stop.

“Fine,” Janet said, “I’ll bring a bucketful and some popcorn. Do you mind if I invite Rhi too?”

Now that the idea had been suggested, Flint smiled, looking forward to some girl time. It’d been forever since she’d done something like that. “Sure, sounds good.”

The bus stopped, opening its doors with a loud squeal.

“You coming?” Flint stood.

“Totally would, except I bet your dad only wants you there tonight.”

Her heart sank as she nodded her head. “Probably right. See you tomorrow.”

“Oh, and Flint…” Janet grabbed Flint’s hand as she started to scoot around her to get in the aisle. “I don’t think Cain really hates you.”

Biting down on her tongue at the mention of his name, she rolled her eyes, “Yeah, well… that doesn’t make two of us.” She waved and hurriedly jogged out before the bus driver got impatient and closed the door on her.

Not that she’d minded, but that’d been weird. Flint frowned, tugging her book bag tighter as she turned and headed to her apartment. After lunch, both Rhiannon and Janet had followed her everywhere. Through the halls, into the bathroom—if they could have gotten into her classes they probably would have done that too.

She must have looked really pathetic outside, crying like a baby over her and her dad’s fight that morning. She’d not mentioned anything about Cain and his idiot self, but that had stung worse. Being new sucked, being new and already the butt of jokes sucked even worse.

He’d avoided her like the plague the rest of the day. She only had chem with him in the morning, but she’d been intensely aware of him the rest of the day.

Which was weird, because usually she never saw him after chemistry, except for lunch where he ate at the table right behind her. But it seemed all day she kept bumping into him in the halls.

He wasn’t walking. Or talking. His big blond goons hadn’t been with him. He’d just been standing by the lockers, always conveniently close to her classes and only long enough for him to look at her.

And it hadn’t been a sideways glance either. The looks had been thorough. Hot. Pressing in on her and intense. Even through the glasses, it was obvious his eyes followed her. Tracking her movements between bells, watching her as she opened her locker for new books.

She’d grown so aware of it that her fingers had begun shaking, forcing her to redo the combination three times before her locker would open. Just when she’d get to the point of snapping, she’d turn around and he was gone.

And that had happened each period.

He never smiled or said hi.

Flint glanced up the stairwell to the second-floor units and scrunched her nose, knowing she was dragging her feet. There was a strange car parked next to her dad’s red Ford truck.

A sleek black Maserati, and she only knew what it was because it was her dream car. Living in LA, that was the it car for young Hollywood types. She’d squelched her desire for one when it dawned on her she’d never in her life be able to afford it. Even used they cost a cool $100K easy.

Who had that kind of money? And what where they doing here?

She glanced around and then rushed up the stairs, opened the unlocked door with a breathless rush, heart plummeting when she heard the relaxed strains of female laughter floating from the kitchen.

The dizzying aroma of baked bread and rosemary teased Flint’s nose.

“Flinty,” her dad called, “that you, babe?”

He peeked out of the kitchen, eyes twinkling and holding the fluted stem of a wineglass full of something red.

She narrowed her eyes, praying to God that was grape juice.

“I’m home,” she grumped, dropping her bag on the floor.

His sandy-brown hair was combed back nicely. “Good, I want you to meet someone.”

Couldn’t he even wait until she washed her hands or something? Did he have to thrust blondie on her already?

But it was not the blonde she remembered from the show; instead, it was the brunette. Her dad’s arms were clamped to the woman’s shoulders.

She was petite and, judging by the few lines around her eyes, in her early twenties. Deep green eyes smiled shyly up at Flint. Holding out a hand, she said, “You must be Flint. Frank has told me so much about you.”

Lifting a brow at her father, Flint took the woman’s hand. It was a firm grip, as most performers had thanks to their years of grueling upper-body conditioning.

“I’m Katy.” Her voice was polite, soft, and breathy. Her smile was wide and friendly and a worm of doubt wiggled through Flint’s belly. “I know how awkward this must be for—”

Flint clicked her front teeth together. “I’m sure you don’t.”

“Actually”—she gave a weak grin and squeezed Frank’s hand—“I do. My mom did the same thing to me when I was sixteen and I pretty much wanted to kill her for it.”

“I’m seventeen,” she muttered but felt slightly mollified.

Maybe Katy wouldn’t be so bad.

And actually the dinner went a lot better than she’d expected it to. Her dad had made shrimp scampi, buttery goodness that dribbled down their chins and splattered on Flint’s dress, pretty much ruining it for future use.

Not that she had any intention of ever putting the stupid thing on again.

Katy was on her best behavior, trying to get Flint to talk, asking her about school, her grades (solid B student), but when the woman started prying about boys, Flint decided she’d done everything her father had asked of her. She’d not rolled her eyes once and didn’t have much else to say.

Also, she wanted to get away because every two minutes or so she’d feel her father’s foot reaching out, clearly trying to find Katy’s, which was beyond awkward.

“I’ve gotta go study.” She scooted back.

“Flint?” Her father frowned and she put on a smile.

It really hadn’t been as awful as she’d feared. But still, enough was enough.

“Frank, it’s the first time,” Katy said quietly and nodded. “It’s okay.”

Casting Katy a grateful smile, she dropped her plate in the sink and ran to her bedroom. But of course the second she got in there, she couldn’t study.

Flint sat on her bed, staring at an open book like she wanted to do it bodily harm before finally sighing in disgust and flipping the thing shut. Chances were she was going to get a C (C+ if she was lucky) whether she studied or not. She and history did not get along well.

But she also didn’t want to stay in the house. With the looks and the footsies and the word play. Did they think she was five? That she couldn’t figure out flirting when she saw it?

It wasn’t dark yet. Sun was maybe two hours away from setting.

A restless mood crept over her. She bounced her foot, listening to her dad and Katy laughing and talking in hushed, heated tones, and she shuddered.

She really wasn’t sure she could put her finger on it, because even though Katy had been nice and perfectly all right, Flint still didn’t like her.

She flung herself back on her bed,  spread-eagle, staring out the window. The sky was gray but there were no clouds.

Flint sighed louder. If she walked out the front door, her dad would want to know where she was going and with whom, as well as when she’d be back and how she was going to get there. And right now she honestly didn’t have a clue. All she knew was she was suffocating. The air was thick, her head was pounding, and her tongue felt swollen. Her mother’s ghost was way too close and she needed to breathe or she was going to scream.

Grabbing her bright orange iPod off her nightstand, she put her earbuds in and tried to lose herself in the music. But all the rock was doing was getting her wound up and even antsier. Jackknifing to her feet, she paced like a restless tiger in its cage. Back and forth, back and forth.

What would her mother think?

Would she be okay with this?

Mad at Flint for making it so difficult?

Swallowing hard, she dropped her head into her hands. It’d been a year. He deserved to be happy.

But it hurt.

Like someone was reaching into her soul and yanking the death and the memories out again, making them fresh and so painful she wanted to cry.

When her mother had fallen, she’d broken. Like a twisted doll, her face still painted on. A doll’s face. Her mother had been obsessed with dolls. And she’d always painted herself to appear like a marionette without strings. To see her on the ground, body twisted and broken… it’d been surreal.

A memory she could never forget, no matter how many tears she cried. The doll was always there. Eyes closed, bow-shaped mouth open, a thin trail of blood flowing from the nose…

More laughter.

It yanked Flint from the bad place with a sharp jerk of her head.

It was Katy, and she was doing some sort of girly giggle. Flint gnashed her teeth, and grabbing a pillow, she shoved it over her face and screamed.

Which helped. A little.

It eased some of the tension zinging through her blood.

She knew what she needed. What she hadn’t done in weeks. It was kind of late to be even considering heading downtown, but if she didn’t do it, she was going to burst. Which also meant she’d have to tell her dad something.

Sitting down, she pulled her Adidas out from under the bed, slipped them on, and then grabbed a hoodie sweater just in case. Pulling her hair back into a tight ponytail, she was just headed to her door when she heard a knock.

“Flinty, open up.”

Pulling the buds out of her ears, she whisked the door open. “Dad?”

He eyed her up and down, his brow raised. “Going somewhere?”

Katy’s head peeked over his shoulder, her dark green eyes inquisitive, which made Flint bite down on her tongue to keep from saying “You mind?”

Returning her eyes to her dad, she nodded. “Going to the mall.”

“Oh.” His brows lifted. “Isn’t it getting kind of dark for that?”

She shrugged. “Not really.”

He dug into his pocket and tossed her the keys. “Take the truck then. Be home by ten.”

That was easy. Too easy. Why didn’t he care?

Unless he’d already made plans himself.

Snatching the keys out of the air, Flint asked, “You going somewhere?”

“Katy and I are headed to the circus to do some training.”

“You have a show tonight? I thought tonight was your night off.”

Katy smiled. “Yes, but if we want to keep improving”—she squeezed her dad’s bicep and it was all Flint could do not to roll her eyes when he gave her big goofy grin as he flexed—“then we have to practice.”

“Aren’t you going to need the truck then?” Flint jangled the keys at her dad.

“No, Katy’s driving. Did you see that black Maserati outside?”

Of course.

And how did a circus performer afford one of those? She looked at Katy, who still wore a smile.

“’Kay, then.” She waved, needing to get out of the apartment like yesterday. With a quick hug for her dad, Flint grabbed her hat and sunglasses off the end table and ran out the door before her dad could change his mind.

~*~

Stretching, Flint eyed the nearly empty stretch of the shopping plaza. The left side was ablaze with people and shoppers, but down here, there was only one open shop, a New Age something or other with hanging crystals in the window. She couldn’t imagine a ton of people coming down this way, which meant she shouldn’t have to worry about cops stopping and telling her to leave.

The area over here was perfect, rails and steps, brick fronts and ledges.

The night was muggy.

Again.

And… She glanced at the sky. It was definitely starting to look a funky greenish-gray color. Which was weird, but no rain, though there was a little bit more wind now.

Still, she hadn’t done this in months and the excitement of moving her body in ways that defied the laws of gravity got her blood humming just like walking a tightrope used to do.

Body limber, she shook her wrists loose and then attacked the wall, nearly scaling the brick-face front like Spider-Man, then sailing over the ledge in a type of side-flip. Her stomach dropped as for a second she remembered landing on her face and almost busting her front tooth loose four months ago. But she squashed the fear and refused to think about anything other than jumping, scaling, and climbing, moving in and around obstacles in ways that most couldn’t.

Gone were the weird looks between her dad and Katy.

Gone was the girlie cry-fest she’d had on Janet’s shoulder at lunch.

Gone was Cain and his mean comments.

Flint grabbed hold of a metal beam and felt her biceps flex as she quickly released it, flying like a squirrel to the next and the next, until they were all gone and she was back to jumping and flipping.

She laughed, breathing heavily, losing herself in the delicious burn of flexing muscles. Time failed to register for her. Her father wasn’t home; he wouldn’t care how long she stayed out. So she danced across the buildings, over and over, failing to note the greenish-gray sky was now gathering tight with thick clouds of black.

Only when it became too dark to keep flipping did she finally stop, landing and breathing hard as she brushed the sweat off her furrowed brows.

Pieces of hair were stuck in her mouth, but she hardly noticed, all her attention focused on the creepy clouds that seemed to fluff up, dark and foreboding into the sky.

Then she became aware of another sensation.

Someone was watching her.

Flint twirled on her heel, every cell in her body alert and aware, feeling the penetrating gaze like a tangible weight on the back of her neck. The sidewalks were empty, the shops closed. Windows black and empty. There was only one car parked in the lot still. And it wasn’t hers.

Flint shivered, realizing just how dark it was and how far she’d come. Nearly to the end of the outdoor mall. Her truck was parked at least a half mile up.

In the distance, she thought maybe she heard some shouts of alarm, but she wasn’t sure. All she knew was she needed to get back home.

She hoofed it, but within seconds she was covering her head against the sudden onslaught of hailstones dropping constantly and painfully. One knocked into the crown of her head, making her dizzy for an instant.

She held out her hands for balance, and then a cry sprang from her lips when a hard set of hands clamped down on her waist.

“No!” She screamed, kicking in confusion.

“Princess, it’s just me.” Cain’s deep voice penetrated the fog of fear in her head. He wasn’t looking at her but at the sky. “C’mon,” he said, gritting the words out.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked as he pulled her along to the black Corvette parked alone in the middle of the empty lot.

“Out of here. Get in.” He jerked his head toward her door.

She grimaced when another chunk of hail dive-bombed her head, then jumped inside. The second she sat, the sky opened up with a roar, dumping buckets of water on them. Cain turned on the car, started the wipers, and then peeled out in a loud squeal of rubber.

For a second he didn’t say anything, and honestly, she was still confused how he’d even found her.

He was wearing black again, but this time he’d switched it up and added a pearly-gray button-down shirt. The top button was undone and her heart tried to beat out of her chest. She licked her lips, wondering how much damage her dad’s truck was taking.

“You should probably slow down,” she said, her stomach bottoming out as she sensed rather than felt the car begin to hydroplane.

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “No. There’s a tornado coming.”

“Wait. What!” She twisted in her seat, and sure enough a large vortex of air was gathering and forming into a funnel behind them.

Adrenaline pulsed through her body so hard she tasted its bitter fuel.

“Oh my God! Ohmyg—”

“Just breathe. We’re almost there.”

He was flying down the two-lane road, trees towering on either side of them. Wherever he was taking them, it was secluded and private. She’d driven this road before—there was nothing out here but deer and cattle.

“Aren’t cars the worst place to be in a tornado?” she asked, starting to feel as if her lips were going numb. She pushed her forearm into her stomach to calm her nerves.

Wind buffeted the car from every direction, blasting so hard against the metal she swore she heard something groan.

“We’re not staying in the car.”

Slowing down, he turned onto a private dirt road. Rocks dinged off the hood of the car.

A Corvette.

An expensive, man’s man kind of car, and he didn’t seem to care. He didn’t slow as the trees rushed past in a blur. Flint gripped the door handle, refusing to turn back and look again even though her nerves were strung so tight she thought she might hurl right in his lap.

Which he probably deserved.

She licked her lips, pulse thumping. “How did you know where I was?”

He parked the car and pulled his keys out. “C’mon.” He opened the door, which nearly flew out of his hands in a gale-force gust. There was nothing around, just a plot of empty land and a pile of wood.

“What is this?” she cried into the wind that ripped her words away.

A loud roaring sound whipped around them. Rain and sleet drenched her in seconds as she ran behind him. Cain looked even bigger than she remembered.

He grabbed hold of a silver handle on the pile of wood, and the muscles in his back rippled against his wet shirt. She swallowed hard, realizing they were literally seconds away from being sucked up and torn to pieces.

Forty-foot trees in the distance swayed and bent, the leaves rattling so hard they sounded eerie.

Then he turned, his perpetual scowl back in place as he gestured for her to follow him. What she’d assumed to be nothing but a woodpile was actually an opening into the earth. It was dark and tight, but there were steps that led down far enough that she finally understood it was some sort of shelter.

Flint jumped inside and walked down four steps, then waited for Cain to bar the door in place. The second he did, it seemed like the whistling and howling outside actually increased. And everything turned pitch-black. Her heart skipped a beat.

“Princess?” Cain’s voice was softer, less gruff.

“Here.”

A warm hand pressed into her back before sliding around to the side of her arm and latching on to her hand. And though they were safe from the madness of the storm, a different sort of madness settled in Flint’s bones.

“Let me get in front of you.” He scooted around her, his big body brushing against every bit of her, mashing her breasts into his chest.

She inhaled sharply as her stomach tightened with heat and tendrils of anxiety.

“Stay close,” he muttered, releasing her hand. “Hang on to my back.”

Though she knew he couldn’t see her, she nodded anyway and placed her hands on the wide expanse of his shoulders.

“Step. Step. Step.” He told her where to go until finally they were on level ground. “Hang on right here.”

She hugged her wet arms to herself and shivered; without his close heat, the cold was definitely starting to slip in. Then she blinked against the immediate wash of bright white light. He’d turned on a battery lantern and then another, and another, until the entire room blazed a bright white.

The whistling shriek above was a cold reminder that they’d barely escaped something terrible.

He looked at her, his hot gaze feeling like a torch on her sensitive body. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t look away, feeling like a cornered rabbit in a snare the way he studied her.

Flint couldn’t help but wonder what he saw. A dripping-wet redhead with matted hair and flaming-red cheeks. Not to mention the hail had ripped the sleeve of her left arm open. She bit her lip.

“You’re wet,” he finally said. “You need to get out of those cold clothes before you catch your death.” His voice was that deep shivery sound again, the one that made her body tingle.

She cocked her eyebrow, the cold forgotten for a moment. “Thanks for saving my life, Cain, but I’m not taking my clothes off in front of you.”

Her jaw dropped when he smiled. And it wasn’t the cocky, smug grin she’d grown used to with him, but a full-on, megawatt movie-star smolder, and her insides quaked.

“Princess, the things that come out of your mouth.”

Then he was walking up to her and she backed up against the dirt wall, holding her hands out. But he gently batted them away and gripped the hem of her shirt in his fingers.

“You swam in a bra.”

She thinned her lips, heart rattling so hard in its cage she was sure he must have heard it. “Your brother didn’t tell me we were going swimming. Besides, it was green and gold and didn’t look like…”

He placed his finger over her mouth and she wanted to bite it.

No, she totally lied.

She wanted to nip it and kiss it and then bite it.

“Take your shirt off, princess. I won’t look if you don’t want me to, but you need to dry off.”

Flint swallowed hard and stuttered, “Then back… back away. Go over there.” She shooed him.

He gave her that grin again that made her forget what her name was, his fingers grazing her bare belly before he nodded and released her. Had she been the swooning type, she would have fainted right then and there.

“Pants too.” He winked and stared at her legs.

She lifted her brows. “Not that the idea doesn’t sound appealing, because it so totally does. I’ve never wanted anything more than to be completely naked in front of you…”

“Mmm. Really? That can be arranged.”

“Oh my God. I was being sarcastic, you pompous idiot.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Who are you, and what’s happened to the real Cain?”

He snorted and turned around, walking to the large metal shelf and then tossing a thick towel at her. “Here. Change.”

She waited for a second to make sure he wouldn’t try to surprise her and turn back around, but he didn’t. Just started to take his own shirt off and yeah… she was pretty sure she’d died and gone to heaven.

Or hell.

Probably hell, because the thoughts he was making her have were anything but pure.

She barely managed to suppress a sigh when he shrugged out of his shirt and his muscles were so… Yeah, words could not describe it.

Perfect. Ropey. Strong. Flexing. Smooth. His back tapered into a V, his black jeans slung from his tight waist, and she knew she’d never seen anything so perfect in all her life.

Then she noticed the tattoo. The one she’d noticed the first day. It was larger than she’d realized, climbing up his bicep to his shoulder.

It was beautiful.

“You’re watching.”

Guilty, she jumped and cleared her throat. “No, I wasn’t.”

“Whatever you say.” He chuckled.

Quickly, she chucked her shirt off and skimmed her sodden jeans off her legs, breathing a sigh of relief when they were no longer touching her. Then she wrapped herself in the thick towel a second before he turned around.

Flint gave him the evil eye. “You tried to peek.”

Man, she could get used to that smile of his. Dangerous and alluring, it made her hot and itchy all at once.

His eyes roamed the length of her body. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. The look spoke louder than any words.

Pursing her lips, she glanced at her pile of clothes. “What now?”

He rolled his shoulder and his front side was just as impressive as his back. His pecs were huge and well-defined, his abs flat and washboard strong. Cain rubbed his towel through his hair. “We wait it out.”

“How long does this usually take?”

Cain walked to an inflatable couch and sat, patting the seat next to him. “Depends. Tornado’s probably already passed through.”

“Then shouldn’t we leave?” She jerked her chin up as she plopped down next to him, her thigh brushing his and sending an instant tingle of heat up her body.

“Where’d you come from, princess, that you don’t know anything about a tornado? Just because it’s passed through doesn’t mean we’re out of danger. There’re bands to deal with, the hail’s probably still falling.”

“California.” She picked at her towel, feeling exposed. Not like she was naked, but close enough, and he was still wearing his jeans. Not fair.

“Is that it?”

Why was he being so nice? Even though he was hot personified and acting completely relaxed and cool, she couldn’t forget the crap he’d pulled this morning. The thought helped ease the anxiety churning in her gut.

She squared her shoulders. “My family and I traveled a lot, usually along the west and east coasts. Following the circuses.”

He nodded, acting like he wanted her to continue.

“But we’ve never come through these parts before.”

“So not familiar with the tornado belt, are you?”

She shook her head, suddenly realizing that Cain had some light stubble on his jaw. And that even though they’d gotten soaked, he still smelled unbelievably good. What kind of cologne did he wear? She was sure hers had worn off by now.

“Why were you such a jerk with me today?”

He leaned back, the inflatable couch making a sucking sound against his skin when he did. “I’m sorry about that.”

Getting embarrassed all over again as she remembered it, she ground her molars. “What’s the deal, Cain? The other night when you drove me home, I thought…”

He took off his sunglasses and she finally saw his eyes. Blue. Like Adam’s. Deep and fathomless. They didn’t have the starlight in them the way Adam’s did, but they were even nicer. His lashes were long and sooty, and her fingers twitched in her lap with the desire to touch them.

“I know.” He didn’t say anything else.

“Why do you want me away from your brother so much?”

He searched her and again she had the weird feeling like she was sinking in quicksand when he looked at her that way.

Cain ignored her question and instead asked one of his own. “What was that thing you were doing outside?”

It was hard to breathe for a second because he’d grabbed her hand and was tracing the pad of her thumb with his finger. In that small touch, she felt a strange connection begin to form between them. A tensile, invisible band that drew them together, coiling tighter around her. His lips were set in a firm line, his brows drawn. As if he wasn’t sure why he was doing it, but unable to stop himself.

“Wh…what?” she asked, then shook herself, trying to clear the mental fog.

His blue eyes never left her thumb. He stared at her hand like it held the answer to the meaning of life. “The running and flipping, what was that?”

Then he dropped her hand and she could breathe again, but suddenly she didn’t want to anymore. She wanted to drown in his touch.

“Umm, it’s called parkour. It’s nothing, really.”

“Nothing?” He shook his head. “That was impressive. I’ve never seen anything so graceful. And I’ve seen a lot of Adam’s shows.”

Had he just complimented her?

Heat crept up her neck and bloomed in her cheeks, settling in the tips of her ears. “I could teach you.”

Cain scoffed and crossed his booted feet, his abs rippling with the movement. “I don’t think so. This body can’t do agile. I’m more of the bruiser type.”

She grinned. “Hulk smash?”

He laughed and the sound was rich and clear and made her spine tingle. “Something like that. So if I’m the Hulk, I guess that makes you Spider-Man.”

“Or woman.” She shrugged. “You know, I’ve got a lot more tricks up my sleeve.”

He quirked his brow.

Flint gave him a mysterious smile. “Oh, I dunno if I should tell you. If I tell you my secrets, I might just have to kill you.”

He narrowed his eyes, a devilish gleam winking back at her. “I’d like to see you try, princess.”

“Don’t underestimate me, Cain, I might just surprise you. So what’s with the tattoo?” She hadn’t meant to ask, but there was a pause and she was curious.

Lifting his arm, he gave it the briefest glance. The black ink looked fresh still, such a rich color it was like he’d just gotten it done yesterday. But she knew that wasn’t the case.

“Born with it.”

Giving him a droll look, she held up her hand. “Yeah, okay. You be that way, Cain. You really are incapable of being anything other than a jerk, huh?”

Lip turning up at the corner, he touched his bicep. “Down here, I’m me, princess. The real me. No jokes. No lies. Just me. This is my safe spot, so let’s not do this. Deal?”

His eyes were so sincere, and she wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe that inside the heart of darkness maybe, just maybe, there was a shred of something nice. He confused her, annoyed her, and made her so curious it infuriated her.

“You promise?”

His grin never left as he tipped his head. After that they continued to make stupid back-and-forth banter, and she realized that she was actually having fun. She didn’t bring up the tattoo again, but she did want to know something else.

“So were you following me?”

He brushed a curl of hair out of her eyes and she held her breath. His touch burned like fire, streaked through her skin, settled into her blood. Made her feel hot and weirdly heavy.

Flint grabbed his hand. His fingers were so warm and strong, his thumb tracing her palm, and she was so confused.

“I wasn’t following you.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“I swear. I was on… other business. But you have to be careful.”

She crossed her chest with her finger. “I swear I didn’t know a tornado was coming. Next time—”

He shook his head, and the hand she’d been holding slipped out to rake through his dark wet hair in agitation. “Not just that. You can’t run around out there alone, especially not when it’s dark. What you can do… it’s impressive, but it’s not going to save you.”

His words both thrilled and terrified her. Thrilled because he seemed to be suggesting that he actually cared, which was unbelievable. Scary, because he was right. She should have thought about the fact that she was out in the dark all alone.

She shivered, feeling the strangest need to apologize all of a sudden.

He sighed. “Just, be careful.”

Cain glanced up, the white light splashing across his face adding dark shadows under his eyes, and for a second he’d looked like a stranger. “Think the hail stopped.”

She nodded and got up, coming away from the plastic couch with a loud popping suction. Cain wrung out his shirt and then put it back on. She was gonna miss those abs.

“Come on,” he said, sounding suddenly weary and not at all like he had just seconds ago. “I’ll take you back.”

“Cain?” She held the edges of the towel in a tight grip.

His blue eyes made her stomach quicken when he turned to her.

“Which one of you am I going to see tomorrow at school? The jerk, or the nice guy?”

He licked his front teeth and lowered his brows. “You shouldn’t be around me, Flint.”

There was an unmistakable warning in his tone, and it made her sick. It wasn’t as if she was asking him out or anything. So why did he insist on keeping his niceness such a secret? Was she annoying? Embarrassing to him somehow?

The last thought made her skin tingle with the familiar rush of anger she felt whenever he was around. “So I guess that means the jerk. You know what, Cain, just… don’t humiliate me again. That’s all I ask. I’ll stay away, but don’t do what you did today.”

Flint turned her back on him and walked to her pile of clothes, hands trembling with adrenaline and throat working with the strangest need to cry.

Then he was behind her, and she felt his body like a glove, so close his heat and hers merged together and all the fine hairs on her body stood up.

His breath was on her neck when he said, “Hurry up, princess. Don’t want your old man to worry.”

When she turned to tell him her dad was gone and probably wouldn’t be back until tomorrow morning, Cain was already walking up the stairs.

Chapter Fourteen

Abel rolled over on his cramped bed. The tornado had passed within yards of the carnival, dropping hail but not doing any significant damage. Apart from the crazy wailing wind, he’d hardly noticed it all.

But now the world was hot and trying to sleep in this open-air sauna was pissing him off. He kicked the sheets off, praying for a gust of wind to filter through his small slatted windows. But nothing came through, and his AC had stopped working three nights ago. Adam had promised to get it fixed, but so far nothing.

Swearing under his breath, he got up and walked to the door, opening it and taking a giant gulp of fresh air. He stood outside for a while, letting the breeze dry his sweat. The sky was a dark, impenetrable blackness; there were hardly any stars visible.

The gravelly crunch of moving tires drew his attention. He looked and noticed Cain had finally returned from wherever the heck he’d been.

In seconds Cain was out of the car, head hanging, hands shoved in his pockets. He looked tired.

“Sweet gig you got,” Abel said with a sneer when his brother got close enough to hear him.

Cain frowned but didn’t look up, just rested against the bench by Abel’s trailer. “It’s past midnight, man, why are you still up?”

“And you’re not my dad. Where were you?”

Cain’s eyes were dark as he glanced at him. “Go to sleep, Abel. Got school tomorrow.”

Abel straightened his spine, not sure why he was so angry, but pissed, furious at how much his brother got away with. No way Adam would let Abel stay out till midnight doing only God knew what. Adam was always riding him about staying inside, treating him like a baby. Abel’s head started to throb and he gripped his skull, giving it a tight squeeze.

“So do you. What were you doing?” he asked again, but this time his voice vibrated funny. Deep and scratchy and weird. The sound of it was enough to jerk Abel out of his pissy mood.

Cain’s brow was lifted as he studied Abel’s face gently. “You feeling all right?”

“Fine.” He glowered and suddenly felt a lethargy creep over him. “Just tired—couldn’t sleep with the storm. And I can’t shake this headache. Gotta find Mom.” He grabbed his aching skull.

Cain nodded. “You been having a lot of those lately.”

He sounded worried.

But Abel was a big boy, he didn’t need his brother babying him. “It’s fine. Mom’s medicine helps. I just got to find her.”

“I’ll go find Mom, send her to your trailer.” Then Cain pulled away from the bench and started to walk off, but paused to say, “Lock your door tonight, little brother.”

With a snort of disgust, Abel slammed his door shut and flopped back onto his bed. But the moment he did, he started tossing and turning as sweat poured down his back. With a growl, he sat up and stripped off all his clothes, scratching his skin, which had started to itch uncontrollably. His head was throbbing so hard it made him sick to his stomach.

Unintelligible words spilled from his lips as he hissed and clawed grooves into himself, drawing blood.

A knock echoed loudly through his trailer. He got up and opened the door.

His mother’s worried face stared back at him. She cradled a bottle of pills in her hand. “Again?”

“Worse than ever.” He clenched his jaw and walked back to his bed, dropping down onto it in exhaustion.

She rubbed his head, her cool fingers feeling good against his heated flesh. Opening the bottle, she pulled out two pills. “Here.”

He took them and popped them into his mouth as she walked to the sink and filled up a cup with water.

“Drink it.” She held it out to him.

Nodding, he took it and drank, then lay back with an exhausted sigh.

“You know your father suffered with these too when he was younger. You’re okay, Abel. Really.”

Prying open one eye, he gave her a brave smile. “Yeah, and how long did they last with him? ’Cause I don’t think I can take another month of this. It’s killing me.”

She kissed his brow, then walked back to the door. “Baby, it’s just a weird thing in this family. It’ll pass and then you’ll be like new. Now”—she shut off the lights—“try to get some rest, okay?”

She left and closed the door.

The medicine would work. It just needed some time, but right now it still felt like something was crawling under his skin, burrowing into his brain.

He scratched and scratched, but found no relief in the muggy stillness. Not giving two craps anymore about keeping his door closed, he got up and reopened it, heaving a sigh of relief when a fresh breeze came in.

After plopping back down on the bed, he closed his eyes and finally felt the relief of the medicine beginning to work. At some point he must have fallen asleep, because he saw Flint and they were laughing together. She’d leaned in with her eyes closed, her deep red hair dancing around her head like fire, and his heart had started racing… Then his eyes had snapped open when the sensation of something, or someone, watching him woke him up.

Not moving, pretending to still be asleep, he searched his dark room for a shadow. What he saw made his nostrils flare and his pulse hammer.

In the corner, crouched low, a red pair of eyes stared at him.

“What the—” he growled as his blood began to literally feel like it boiled inside him. Abel sat up, rolling on his side. He turned on the lamp and grabbed the first thing he could get his hands on. His baseball bat.

But whatever the thing was, it was gone.

Dropping the bat, he ran to his door, closed and locked it. But sleep eluded him the rest of the night.

~*~

Cain knocked on Janet’s trailer. She opened it on the third knock, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. She was dressed in a Hello Kitty shirt and short set.

“Cain?” she peered at him with a frown in her eyes. “It’s late, what do you want?”

“I told you to guard her.”

“I did.” She pursed her lips. “I dropped her off at her apartment and—”

He shook his head. “No, she left and went to the mall.”

“Did you follow her?”

Fire burned in his gut at the thought of what might have happened had he not seen her in time. It shouldn’t bother him so much, but it did, and it really irritated him that Janet was sleeping when he’d given her a direct order.

“No, I was tailing the worker that was tailing her.”

She sucked in a breath. “They’re following her outside of school?”

Cain cracked his knuckles. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. But I’m going to find out. From now on I want someone guarding her constantly. I’ve got Eli watching the apartment tonight.”

She tucked black strands of hair behind her ears and nodded. “Okay.”

Chapter Fifteen

“Queen Mother.” The worker Aswang genuflected, crawling forward on her knees, keeping her eyes pinned to the cold cement floor. The wash of moonlight spilling through glass windows played upon the cool grays and light blues of their impenetrable hive.

“Arise, my child.”

The queen’s dulcet voice never failed to make the worker’s heart sing and her body tremble. She looked at her hive mother with a mixture of adoration and worship.

The queen’s fine brow lifted in inquiry.

“I’ve received reports tonight.”

“And?” The queen tapped her long manicured nails on the makeshift throne of iron and animal skins. Her lily-white thigh peeked from the corner of her blood-red gown, but her face was covered as usual by a mask of shimmering gold and turquoise.

“We believe we’ve found the rager’s weaknesses.”

Blood-red lips curled up into a sickle-shaped smile before she said, “Good, but make certain. You only have one chance to strike while he’s unawares.”

The worker nodded her head three times. “Yes, my queen.”

“Follow them, scare them, but do not harm them. Yet.”

“Yes, my queen.”

“Remember the Order,” the queen said with a sneer, “has dictated the school as neutral ground—that will be your best place to strike.”

“Are we close, my queen?” The worker dared to feel hope for a moment, a curling ball of excitement coursing through her shriveled veins, making her remember what it felt to be alive.

“Freedom will be ours soon, my dear Aswang. Now go.”

The queen clapped her hands and the worker genuflected once more, crawling backward on her belly and breathing a sigh of relief as the abrasive texture of the cement helped scrape the flaking skin off her arms.

Soon this nightmare would end. Soon sides would be chosen.

Chapter Sixteen

Cain hadn’t lied to her that night.

A week had rolled by. Then two. Three. Four. Now it was a month and a half later, and they’d barely spoken two words to each other since that night.

Yes, he’d basically promised he’d go back to being cold and distant, but after all the touching and laughing, she’d hoped that maybe he’d forget in the morning.

But he hadn’t.

He wasn’t such a jerk. Just distant.

And she couldn’t honestly decide which was worse. She knew he was still watching her. Sometimes she’d catch him in the halls, by her locker, or at the lunch table. But he never smiled and he never said hi.

It bugged her that the night they’d spent together she hadn’t gotten to ask other questions. Not the least of which was why in the world he covered his eyes with glasses when they were so blue and nice and did crazy things to her insides.

And she shouldn’t still care. But that night she’d caught a glimpse of the real guy and she’d liked him. A lot.

One good thing had come out of all the mess though. She and Rhi and Janet and Abel had grown really close. They were always hanging out at her place, or occasionally she was even at the circus. Watching them perform, amazed all over again by how cool her friends were.

Things could be worse.

She rolled her eyes as she popped out of bed, slamming her fist on her annoying alarm clock to get it to shut up. Dragging her feet, she got in the shower, washed her hair and body, and gave serious consideration to the thought of pulling out her funkiest outfit in some sort of childish expression of her annoyance with Cain.

Which was all kinds of stupid since they weren’t a couple. Never had been, and apart from that one night, he’d pretty much acted like he didn’t have a clue she existed.

But wow, the way he’d touched her hair, her face, her thumb. Her heart tilted just thinking about it. Which was why it was getting harder and harder to see him and pretend that night had never happened.

But her mom had always told her that when you feel your worst is when you should look your best. And her mom had never been wrong.

Flint grabbed her makeup, threw on some bronzer and a light coat of eye shadow, and called it good. Then she grabbed a hunter-green sweater, skinny jeans, and a pair of bejeweled slip-on sandals finished her outfit. It was starting to get chilly outside now. Mid-October in Tennessee was much different than California, but she’d cling to the last dregs of warmth as long as she possibly could. Glancing in the mirror, she hardly recognized herself. Her eyes looked even more slanted this morning, thanks to the eye shadow, and her cheeks—always so pale—now glowed a warm red.

Shoving her homework and books into her book bag, she ran to the kitchen and frowned when her dad wasn’t around. She’d kind of hoped to maybe talk with him about Katy. It’d become obscenely obvious that they were close and getting closer every day.

It was hard on her, his relationship with Katy, but she loved her dad, which meant she was going to give them a fair chance.

As much as it hurt, she also needed to let go of the past. No matter how much she wanted it, her mom was never coming back.

With a quick peek out the window, she spied the bus and, grabbing a banana, ran out the door.

“Bye, Dad!” she called, knowing he probably hadn’t heard her as he had a tendency to sleep like the dead on his days off.

Getting on the bus, she sat down, surprised to see Janet waving at her from three rows down.

“Ja?” she grinned curiously and went to sit down with her.

“Decided to start the sleepover early.”

“Sleepover? I thought were just gonna hang after school. Paint toenails.”

Janet shrugged, her bright pink shirt and leopard-print tights making a bold statement. Not that Flint had a clue what that statement was, but it was daring. Though Janet did kind of look adorable with the cat’s-eye glasses, a sort of retro throwback to the fifties.

“Do you mind? My folks need to work through a tough routine tonight. I’ve got my part squared away, and I think they sort of wanted me out of their hair.”

Flint laughed. “No, I don’t mind. What about Rhi, she’s coming, right?”

Janet shrugged. “We could ask her.”

The rest of the ride was spent talking about nail colors, which helped Flint to ignore the mass riot of butterflies swarming her gut the closer they got to school.

She had no idea how to act with Cain today.

Not one clue.

It would seem like a no-brainer that the longer he ignored her, the easier it would be for her to forget him, but it wasn’t. Each day felt harder and worse than the last.

Walking with Abel down the hall hadn’t helped either. He was quiet this morning, distracted and not paying much attention to whatever it was she was saying. Which honestly, she wasn’t even sure what she was talking about at this point. Something to do with history and nail polish. Maybe?

Finally she spied her class, and her pulse ratcheted up a notch. What he might be wearing today flitted through her mind, and then the thought of what did it matter anyway. Black, black, and more black.

Steeling herself to enter, she squeaked when Abel shook her arm. “Did you hear me?”

“Huh?” She jerked guiltily. “Sorry, spacing out. Didn’t study last night and I’ve got a nasty feeling Mr. Wickham’s gonna slam me with a pop quiz today.”

He chuckled, showing off his deep dimple, and she quirked her lips in response.

“Said, there’s a new superhero movie coming out this Friday. Do you want to come with me?”

“Yeah, be fun.” She shrugged.

“Okay.” He adjusted his book bag and then nodded.

And now that she wasn’t in her head so much, she took a good look at her friend. Lifting her hand, she touched the spot under his eye. “You been sleeping okay lately? You look terrible.”

He pulled away from her fingers. Not in a mean way, but he definitely wasn’t wanting to be touched. She dropped her hand.

“I’m fine. Just… it’s a thing. Anyway, gotta get to class. Later.”

But when she turned back around, she picked right up where she’d left off. Stomach dipping and diving, knees weak with nerves.

She shouldn’t have worried. All the anticipation, the queasy stomach, the butterflies that turned her legs to jelly… none of it mattered, because when she walked into class determined not to look at him, he wasn’t even there.

Flint stood in the door for a second, being bumped into as other kids took their seats.

Mr. Wickham raised a brow. “Ms. DeLuca, are you going to stand there all day or take a seat?”

“Yeah,” she muttered glumly as the adrenaline that’d beat through her all morning suddenly plummeted to the ground. Angry, frustrated, disappointed, she dropped into her seat and took out her book.

Ten minutes passed and she could barely remember what Mr. Wickham was babbling about. Cain had told her she should stay away. At the time, she’d really hoped he hadn’t meant it. But each day it was becoming more and more clear. Whoever she’d met there at the storm shelter, that wasn’t the real Cain. The real Cain was the guy she saw day in and day out. The one who pretended she didn’t even exist.

She frowned, nibbling on the inside of her cheek.

He’d taken her to a shelter, talked to her, touched her hair, teased her about the clothes and the towel. How could someone act so different and it not be real? How could he have looked at her the way he had and it all be a joke?

Maybe none of it had happened, and it was just a weird, sick dream her brain had played on her.

Shaking her head, she decided it was time. Two months since the day they’d met. It was obvious. He’d meant what he’d said. She needed to stay away and forget him. That’s what he was doing with her.

Whatever had happened that night, it would never happen again. She really needed to stop obsessing about a guy who clearly wasn’t into her.

Determined not to slip into the C+ range in class, she listened to Mr. Wickham, but after two sentences he lost her at “The chemical makeup of zinc is…”

Just as she was getting ready to slip into full-on zone-out, Cain walked through the door and her heart beat so hard it hurt. Flint pretended not to see him, focused her entire brain on trying to look like she was actually hearing a word Mr. Wickham said.

But Cain looked delicious and he was wearing blue—distressed denim jeans with a black button-down shirt. His hair looked wet, like he’d just slipped out of the shower, and the thought made her tingle. He was wearing his sunglasses.

“Cain.” Mr. Wickham held out his hand for the note Cain dropped into it. “Just in time for the pop quiz.”

She had no problem groaning along with the rest of the class at that.

Cain walked past her, and she tried to pretend like she wasn’t sucking in air just to catch a whiff of his woodsy cologne. He dropped into his seat and Flint looked down at her book because she felt his eyes on her.

For the first time in weeks, she knew he was looking at her.

His breathing was even as he stretched out his legs, and from the corner of her eye she saw his boots and couldn’t help but study them. Biker boots, they looked sturdy and had rings going up the side.

She swallowed hard and started tapping her pencil on her kneecap.

“Princess,” he whispered and she hated herself that just the sound of his deep voice made her body hum and burn.

Almost disbelieving, she turned to glare at him, battling the sudden antagonism she felt for all the weeks of silence. Knowing if she continued to look at him, she’d do something stupid, she looked back down at her book.

“What?” she hissed.

He didn’t answer, which of course forced her to look up.

Cain was wearing a smug grin. “Hi.”

She wouldn’t have been more shocked if he’d punched her.

“Excuse me. Are you talking to me? Why?”

His grin curved higher.

“Ms. DeLuca, do I need to keep you after class today?”

Mr. Wickham was all frowns and she rolled her eyes.

“No.”

“Good.” He crossed his arms, leaning back against his desk. “Then put your book away. It’s time for a quiz.”

Ignoring Cain’s hot stare, she shoved her book into her bag.

“You gonna talk to me?” he asked, and again she had to wonder how Cain always seemed to get away with murder. He wore glasses, dressed like the Unabomber, and talked in class, none of which ever seemed to get him in trouble.

But the second she opened her mouth, Mr. Wickham was all over her. She huffed and crossed her arms. Mr. Wickham passed out the tests.

“I like your sandals,” Cain said, leaning in so close his scent of pine and spices overwhelmed her senses. “Looks like something a princess would wear.”

Hissing, she turned to give him a snappy retort, but his face was within inches of hers, his lips so close she felt his breath brush against her own.

“What are you doing?” she whispered as she dug her nails into her leg to help ground her and force her to remember kissing Cain would be bad.

Very, very bad.

She licked her bottom lip. “You told me to stay away from you.”

He nodded. “I know.”

“You ignored me for weeks.”

“I know.”

“I hate you.”

His smile was slow. “I know that too. But it’s not working.”

Pulse thumping like a rabbit on crack, she waited for him to laugh and say “just kidding, loser,” but he never did. He just continued to stare at her and her throat squeezed tight.

A shadow fell over them. Mr. Wickham glanced down at her. Flint pulled back with a jerk; Cain, looking cool as a cucumber, settled back in his seat and took the sheet of paper, getting to work.

Flint stared at the strange symbols on the white sheet and still couldn’t believe he’d said that. Maybe she’d misheard him.

And for a second it’d really seemed like he was going to kiss her.

Couldn’t be.

She rubbed cold fingers across her still-tingling lips.

She’d been leaning in, ready to do it, forgetting everything he’d done to her, everything he’d said before. Forgetting for a second that Cain wasn’t a nice guy, just a jerk who liked to yank her around, make her forget that not all guys were like Abel or her dad.

“Five more minutes, class.”

With a sigh she scribbled the first things down that came to mind, knowing she’d be lucky to get a C.

She was right—she got a D.

Chapter Seventeen

The day had sucked. Flint knew as she wound the combination on her locker that she really needed to study tonight and wondered if she’d be able to get out of girl’s night. She opened the metal door and was rummaging around for her last book of the day—English Lit—when a soft-spoken voice made her pulse jump in her throat.

“What’s your name?”

It was the strange girl with the bloodshot eyes from the cafeteria. Flint hadn’t seen the girl in weeks. Actually, most of the kids from that table had been absent recently. And it hadn’t even been something she’d noticed until the girl came up to her now.

Up close, the girl looked a lot older than she had before. Her eyes were still completely bloodshot, the veins big and red and looking like they pulsed with blood. Her skin was cracked along her hairline and peeling on her nose.

Flint swallowed her immediate gag reflex. “What’s yours?”

The girl blinked, but it was a strange sort of twitch that seemed more reptilian than human. It made Flint take an involuntary step back.

“Tamara.” The r sounded like a snake’s rattle. “What’s yours?” She wasn’t smiling, didn’t even seem all that friendly. Which was bizarre, not to mention totally creepy and just plain weird.

“Umm, it’s Flint.” She hugged her giant tome of a book to her chest and pushed her hair behind her ear. Refusing to give into her fear, she asked, “What do you want? Why do you keep looking at me during lunch?”

Tamara just stared at her, eyes wide-open, almost doll like in that she hardly blinked. And again that sensation of yuck crawled over Flint’s skin.

“You look like someone I know.” Her words droned—there was no life, no scale or pitch to the tenor of her speech. It was flat and breathy.

Flint frowned when Tamara attempted to push a strand of her pixie-cut hair behind her ear. Not because there wasn’t enough hair to do it, but because the motion seemed forced.

Flint’s nose curled when a sickly-sweet scent drifted toward her. Like sour milk, it made her want to gag. Tamara’s eyes zoomed in toward Flint’s neck.

“Oh, Fliiiint.” Janet breezed up, throwing her small arm around Flint’s shoulder and then eying Tamara with a scornful glare.

For a second, Flint could have sworn she’d seen color flicker in her friend’s dark eyes.

Tamara didn’t say anything, just turned aside and walked away, leaving Flint with a serious case of the heebie-jeebies and the oddest desire to bleach her eyeballs.

“What was that all about?” Flint whispered, shuddering as she stared over Ja’s shoulder at Tamara’s slim retreating form.

Janet waved a hand. “Chick’s on meth or something—you see the way she peels. Eww. Anyway, you ready for chick flicks and nails?”

Earlier she’d have been tempted to say no, but now she was grateful and eagerly nodded. “Yup, though I gotta warn you, I sob at chick flicks. Just sayin’.”

Janet laughed and steered Flint away from the lockers and toward class. “Not to worry, I’m a world-class sobber myself.”

As they were headed to class, Flint spied Cain turning the corner and she couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been staring at her again.

~*~

“How many times can you watch Pride and Prejudice before you get tired of it?” Rhi asked, digging into the huge bowl of popcorn between them.

All three girls were wearing their pajamas even though it was barely five in the evening. Rhiannon was dressed in white cotton stretch pants with hearts on them and a plain white tank top. Her toned arms and golden hair somehow made the boring clothes chic and stylish. Janet was wearing something obnoxiously loud and bright— neon-blue pants with a striped shirt in shocking pink and neon green. Her thick black hair was gathered back in a messy bun as she shoved another handful of white-cheddar popcorn in her mouth.

Because they’d been so casually dressed, Flint didn’t feel so bad in her faded flannel top and shorts.

Flint’s dad had made a drive-by appearance. A quick kiss, some cash for pizza later, and off he’d gone in all his bedazzled glory to practice with “the girls.”

“Sigh. Never.” Janet giggled just as Mr. Darcy blundered his way through the first proposal.

And while the movie was great and Flint’s toes were an amazing shade of glittering chartreuse, her mind was a million miles away.

Rhiannon pinned her with a steely-eyed glare. “Spill, Flint, because you are totally ruining my Darcy buzz.”

Flint laughed and rolled her eyes. This was her first time ever watching Pride and Prejudice, and she seriously didn’t get the appeal of all the frilly dresses and men in breeches. Then again, she seemed to be the only one who didn’t, judging by all the sighs and giggles both Rhiannon and Janet had been making the past hour.

Janet paused the movie.

“Yeah, what’s up, girl? Your karma is seriously bad right now, all black and gray and… ugh.” She mock-shuddered and Flint tossed a pillow at her head.

“It’s nothing. Just my dad and his… thing.” She rolled her wrist, still not sure why she was having such a hard time even mentioning Katy’s name.

“She’s not all that bad.” Rhi smiled. “She taught me a few tricks on the rope once. She’s kind of quiet, but what’s the big? Don’t you want your dad to be happy?”

Janet frowned and shook her head while Rhiannon shoveled another handful of popcorn in her mouth. “No, I don’t think that’s it.” She stared at Flint with soulful brownish-black eyes, her gaze penetrating so forcefully that for a moment Flint got sweaty and dizzy. “Would you be pissed if it was someone other than Katy?”

Flint thought about it for a moment, staring up at the blank ceiling. What if Dad had brought home the blonde; would she still have been so upset? She’d totally spazzed that night she’d seen the girls, thinking it was the blonde and feeling an edge of protective insecurity. But would she have been so wigged out?

Flint sighed. “I’m not sure. It’s just… I don’t know. Something about her bugs me. And every time I keep telling myself I’m nuts, get over it, I just can’t seem to. The weird thing is, she’s never done anything wrong. Always super understanding. She’s patient. She’s perfect.” Her lips thinned.

Janet nodded and handed Flint the nearly empty bowl.

“No,” Flint mumbled. “Not hungry.”

“Chocolate?” Rhiannon shook a box of Milk Duds at her. “Chocolate always makes me feel better. It’s like a gift from the gods.”

“You would.” Janet snorted.

Flint gestured for Rhi to hand it over. The second the box was in her hand, she was ripping it open and chewing thoughtfully on a gooey piece of chocolate-covered caramel. “It’s just he spends so much time there, and he promised he’d try to hang out with me more. And the worst part is that I’m not sure I’d really even want him in my hip pocket, but I’m worried he’ll fall into bad habits again. The drinking… it was a nightmare. And wow”—Flint eyed the hard nub of candy—“what is in this stuff? Did you dope me up with truth serum?”

Rhi wiggled her eyebrows.

Janet smiled and patted Flint’s knee. “Well you know, Rhiannon and I have to practice a lot in the same area they do. If it makes you feel better, I can keep an eye on things.”

Which only made Flint feel worse. She wasn’t used to being so whiney or mopey. And she hadn’t lied when she said she didn’t want her dad always hanging around. She liked her freedom too, had gotten used to it over the past year. Which was another reason why she couldn’t understand her feelings on the situation.

She’d opened her mouth to say something when Rhi’s phone rang.

Rhi held up a finger. “Hold that thought. Hello,” she said into the phone.

The soft smile on her face morphed into a serious frown. Janet sat still and quiet, her eyes shifting back and forth slowly, as if she was trying to listen in on the conversation. Then she smiled and grabbed Flint by the hand.

“Hey, Flint, I just realized”—she stood up—“you’ve never shown me your room.”

“What?” Flint was confused. It almost felt like Janet was trying to deliberately divert her attention.

“I see,” Rhiannon said, and her eyes were looking crazy weird. It was nothing Flint could get a fix on, but they seemed less shiny all of sudden. Flat and dull.

Janet tugged on her hand, helping Flint off the couch. “Hello, friend here, doesn’t like being ignored.”

“What’s going on with Rhi? She okay?” Flint whispered, glancing over her shoulder while Janet continued to pull her down the hall.

“She’s fine. But her parents are kind of, well… Russian.”

Flint shook her head. “What does that mean?” She’d worked with tons of Russians in her life and found them to be some of the funniest people to be around, especially after a couple of rounds of vodka.

“They’re intense.” Janet dropped her voice. “She told me she got their permission to hang out, but if they know she’s not studying, they might blow a gasket.”

It made sense, but something still didn’t feel right about any of this.

“Hey guys, I’ll be right back okay?” Rhiannon smiled and waved. “Gotta make a run to the store for my umm… mom. I’ll be back.”

“’Kay!” Janet chirped and waved back.

Flint stopped at her door, shaking Janet’s hand off. “Are you sure she’s okay? You’re acting weird, and so is she.”

Janet’s smile couldn’t have looked more fake as she bobbed her head. The front door opened and closed behind Rhiannon, who hadn’t bothered to change. Who went to the grocery store in their pajamas? In see-through ones at that? With no bra?

Flint started to work her way back to the front door.

“Flint,” Janet called and her voice was no longer chipper or perky. It was serious, almost deep. “Leave her alone. She’ll be fine, seriously. Look, we lied—she’s not running to the store. Her sister does this all the time.”

Surprised, Flint cocked her head. “Sister?”

“Yeah, look, her sister is a total tweaker, okay? She’s messed up on meth and comes begging all the time for cash. She doesn’t hang at the circus ’cause Adam threatened to gut her once. So she dials Rhi up and begs to meet her someplace instead. Only way to get rid of her is for Rhi to meet her and give her some cash.”

“But isn’t that wrong? Shouldn’t we help her?”

“Believe me, I’ve tried. This is the best way. Also, Rhiannon is really embarrassed about it, which is why she doesn’t want us out there.” She pressed her lips into a grim smile. “Now, you wanna show me your glass-figurine collection you promised to show me the last time. Or am I gonna have to barge in there and see them myself?”

Suddenly embarrassed that she’d made such a spectacle of herself, Flint nodded. “Yeah, I’m sorry. Go on in, I’ll be there in a sec. Drank too much Coke.”

Flint walked into the bathroom feeling bad for Rhiannon and all sorts of stupid. But as she was locking the door, she caught sight of Rhi running barefoot across the parking lot.

The sun had already gone down and the streetlamps were just starting to flicker on.

A shadowy shape pulled away from the hedge of bushes and what Flint saw next made her pulse stutter and fly straight to her knees. Rhiannon was running one second and the next she was a blur of shadow.

Not that she disappeared into the dark—she literally became one with it. Like she shook off her skin and was nothing but a living, breathing, black film of smoke. Flint pressed her nose to the window, jaw hanging open, unable to believe what she was seeing. Because the shadow that’d been Rhiannon was now swirling around the lone figure that was swatting and slapping at it frantically.

It was driving Flint nuts that she couldn’t hear anything. She unlocked the window and slid it up, but they were still too far away for her to hear anything other than a terrifying humming sound. Like the buzz of thousand wasps swooping in too close.

Flint stuck her head out the small window, gripping the tile wall.

The figure looked dead at her and the eyes were glowing a bright shade of bloody red. Then the shadow swirled tighter, faster, and like a cyclone from Hell, it rammed through the figure’s mouth, killing the hum instantly, and then they were gone.

Just gone.

It took a second for Flint to finally pull her head back inside, and when she did, she realized that not only were her hands shaking, so were her thigh muscles. They were spasming and twitching.

A strange sound spilled from her lips, a mixture of a croak and a sob. She pressed her hands to her mouth, breathing so hard she knew she’d start hyperventilating soon.

She was tired. Tired and crazy.

No way had she just seen that.

No way.

Shadows didn’t kill.

Didn’t move and breathe and… “Ohmygod,” she wheezed, squeezing her eyes shut.

A knock sounded on her door. “Flint, you okay in there?”

It was Janet.

“I’m… I’m fine, start…ed my period,” she said, stuttering her way through the words.

“Okay, well…” Her voice sounded hollow through the door. “You need me to ask Rhi to run to the store? I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”

“No!” she shrilled and then cleared her throat. “I’m fine… just, can you bring me a new set of pajamas? Top drawer in my nightstand.”

“Okay.” She heard Janet pad off and Flint knew with every breath and fiber in her being, that Janet was part of it.

That was why she’d tried to make her show her the glass-figurine collection. Like who even cared about those things? It was just a bunch of stupid glass animals.

Flint jerked to her feet and somehow was at the sink, splashing water on her face, not sure how she’d walked the short distance between the toilet to there. She couldn’t let them know she’d seen that.

Water dripped off her face; her brown eyes stared back at her. Shock was clearly written on her slack brows, her red hair clinging to her forehead. What was that? What was going on? How was she going to get through the rest of the night?

The front door opened and Flint wanted to scream.

It hadn’t been a trick of the light—she knew it. She’d seen Rhiannon fade to mist. Seen Rhiannon wrap herself around that… thing.

Flint squeezed her eyes shut. She’d seen a ton of TV shows, watched as vampires sucked out blood, became best friends with the local humans, killed some of them. Was that what this was? Had she somehow stumbled onto a—

“No way.” She shook her head. “No way, Flint DeLuca. That crap’s not real. Whatever you saw, it didn’t…” Her mouth turned down in a frown, and she studied her face, her too-big eyes, the twitching cheek muscle (her body accepting what her brain could not). “…really happen.”

~*~

All night she tossed and turned. Wishing so much they would just go and leave her in peace. Terrified of actually falling asleep with them in her home. But even more terrified of asking them to leave, because what if they found out? What if they knew she saw…something, and then they did that same something to her?

Which, seriously, it couldn’t have possibly happened, right? That was just weird Hollywood stuff. But even when she did finally pass out from utter exhaustion she didn’t stop worrying and obsessing about it, if anything things only got worse. Whatever dreams she did have involved a black tornado picking the flesh right off her body as she screamed and screamed. She’d woken up thrashing and kicking the sheets off.

At one point Janet and Rhiannon had to shake her, claiming she’d screamed for ten minutes straight. Which had to be a horrible exaggeration, except her throat was so sore it was entirely possible. Also, being woken up by them, realizing she’d been so tired as to actually pass out with them still in her house, that’d freaked her out even worse than whatever it was she’d seen last night. She was now firmly in the camp that her mind had totally gone schizo for about five minutes last night and what she was remembering was a complete and total breakdown of some sort.

All she knew was now she had a headache the size of Texas and hadn’t been able to hold anything down at breakfast.

They’d ridden the bus with her, casting worried glances at her and each other. But Flint couldn’t talk to them. She had no way of knowing if Janet only knew what Rhiannon was or if she was also some sort of weird killing shadow that liked to eat freaky red-eyed people.

“Flint.” Abel walked up to her as she was leaning against the lockers in front of Mr. Wickham’s class and giving serious consideration to bailing first period for the first time in her life.

Not in the mood for chitchat, she was just about to tell him so when she noticed he looked about as craptastic as she felt. The dark circles under his eyes were deeper and larger, and his skin looked bleached out.

“What’s happened to you?” she asked.

He scratched the back of his head, his eyes faraway and distant. The muscle in his jaw tensed, giving her a weak version of his grin, enough to make his dimple appear for a split second. “Didn’t sleep good last night.”

He sounded sheepish, as if he was embarrassed to admit it.

She shook her head. “That sucks.”

“Heard you had a sleepover with the girls.” He shoved his hands deep into his pockets.

Flint shrugged, watching as two of her classmates—Jaylin and Sarah—entered her class holding hands.

“How’d that go?” He leaned his shoulder against her and it felt nice. Normal.

She swallowed hard, wishing she could tell him. For the first time since meeting him, she really looked at him. Still super scrawny, but his eyes were friendly and he looked so human, and that was just so perfect for her right now.

“Fine.” She closed her eyes. “But I didn’t get a lot of sleep either.”

“Yeah,” he muttered and she let herself relax against his hard shoulder for a split second, feeling strangely calm around him.

“You’re gonna be late.” The rumbly voice drove like a spike through her heart, made her pulse leap into action. Flint snapped her eyes open, only to stare into Cain’s mirrored lenses, but somehow she knew he was glaring at her.

She wasn’t really sure who he’d been talking to, but Abel mumbled something and left. Cain was already walking through the door, no hi, hello, or any other acknowledgement.

“Jerk,” she hissed and then slinked in behind him just as the bell rang.

Flint opened her book, staring at it, trying desperately to scrub the images from her brain.

There was no way she’d seen what she’d seen.

It had been dark.

They weren’t standing underneath the streetlight.

People didn’t just turn into a carnivorous shadow and then reappear a few seconds later as a normal human.

It just didn’t happen in real life.

“Princess,” Cain drawled and her brows dipped.

“What?” she snapped.

“Whatcha thinking about?” His deep voice rolled like sun-warmed honey across her flesh, making her skin tingle.

“Just how much I’d love to smack you right now.”

His full lips curled into a half grin. “That’s funny.”

“Glad you think so,” she said, then turned in her seat, making an obvious point of ignoring him. She tipped her face up, pretending she was actually listening to a word Mr. Wickham said, but when she sneezed and cleared her throat, she inhaled his scent of sage and pine deep into her lungs, and her insides went crazy and melty.

She started tapping her pencil, aware that he was slouching in his chair, one of his long legs sticking out from beneath his desk. He was wearing brown boots this time. Dark ones, but brown. And blue jeans again.

She frowned. “Color? Thought you were Goth Boy.”

He licked his teeth, clasping his hands behind his head. “So you do pay attention to what I wear?”

Clenching her jaw, she sniffed and turned back around, knowing she fooled no one because the hot blush creeping up her neck was a dead giveaway that she’d been caught.

From the corner of her eye, she saw him run his pencil up and down through the air.

“What happened to your sparkles today, princess?”

She looked down and was a little bit surprised to notice she was wearing all black. Black skinny jeans, black flats, and a black baggy top. She frowned. She hadn’t exactly been aware of what she’d grabbed this morning in her rush to get out of the house and away from them.

“I didn’t do it for you, if that’s what you’re implying.” Flint looked him square in the eye.

His smile was so wickedly hot it almost hurt to look at it, made her voice quiver. She hated that he had that kind of effect on her. But she couldn’t help it that whenever she saw him now all she could think about was him without a shirt on and how good he’d looked.

“Flint DeLuca.” Mr. Wickham sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as if in extreme exasperation. “Since you obviously have a hard time paying attention in class when Cain is around”—the class erupted into hushed laughter—“then how about you switch spots with Sarah.”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “Not fair!”

Mr. Wickham lifted his brows, and that was the end of Sarah’s mutiny. Ears burning, Flint gathered up her books, beyond pissed that Mr. Wickham only ever seemed to catch them talking when she was the one doing the talking.

Cain was still smiling. Smirking really, looking very pleased with himself.

“Move,” Sarah snarled, standing over her with her book bag and books.

Scooting out of the chair, Flint took the walk of shame over to Sarah’s desk and sat, trying to cover her ears as best as she could with her hair.

“After class, Ms. DeLuca,” Mr. Wickham said and then turned back to the chalkboard.

Flint glared at Cain, who was staring at her hard. His mouth pressed tight. Even with the sunglasses on, his gaze was so intense it burned her flesh.

Flint’s spine stiffened when she saw Sarah pop her gum and lean in to whisper to him. But then it was her turn to grin when Cain completely ignored her. The perky blond cheerleader snarled and slouched back.

Cain however, never stopped looking at her.

Chapter Eighteen

Adam sat behind his desk, rubbing his brow and well on his way to finishing the full bottle of Jack he’d started an hour ago.

The circus was quiet, his performers sleeping. Some practiced, but those not in school were out hunting. He’d talked with Pandora this morning—things were going to hell over in the Black Hills. Talk of a Priest—those were always fun—and a mole. Dora wasn’t exactly forthcoming with all the info, but from the gist of what Adam gathered, it didn’t sound good for any of them.

He swallowed a hearty gulp of whiskey, enjoying the sliding burn. Demons could drink until they were blue in the gills and still not fall flat on their face. He was aiming to prove that theory wrong today.

His door opened and he looked up through bleary eyes. “What you doing here, Layla?” He got up from his chair, rushing to her side as she gingerly made her way to the chair in front of his desk.

“Adam.” She smiled, stretching the tight skin of her lips. “Stop fussing over me.”

He sighed, plopping down on the corner of the desk.

“Saw Abel this morning before school.”

Adam nodded, scrubbing his jaw. “Yeah.”

“He’s sick. The dreams. It’s starting.”

Dropping his head, he stared at his fingers. “I never wanted this life for them. For you.”

She touched the corner of his mouth, tipping his frown up into a smile. Her clean scent reached out to him, the only good thing in his life and he’d nearly ruined it. “What did Dora say, Adam?”

The eye on the side of her burnt face was a busted maze of red, the iris clouded over. But her good eye was a deep, rich blue. He framed her jaw with his thumb and forefinger. “Apparently the Order’s had a goon in our midst for some time and he or she has just been reactivated.”

“What? Why?” She spread her arm. “And here, are you sure? All this time?”

“Don’t think Dora would have lied about this, and yeah, it seems like something the freaks would do. Whoever it is, we’ll figure it out and see where we go from here.”

“Why would they have someone here this whole time? We’ve been compliant from day one.”

He shrugged, dropping his hand. “Who knows? Maybe we’re not working fast enough to eliminate the threats, so they’ve sent someone to be their eyes and ears.”

She shook her head. “I’ve never trusted them, Adam. You know that. A freaking fink in our midst. Pisses me off.”

“What I know”—he stood up and helped her to stand, wrapping his arm gently around her petite waist, running his fingers along the wasted side of her body—“is that you should be resting.”

She sighed. “Adam, I’m burnt. I’m not an invalid. You guys are my family, I just worry.”

He grinned, flashing her his most charming smile. “We’re unbreakable, you’re not.”

She framed his face and his lashes fluttered; she still had that effect on him. “Demons and your blasted charm.”

Then she pulled him in for a kiss, but Adam did worry. Because even though the Order was comprised of humans, it was humans who knew their weaknesses, humans who’d nearly brought his race to the brink of extinction.

The Order gave directives; they never actually came out to lead the charge.

That they felt the need to do so now was very, very worrying.

Chapter Nineteen

Walking into the lunchroom, Flint stared at her table. Rhiannon, Janet, and Abel were waving her over. She eyed her slice of disgusting-looking pizza and then waved back at them, wrinkling her nose.

“Sorry,” she mouthed and grabbed her head, then dumped the pizza in a garbage bin and walked out of the building, heading to her bleachers.

She wasn’t ready to face them now, maybe not ever. Which was a total baby thing to do. She should just woman up and tell them what she’d seen. They’d probably laugh, tell her she was crazy and of course Rhiannon wasn’t a killing blobby shadow, and she could go back to talking about stuff that didn’t matter.

The only problem was she didn’t believe that.

There was too much weirdness going on at that circus.

From the day she and her dad had driven through those gates. The freaky eyes, even Cain’s… red one second, then blue the next. Of course there were contacts that could do that, but you could always see the outline of the contact in the eyes. Granted it had been dark that day he’d caught her on the net, but there went another question, how had he moved fast enough to literally snatch her from midair?

The wind was breezy, rustling leaves around her feet. Fall was in full swing, with the promise of winter not too far off. It was overcast enough today to make her feel the promise of snow coming soon.

It was empty outside, which was just fine with her.

Sitting on the bottom bleachers, she pulled her chem book out of her book bag and opened it. Maybe if she could focus on something else.

Flint wasn’t even sure which chapter they were on.

She was so gonna fail.

Which would piss her father off to no end. She sighed, pulled out a piece of gum, and leaned back, closing her eyes for a split second.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been lying there when she heard the rustling of shoes moving through leaves. She cracked an eye open.

Abel leaned against the chain metal fence. “Wanna talk about it?”

The wind ruffled his thick brown hair. In that moment he reminded her big-time of Cain, which made her stomach flutter.

“Not really.” She sighed, not sure what she could tell him, how much. How well did he know Rhiannon?

But even wondering all that, she couldn’t help but feel relieved when he sat next to her. His normalness helped to ease her anxiety as he shoulder-bumped her.

“School sucks,” he said with a quiet chuckle.

She bumped him back. “Yeah.”

“Okay then.” He ran his hands down his jeans. “Let’s go.”

She laughed. “What?”

“Come on, let’s bail. I’ve got a four point one GPA. They can’t touch me.”

Flint rolled her eyes, instantly guilty. “I’m lucky if I’ve got a low-C average at this point. I really should stay.”

“My dear little Flintlock, tell me when you’re sucking so bad at school. Your boy can hook you up. Now let’s go.”

“Seriously?”

He shrugged. “My dad has the truck today.” He wagged his finger. “Stop trying to get out of it—I’ve got the ATV, any other excuses?”

It didn’t even take a second to think about it. “Nope, let’s go.”

In no time they were out at the parking lot, Adam’s cherry-red ATV looking super obvious in a parking lot full of cars. “How did you sneak this past Cain and Adam?”

He tossed her one of his dimpled grins and her heart raced. “I’ve got my ways. Now c’mon.” Abel handed her the second helmet.

She lifted a brow. “You came prepared.”

“I’d hoped.” He winked and then straddled the vehicle.

Flint strapped her helmet on and sat behind him, hugging his slim (but not quite so slim) waist. “Hey, you been hitting the donuts or what?” She squeezed.

“I’m a growing man, Flint. Now hang on.”

He started the ATV and the last thing Flint saw was the school fading in the distance as she had the fleeting thought that maybe this wasn’t such a great idea.

~*~

“What movie?” Abel looked at the screen as he dug in his back pocket for his wallet. “My treat.” He gave her his patented grin and Flint seriously had no idea the last time she’d had this much fun.

They’d gorged themselves on cheese-covered fries, played a couple of games at the arcade, and were now getting ready to top the day off with a movie.

“Well, since I didn’t bring any cash, ’cause ya know, didn’t plan to sneak out with a delinquent—”

“Who me?” He wiggled his brows.

“That would be awesome. But next time it’s on me.”

“So what are you in the mood for?”

The movie attendant behind the glass just looked bored. An older woman with owl eyeglasses on, her mouth was set in a tight grimace. She obviously knew ditchers when she saw them.

Flint shrugged. “Guns, kisses, or blood. You choose.”

“Two for Zombie Killers from Outer Space, please,” he told the woman, who just rolled her eyes and punched their tickets in.

“Zombie Killers, huh?” Flint held her ticket, laughing. Not exactly what she’d wanted to see, but considering he was a boy, she hadn’t really expected him to pick the chick flick either.

They were just finishing up placing their popcorn order when a girl knocked into her shoulder, making her spill some of the soda down the front of her shirt.

“Oh, freakin’-a!” Flint growled as the shock of the cold, sticky drink soaked through her cotton top.

Abel frowned, eyeing the woman’s red-jeaned backside as she beelined to the ladies’ bathroom. “That was rude,” he said, loud enough the woman should have heard.

Flint grimaced as the soda started to squish through her bra. “Look, go get us seats in the front. I’ll meet you there.”

He nodded and she sprinted for the bathroom.

First thing she did was look for the woman, not that she had any intention of telling her off, more out of curiosity. But the bathroom was huge and appeared completely empty. Which meant the woman was ducking out in the back stall somewhere.

Frustrated, Flint wet a napkin and tried her best to clean her top. Lifting her shirt, she cleaned and dried her skin. Her cheeks and eyes looked flushed and she smiled, realizing she hadn’t thought about killing shadows, or Rhiannon, or Janet, and especially not about Cain since bailing with Abel.

Smiling at herself, she applied some ChapStick to her lips and was just headed out the door when she caught the blurry streak of movement in the glass. But it wasn’t the movement itself that caught her eye, rather the bright spot of red.

Which made her suddenly recall the red eyes of last night. A cold sweat broke out on her skin as she whirled back around, heart thudding almost painfully in her chest as she waited and counted her breaths.

But the bathroom was so empty the silence echoed with it.

Finally a shaky laugh spilled from her lips and she shook her head. “I’m going nuts.” Dusting her hands down her pants, she ran from the bathroom and went to find Abel.

She sat down just as the lights flickered off.

“You okay?” Abel whispered, but he needn’t have bothered, they were the only ones in there.

“Yeah, just thought I saw something.” She shrugged and gave him a light smile, trying to convince him and herself that her brain was just playing tricks on her eyes.

He nodded, but a thoughtful frown creased his brows.

The opening sequence was just starting—zombies were filing into a horseshoe-shaped spacecraft and chanting, “Must eat brains” when he leaned back into her, and for a quick second she caught a whiff of moss.

The smell forcefully reminding her of Cain so that her heart took an extra beat.

“So what’s going on with you, Flintlock?”

“Flintlock?” She glanced at him with a question in her eyes.

“I kind of like it.” He grinned, revealing his deep dimple, and she snorted. “My code name for you.”

“Why does everyone want to give me a nickname?”

“Cause Flint’s a weird name for a girl. And who’s giving you nicknames?” He mock pouted and she tossed a kernel of popcorn at his nose.

“Flint’s not a weird name. It’s unique.”

He rolled his eyes, shoving his entire fist into the large tub of popcorn.

“And everyone calls me by a nickname. Dad calls me Flinty—”

“See, even your dad thinks the name is weird.”

“Shut up, you.” She wagged her finger at him. “You called me Flintlock, and like, what’s that all about? Stupidest nickname ever, and…” Cain calls me princess.

She clamped her lips together, realizing she’d almost told him that. Not sure why she shouldn’t, but she instinctively wanted to protect him. Which was weird. And sick. But mostly just weird. She shouldn’t give a crap about protecting anything that happened between her and Cain, but for some unfathomable reason it felt important and personal and she refused to analyze why.

“And?” he prompted.

She stuffed popcorn in her mouth and pointed to it while she chewed obnoxiously. “Can’t talk now,” she mumbled.

“And you girls call us pigs.” Abel snorted and joined her in devouring the tub.

The movie wasn’t as bad as she’d expected; it was worse. Zombies sucking out blood, brains, and intestines—which actually looked more like linked sausages—which made her glad she hadn’t ordered the pizza she’d been eyeing earlier.

Abel, on the other hand, was grabbing his stomach and groaning.

“You okay there, featherweight?” She grinned.

He eyed her, a look of supreme disgust curling his lips. “I think I might have eaten one bag of candy too many. You ready to head home?”

It took a while, but they finally made it out to the parking lot. The second the breeze hit them, Abel looked marginally better. He was still holding his stomach, but he didn’t look so green around the gills anymore.

Starting to get worried for him, Flint touched his shoulder. “You sure you okay? You’re looking as white as a ghost.”

Abel leaned against the brick wall, taking in huge gulps of air. He planted his hands on his knees and bent over.

“Umm, Abel, are you getting ready to yack? Should I get water or something?” She rubbed his back, thinking maybe it was more than just too much candy. And when she touched his forehead, she knew it was. He was clammy.

“No.” He shook her away. “Been feeling like this the past few days, it’ll pass. Just give me a sec.”

Flint glanced up at the sky that suddenly looked to be frothing and churning with gathering storm clouds. A hard wind was driving in from the east, whipping her hair into her face. She wasn’t exactly superstitious, but it felt like a bad omen.

He was still breathing hard, huffing air through his open mouth, and when she rubbed his back again, she swore she felt his muscles slide.

And not just scrawny Abel muscles, it felt like thick cords of rope moving beneath her palm. “Abel, should I call Adam?”

He shook his head.

“Your… Cain?”

He glared at her, and she inhaled when she saw the size of his pupils—they were huge.

“Stop, Flint. Just give me a sec.”

His voice was thicker, gruffer, and she wrapped her arms around herself.

Tires screeched to a stop in front of them and her heart sank. Cain’s black Corvette rumbled in front of them.

“Did you call him?” Abel growled.

She shook her head. “I don’t even have his number.”

Cain shot out of the car, looking as frightening as a grizzly about to attack. “Where did you go?” he snarled, and he wasn’t looking at Abel.

“I…” Flint glanced at Abel, then back at Cain, brows dropping in confusion. “Excuse me?”

He made a grab for her elbow, which she found extremely annoying, and she sidestepped. “Hey, hands off! And why do you care?” she snapped back at him, finally finding her tongue.

“Do you have any idea how many places I had to search before I found you?” His voice was deep, really deep. Growly. And his arms, jeez, they were freaking ginormous. Like two flexing pythons.

All of which should have terrified her, but instead it only made her stomach swirl with knots.

She hated her body’s reaction to him. Her brain screamed, “Neanderthal, run away,” while her body yelled, “Must have, must have….” It was really rather pathetic, which pissed her off.

“You’re not my boyfriend, Cain. You’re not my anything, so why do you care?” She narrowed her eyes.

“I don’t care, princess.” He said it so cold that she flinched. “But I’m pretty sure Frank does.”

“Dad?” Her mouth dropped open, the sensation of a stone ripping through her gut made her grimace. “He knows?”

He ignored her.

Glancing at Abel, Cain snarled. “She’s coming with me. You follow. Adam’s not happy.”

Abel’s shoulders slumped and he nodded.

“Wait, I should go with him. Abel’s not well, or better yet”—she planted her hands on her hips—“he should go with you. I can take the ATV back.”

Shaking his head, Cain sauntered back to the car, saying louder than words that the conversation was over.

“Abel?” Flint looked at him. He looked fine now. His eyes were a little bloodshot, but nothing major. “You gonna live?”

He ran his long fingers through his blunt brown hair. “Yeah. Maybe not for long though. I’m sorry, Flint. But you should go. Cain’s not the most patient one among us.”

He jerked his chin, and when she looked over it was to see Cain drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, a mutinous expression twisting his lips.

“I don’t know why I can’t just ride with you,” she mumbled but headed to the Corvette.

The second she was in her seat, Cain was peeling out.

“How did you find us?” she blurted, refusing to cower to him, even though his frosty demeanor made her want to blast the heater to high. “We snuck out. The school shouldn’t have called anyway, I checked in this morning and…”

“Flint.” Cain looked at her, ripping his sunglasses off. And again she was stunned by the glass-like blue of his eyes. His jaw was clenched hard and she sensed he wanted to say more, but with a firm shake of his head, he turned back to the road.

Hiking her feet up on the chair, she tucked her hands under her thighs, not terribly concerned if she got dirt on his precious car. This sucked. Major.

“Why didn’t my dad come get me?”

Trees passed in a blur. She really didn’t have a clue where they were, but it didn’t seem like he was driving toward the circus. The mall wasn’t that far from the school or the fairgrounds. She glanced out the window at the towering spires of trees.

His woodsy scent wrapped around her nose. She swallowed hard.

“He wouldn’t have been able to find you,” he finally said, his voice still deep and resonant and making her belly quiver tight with nerves.

“So how did you?” she asked quietly.

He looked at her and she thought he wouldn’t answer, but he did. “I smelled you out.” Cain turned back to the road.

Clearly he was joking, which whatever, if he didn’t want to tell her, fine. She crossed her arms.

“Your father came to Adam for help. He looked for you guys for over an hour, but he’s new to the town and doesn’t know my brother the way I do.”

Offering up information without her first prying it out of him? Would wonders never cease? She dropped her arms. Cain turned on the blinker and then turned to the left. It was light out and the world looked so much different than it had the other time they’d been here with the storm and the clouds, but the broken trees gave it away. He was headed toward his bunker.

“Why are you bringing me here? Is my dad here?”

He didn’t say anything, just kept driving. In no time, she spied the top of the wooden bunker and her heart flipped as she remembered him shirtless.

The car rolled to a stop, then he jumped out and leaned against the car, tipping his face up to the sky. Flint sat in the car, not sure what exactly to do. He was acting weird. And more than just moody, he was acting like he’d actually been worried.

The longer he stood out there, not moving, just leaning against the car, the worse she began to feel. Fingers grown cold with the beginnings of shame, she got out of the car and walked around to join him.

He didn’t glance at her—his eyes were closed and she took the opportunity to really study him. Cain was so much bigger than the average guys at her school. His taut throat was tipped up toward the sky, his Adam’s apple rolled as he swallowed, a five-o’clock shadow dusted his strong square jaw.

Flint nibbled on the corner of her lip. “Look I’m sorry if I made you worry about Abel. It was stupid and irresponsible of me. He hadn’t been feeling well, and neither was I—”

Cain looked at her then. “What’s going on?” His tone was so much softer than she’d expected, no longer hard and growly.

What should she say? Thinking about it now, it all sounded pretty stupid. She hated her dad’s new girlfriend, school was driving her nuts, Rhiannon might be a killing shadow thingy, there were way too many people in this town with red, freaky eyes—including the boy she couldn’t seem to stop obsessing about. She was pretty sure she’d seen someone die last night.

But had she really, because when she’d walked past the blacktop there’d been nothing. No clothes, no teeth, no arms, skin, or blood. Just nothing. Rhiannon and Janet had laughed and talked like they didn’t have a care in the world and… ugh.

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I’m not really sure what’s wrong with your brother. He needed a time-out and so did I.”

He shook his head and a lock of black hair fell into his eye. Flint didn’t even think, simply reacted, and standing on her tiptoes, she brushed it back, then froze when she realized what she’d done.

Expecting him to snarl or growl, or heck… bite her finger off. She didn’t know. He wasn’t exactly a Boy Scout.

But he didn’t do any of those things. Instead, he grabbed her hand and, just like last time, traced the pad of her thumb with his. The contact of his hot skin on hers made her lashes flutter and her knees shake.

“I know what’s going on with Abel,” he murmured.

“Oh,” she breathed, realizing he’d been asking about her after all. Why did he want to know about her? What did it mean? Probably nothing? This was the same Cain who’d turned her into a laughingstock at school. He liked to tease her, got off on it for some reason. But even knowing that, she couldn’t compel herself to pull her hand away. His touch felt good.

Too good.

Dangerous.

Then he shoved his hands into his pockets and she wanted to pout, feeling strangely desolate without it.

“Come on, I’ve got to take you to the circus. Frank is waiting for you.”

She gave a shaky laugh and hugged her arms. “I’m probably going to be grounded until I turn twenty-one.”

He twisted his lips and her eyes zoomed in, wondering what it might feel like if he ever kissed her. Really kissed her. The thought alone make her skin tingle and itch.

“He’s pissed.” Then he was peering at her with his hypnotic blue eyes. “Are you okay? Is anything bothering you at school?”

She was in serious danger of crying, but she wasn’t even sure why. Other than the fact that he was being so nice to her and she couldn’t explain it, but it was just what she needed. Whatever was going on in her world right now, being around Cain made it feel like it had all disappeared.

She couldn’t forget his eyes that night when he’d caught her, a deep glowing red, and yet she didn’t fear whatever that meant. She knew she should. But when he was looking at her like he was right now, and touching her, and acting like he cared, she just couldn’t.

“There’s a girl—”

“Bloodshot eyes, short black hair?”

Actually, Flint had been getting ready to talk about Rhiannon—she’d forgotten all about what’s her name, but she nodded anyway. “Yeah, she stares at me a lot.”

He frowned and then quickly looked down. “Stay away from her, princess. From all of them.”

She looked at his boots. Jeez, he looked nice today. She was so used to seeing him wear only black that to see him wear any other color, even if it was dark brown, made her heart go pitter-patter.

“I will.” He didn’t need to tell her twice; she had no intention of befriending them.

Cain took a deep breath, then looked back at her. “Promise?”

“Cain, why do you care so much?” She hadn’t meant to ask that, but he was acting so weird.

He drew up straight and when he did, he was so close she felt the heat of his body wash against her own. She sucked in a sharp breath when his hands rested casually against her hips. He was staring at her intensely, and she couldn’t have looked away even if her life depended on it.

He was working his jaw again. But if she hadn’t known better, she’d have sworn she was on fire at the point where his hands were touching her. His fingers found their way underneath her shirt, right above her hipbones. His featherlight touch felt more like a weighty caress, and she was unbelievably aware of each and every twitch of his fingers.

To the point that she had to remind herself to keep breathing.

Then he started to lean in, and she didn’t know what to do. What not to do. Panicked, she bunched her fists in the front of his dove-gray shirt and waited.

But he didn’t kiss her, he was running his nose along the top of her head, and she could swear she felt his body trembling.

“You always smell so good,” he murmured.

“I… do?” Her heart was spinning out of control, her pulse rushing so fast she heard it in her ears. How weird, because she always thought that about him. “So do you,” she whispered shyly. “Like the woods.”

He nodded and his big hand slid slowly up the back of her shirt, almost but not quite reaching the edge of her bra. His palm pressed flat and tight to her body. Not that she didn’t like this.

Because she did.

She loved it.

But he wasn’t acting like the Cain she knew. “Cain?” His name trembled on her lips.

He took a final deep breath, and then she felt that invisible barrier slam up between them again. Cain went rigid as he slipped his hands away from her.

It was the worst feeling in the world to have him pull away like that. She hated the Cain from school, but this Cain, the one outside, she really wished she could get to know him better.

“Come on, princess.” He jerked his head and opened his car door.

Her body was alive, quivering, her thigh muscles twitching. How did he do that? Just walk away like nothing had happened? Like the ground hadn’t shaken beneath their feet for a moment?

Humiliated, she gathered whatever shred of dignity she still had left and got back in the car. The rest of the trip back was made in complete silence. When he pulled into the fairgrounds, Cain parked and then gestured toward Adam’s trailer.

“Frank’s in there.” Then he got out and left her alone, the key still swinging in the ignition.

She wasn’t sure whether he planned to go back out or not, but turned the car off just in case. Feeling more miserable than she had this morning, Flint headed toward the trailer.

Stomach queasy and throat working hard to swallow her tears, she walked up to the door. Not once when her dad had been drinking had she ever done something so stupid. She wasn’t normally like this. Making people worry about her. Especially her dad. The last thing she wanted was to drive him back to the bottle.

Miserable, she didn’t even bother knocking; she just opened the door, ready to take whatever he dished out.

But he wasn’t inside. In fact, no one was.

The lights were off.

Glancing back outside, she looked for him. But as was usual in this weird place, there wasn’t anyone walking around. They were all still asleep, or maybe practicing.

Deciding to go find him herself, she had walked back out and was headed toward the main tent when she spotted Abel’s borrowed ATV from the corner of her eye and veered in that direction. Maybe he’d know. But when she neared the trailer closest to the shed, she was blasted by the sound of a shrill voice.

“Abel Luke, I don’t care—you are never allowed to leave school grounds like that. And taking that girl! Are you insane?”

Flint bit the corner of her lip. Probably his mom, which meant she should definitely not interfere. She turned to go.

“You must be Flint.” The same shrill voice stopped her in her tracks. Grimacing, she turned, ready to apologize profusely when she caught sight of the woman, only now remembering what Abel had told her about his mom and her disfigurement.

A thick mane of black hair covered almost the entire half of the woman’s pinkened skin. But it was obvious even from a distance that she was a scarred and ruined mess. Her lips on the left side of her face looked to be in a perpetual frown and melted downward. A tight framework of scarring webbed the pieces of skin not covered by hair. The other half of her face was firm and smooth, and that side was exotically beautiful. A large blue eye stared back at her, obviously aware that Flint was staring and giving her an opportunity to look her fill.

Flint had grown up in circuses, she’d seen and been around so-called freaks all her life. So instead of acting like she hadn’t seen it or embarrassing Abel’s mom by stuttering an apology, she smiled and nodded. “That’s me.”

A brief flash of awareness flashed through the woman’s good eye. “Adam took Frank to the tent to work some of the fire out of him. Hot Italian temper and all that.”

Her voice was softer now, more twangy. She had a natural Kentucky drawl in her speech. Abel’s mom leaned against the doorframe. She was dressed in jeans and a plain white shirt, her feet bare. She didn’t at all seem shy, but rather self-possessed. “Why don’t you come inside and wait with me, Flint? I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”

Flint wasn’t sure what to expect, so she entered in hesitantly.

“Come on, come on.” Abel’s mom waved her hand. “Don’t be shy.”

But being so close to her now made the rest of her body come into exacting focus. The entire left side of her body looked like melted wax that had rehardened. Generally people who were disfigured tended to become reclusive and antisocial, or so said all the books she’d read. A la The Phantom of the Opera.

Even Abel had mentioned she didn’t do crowds or scenes, so honestly what she saw was not at all what she’d expected. The trailer was tastefully furnished. A small table and two chairs were by the kitchen, stained-glass sculptures hung in the window, and there was a white sofa and a massive worktable full of beakers and vials.

Her eyes were drawn to the murky green flame spiraling from the top of a Bunsen burner.

“Excuse the mess.” She wiped her hands off and held out her left one to Flint. “Name’s Layla.”

Flint took her hand, surprised by the soft yet firm texture of the ruined flesh.

“And yes, before you ask, I was named after the song.”

Her smile was friendly, full of straight white teeth.

“Song?”

“You know.” Abel played some air guitar. “Clapton?”

“Umm.” Flint gave him a confused look. “Should I?”

“You young man, are in big trouble. How about you go to the back room and work on your classwork that you decided was such a good idea to ditch on today…”

“How did you—” Abel’s brown eyes grew wide.

Layla planted her hands in on her hips in a no-nonsense pose, red nails standing out in bold relief. “You can thank your father for that.”

“Adam went to the school?” Abel’s voice picked up a whiny tone. “Ugh.”

“March.” Layla pointed to the closed bedroom door.

Abel gave Flint a discouraged flick of his wrist, then dragged himself back to the room, shutting the door a little harder than necessary.

“So?” Layla turned around, the swooshing of her hair revealing for a moment the burned column of her throat.

It was terrible that Flint suddenly suffered a desperate need to know how in the world she’d gotten so messed up and survived, but she didn’t ask.

“Your father’s pretty mad.” Layla walked over to the desk full of what Flint could only imagine Dr. Frankenstein’s lair would probably contain.

“Yeah, I screwed up big.”

“Mmhmm.” She nodded, placing safety goggles on her face. “You know this place isn’t as safe as it might sometimes appear.”

Flint sidled up to the table, fiddling around with an X-Acto knife, watching as Layla opened a couple of pouches of powder.

“What do you mean?”

“Well…” Layla peered at her for a long second. “Last year we had a serial murderer here.”

“What?” Flint went cold, like someone had just thrown ice into her veins. “Seriously?”

“I wouldn’t lie.” Layla withdrew a pair of tweezers and took a pinch of the brown stuff in them, dropping the powder into a beaker of clear fluid. “Cops never caught the guy, but he had a thing for fourteen-year-olds with blonde hair. How old are you, Flint?”

“Seventeen. They really never caught him?”

The liquid turned an almost fluorescent green before returning once more to its clear color. Layla stirred it with what looked like a large swizzle stick, then set the beaker directly over the green flame.

“No, never did. That’s why I’m telling you, you shouldn’t cut school.”

Flint narrowed her eyes, studying Layla as she turned around and leaned against the desk, her arms crossed over her chest. Flint tried to find Abel and Cain in her features, but it was too hard, although the blue eye reminded her so forcibly of Cain that her stomach grew ticklish.

“I think you’re just trying to use scare tactics on me,” Flint said with a smile. “Though I already promised Cain I wouldn’t cut again, so no worries.”

“Cain, huh?” Layla’s good eye narrowed shrewdly while the good side of her mouth turned up in a semi-smile. “Speaking of which, Abel was back here a whole twenty minutes before you guys. Wanna explain where you were exactly?”

The woman pulled no punches, and she was smart. Super smart. Mouth suddenly dry, Flint shook her head. There was absolutely no way she was going to talk about Cain with his own mother. Not yet, maybe not ever. They didn’t even know each other all that well. And she was sure they weren’t even a something worth mentioning at this point.

“He brought me here.”

“Right.” Layla slid the goggles off. “Well, I can tell you this—my oldest child has never been known to be extremely friendly, or much able to make friends with those outside his immediate circle. That he’s asked you to make that promise is… interesting.”

What exactly was she hinting at? And why in the world was Flint suddenly sweating uncontrollably? Was it possible that the jerk kind of sort of maybe liked her too?

Fighting a ridiculous grin, Flint turned and glanced back down at the table. “What’s all this stuff?” she blurted.

“Before I became the beauty that you see today—”

Flint sucked in a hard breath. “I wasn’t…”

Layla touched the sleeve of her arm gently. “Honey, I’ve had ten years to come to grips with me, it’s really okay, and pretending that I don’t look like I do helps no one. Better to tackle it head-on so we can move on.” She winked and Flint smiled.

“Anyway, I was a geneticist working at Berkeley. Studying the fundamental functions of cells, cell manipulation—”

“What’s that exactly?”

She smiled. “Ever see that weird picture of the mouse with a human ear growing off his back?”

Flint grimaced. “That’s kind of disgusting.”

Layla laughed. “That was my project. One of.” She shrugged like it was no big deal and pointed to a blacked-out steel locker unit. “I’m working on the generation of skin cells. It’s the biggest living organ on our body, generates millions of new cells daily, and…”

“You’re trying to grow some new skin for yourself?” Flint asked softly.

“Exactly. You see, once skin has been damaged to the level mine has been, I can never grow it back to look like yours. However, the new cells I’m growing, I’ve implanted genetic information into them to essentially make the skin as impenetrable as steel. Well…” She shrugged. “That’s what I’m trying to do. We’re not quite there yet.”

Impressed, Flint made a quiet noise in the back of her throat. “I see where Abel gets his genius from.”

“Not just Abel. Cain too.”

Flint held her snort in, but just barely.

Layla cocked her head, the silken fall of black hair again revealing a wide expanse of her face. “You like him.”

It wasn’t a question. Which meant she didn’t have to answer.

Thankfully a shadow fell across them, and for the first time since she and Abel had been caught, Flint was happy to see her dad, even if it meant a tongue-lashing.

But it wasn’t her dad.

Katy poked her dark head into the trailer, and instantly Flint had to bite down on her tongue to keep from snapping. How long had she been out there? Judging by the gleam in her eyes, long enough to know she and Layla had been talking about Cain, which meant her dad would probably find out soon.

“Yes, Katy?” Layla asked in that peaches-and-cream voice that did little to hide the edge of scorn beneath.

Flint whipped around to look at Layla. Was there some drama between the two? Did Layla not like her either?

Katy stood just inside the door. “Adam needs a hand in the tent. Some of the rigging has come loose and”—she glanced at Flint—“your father wants to talk with you, Flint.”

“Give us a few more seconds, Katy, I’ll send Abel out to help.”

Katy looked dubious of Layla’s choice. Rigging was heavy, which meant muscles were needed.

“Abel can handle it; it’s not his first time helping out.” Layla smiled, and Flint almost laughed. Layla had the Southern shtick down, barbed words wrapped in velvet, which made it impossible for the other person to fight back. “Now go on back—I’ll send them out in just a bit.”

Katy glowered, shooting a look at Layla’s back when she turned. Wide green eyes looked at Flint and there was a demand written in them. Come with me.

Flint started to rifle through her jeans pocket, pretending she hadn’t a clue what Katy wanted.

With a dainty stomp of her foot, Katy turned and marched out.

“You don’t like her.” Again, not a question.

“No,” Flint replied.

“Good. Me either.” Layla winked. “Abel, honey, Adam needs you in the tent.”

There was some shuffling and then a second later the door opened. Abel’s hair was poking out all around his face. “Fine.” As he slipped on his shoes, he looked at Flint. “She’s not going to stop bugging you until you tell her you like Cain.”

“Abel!” Flint cried, wishing she could punch him. “How long were you eavesdropping?”

He gave her his wicked dimpled grin. “Long enough.” Then he sailed out the door.

Flint turned around, ready to deny it until she was blue in the face when a horrible shrill pierced her ears.

“What the—” Abel cried.

And then it was total chaos.

Chapter Twenty

“Oh my God,” Layla breathed, throwing her arm in front of Flint, who could barely remember to breathe as a woman dressed in shiny black leather pants and stilettos advanced.

She was tall, filling the doorway, and her eyes were pure red. Her skin was flawless, void of a single mar or imperfection. The toffee tone of her skin seemed to almost gleam from the inside out, and her hair was black as oil and coiled tightly on her head.

She was gorgeous.

And deadly.

And reminded Flint of a black widow the way she moved gracefully inside. In her hands were two long silver blades.

“Who are you?” Layla’s voice trembled.

Flint was in a state of almost total shock. All she could think about was the moaning sound coming from outside. What had the woman done to Abel?

But she didn’t get more than a second to think about it before the woman jumped, literally seeming to sail toward them. And like flipping on a light switch, Flint realized that she was hiding like a baby behind Layla.

She was the more able-bodied of the two. Brave from adrenaline, she reversed positions, but not before the woman’s knife flicked through the air. Everything was moving so fast and yet so slow. Chaotic and ordered.

Flint saw the curve of the blade, saw it nick into Layla’s right arm, saw the red beading of blood began to leak to the surface.

“Adam! Cain!” Layla screamed and the slow motion stopped.

Now everything was moving in a blur.

There were grunts and Flint realized it was her. The woman was grabbing her around the throat. Shutting off her oxygen. She gasped like a fish as she sank to the floor, clawing at the powerful hands clamped around her neck as her vision spun with white light.

She kicked and screamed and thrashed, then the woman was leaning in and there were sharp teeth. Teeth that sank into her neck. The pain was immediate and white-hot.

Vision down to a pinprick, she knew she was dying.

Whatever the woman was, Flint couldn’t fight it. She wasn’t strong enough.

She beat at the hands weakly, and then there was a thunderous roar, and for a second Flint would have sworn that the face in front of her was Cain’s.

But it was bloated and swollen and the eyes were red. Redder than any blood she’d ever seen, and then there was sweet relief as the hands were ripped off her neck.

“I have failed,” the black widow whispered, right before the sound of violent rending.

Like someone ripping trees apart. Something hot and liquid splashed all over her. It stank.

Like sour milk.

“Flint. Flint. Can you hear me?”

The voice was deep, deep and weird and so wrong. But the smell, oh God, the smell. Like the woods… She closed her eyes and passed out.

Chapter Twenty-One

He watched her, aware that he’d very nearly lost her.

Sitting in the deepest shadows of the room, Cain breathed through the violence festering like an open wound in his mind.

The bug had attacked her.

Her.

Flint.

God, he’d been so stupid. Clenching his jaw, he grabbed his pant leg and squeezed so hard his arms shook with the restraint he forced upon himself. What he wanted to do was kill. Kill everything.

He’d walked away from her.

Left her in the car.

He’d known they’d been stalking her—there were no excuses. They’d attacked on his turf. With so many ragers and demons around, the hive had come into his home and dared to touch her.

She was pale. Barely moving.

The first night, he’d thought she’d died. Every night he snuck in. When the sun set and he should be hunting, he came here. To her hospital room and watched. Listening to every creak, every groan, every murmur… almost wishing another Aswang would appear so he could rip the thing’s head off for daring to hurt her.

Tonight she was restless, moaning and whimpering.

Had she seen him?

Adam had told him that if she’d seen, she’d need to be dealt with.

There was only one way demons dealt with problems; they either mated with them or killed them. And he was positive Adam had no intention of Cain claiming Flint as his own.

Her breathing hitched and her foot twitched.

The sun was barely beginning to crest the horizon.

Seth and Eli were out hunting. But for the past few weeks, the hive had become nearly impossible to track. And in the past few days since the attack, they’d burrowed in deep. They weren’t even coming to school anymore.

How could he keep her safe when he couldn’t even find the enemy?

Flint’s entire body shuddered and his heart clenched when a tear gathered in the corner of her eye.

Standing, he walked to her side and reverently took the tear from her eye with the tip of his finger, tucking it close to his heart.

“I’ll get them, princess, you’re safe.”

Imprinting her delicate face to memory, he traced the line of her fine brows. She stilled almost immediately and his entire body trembled.

Staying away from her, it wasn’t an option anymore. And killing her, out of the question. Someway, somehow, he was going to figure out how to save her.

“I swear to you. I’ll keep you safe.”

A tiny smile ghosted on her lips before she calmed and returned once more to her dreams. Hearing the familiar tread of her nurse making the rounds, Cain walked to the window and, with one final glance, made a silent vow that there would be blood and there would be lots of it.

~*~

There were dreams. Lots of them. It all started in a trailer, with her talking to Layla, looking at a freakish display of science experiments, and then she couldn’t breathe and she was screaming and slapping at her body.

“Ssh, baby doll, you’re okay.”

Flint recognized her father’s voice and struggled to open eyes that felt glued shut. “Daddy?”

“Oh thank God, Flinty. Thank God.” He hugged her neck, leaning his head against her tender chest as he wept openly. She rubbed her fingers through his brown hair.

“What happened?”

He laughed, and it was a wild, high-pitched sound. “You don’t remember. God, Flinty, I was so scared. The doctors said you were in a coma. You woke up yesterday, thrashed around for a bit. I think because of the tube in your throat. They had to sedate you again to get it out. Do you remember any of that?”

“A coma!” She glanced down at herself, finally realizing she was full of needles and lying in a hospital bed. The white walls and dull decorations were definitely hospital grade. “I don’t remember… Wow, seriously? A coma?”

“You’ve been asleep almost four days.”

“But…”

“You had a fever of one hundred and five. Flint, it was so close.” His jaw wasn’t just stubbled, there was the beginning of a full beard, and his brown eyes were totally bloodshot. “I thought I’d lost you too.”

Her mouth pulled down in a frown. “What happened?”

“All the cops can tell me is that one of the performers snapped.”

Flint scrunched her face, desperately trying to remember the woman. That woman had been no performer. She’d have recognized the face. Unnaturally perfect, like a living Barbie doll with freaky red eyes.

“Adam’s still looking into it. You had lots of visitors.” Her dad laughed, knuckling a fat tear out of the corner of his eye. “Abel, Janet, Rhiannon. And Katy’s been here too,” he said softly.

But not Cain.

Her heart hurt to think he hadn’t come. What if she’d died? Would he have cared?

The door opened and a man wearing a white coat came in.

“Dr. Hardy.” Her dad stood up, shaking his hand. “She’s awake.”

Dr. Hardy was a middle-aged man with a generous paunch and kind brown eyes behind a thick pair of glasses. He looked like a doctor. “Good to see you awake, Flint,” he said in a gentle tone. “What school do you go to?”

She frowned as he looked at the chart in his hand and then at the monitor by her bed. “Whispering Bluff High.”

“What’s your dad’s name?”

“Umm… Frank DeLuca,” she drawled, feeling like she was back in school again.

“Good.” He smiled, peering at her over the top of his glasses. “Seems you’ll make a full recovery yet.” He turned to her dad. “Brain activity looks fine, she’s doing great. Blood work came back earlier—spike in white blood cells, meaning she’s combatting a mild infection, nothing major. We’ll pump her up with some antibiotics, probably be able to release her tomorrow. Your girl’s gonna be just fine, Mr. DeLuca.”

Nodding, her father shook the doctor’s hand and the man was out the door.

Flint closed her eyes. What had happened? How had she lost almost an entire week? And why hadn’t Cain visited her once? That thought hurt worst of all.

“You tired?” her dad asked, rubbing her arm.

Tired, yes, but also desperate to know what had happened. That hadn’t been a performer who’d snapped. That woman reminded her so much of the girl from school with the red eyes. Of the red-eyed thing in her parking lot the night she’d freaked out because of Rhiannon and her shadow magic trick. Something was wrong and she rubbed her neck, imagining that she could still feel the bite on her neck.

There was smooth skin, but the memory of it would probably haunt her forever. Reading about vampire bites in a book was so much different than reality. In real life, being bitten felt about as good as someone taking a really dull knife and slicing it through your arm.

“That woman bit me,” she mumbled.

“She was crazy, Flinty.”

She looked at him and it saddened her to see him with greasy hair and the beard. That was the dad she’d seen when he’d been deep in his cups. “Dad, why don’t you go home and shower? I need a nap. I’ll be fine.”

His smile was brave. “You sure?”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “I’m sure.”

An hour later, she was contemplating the fact that she just might have to take a nap for real when Cain’s face appeared in the window of her room. Startled, she swallowed a yelp.

He turned the knob and entered, his lip twitching at the sound of her heart beating fast on the monitor.

“Cain?”

“Princess.”

He was alone and man, he smelled all sorts of wonderful. Like the woods. The thought made a memory burst sharp through her head. The scent of the woods right before she’d lost touch with reality. But she wasn’t sure she hadn’t just imagined that.

He was wearing jeans and a gray hoodie, and his hair was mussed, one corner of it slipping into his eyes. He brushed it away casually and her fingers twitched.

“What are you doing here?” And more importantly, why is this the first time you’ve come to see me?

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I shouldn’t be here.”

She picked at her sheets, feeling hurt, knowing she had no right to. “Does Adam know you’re here?”

Shaking his head, he took a seat in the chair her father had been sitting in earlier. His long legs sprawled out the way she remembered in class. Her heart leaped into action again, which was so not cool considering she was tied to a machine that let him know exactly what she was feeling.

“Do you remember what happened?” he asked hesitantly.

She narrowed her eyes, feeling like he knew a lot more than her dad did. “I know I saw something that I don’t want to tell my dad about because he’ll think I’m crazy. Is that what you mean?”

His jaw clenched. “How do you feel?”

Taking a quick mental check of herself and her parts, she rotated her arm, turning her neck from side to side. “Fine. Actually, better than fine. A little tired, but I think that’s just the meds.”

Cain rested his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, peering at her intently.

“You know, I like it when you don’t wear your glasses,” she whispered and was thrilled to note his irises widen for a split second before he pulled back. “You’ve got really pretty blue eyes. Why do you always cover them?”

“Pretty.” He snorted, shaking his head, but didn’t say anything after that.

Flint sighed. “You know that woman who attacked me. Hers were red. Deep, bloody red. A lot like yours the night you caught me on the rope.”

Again, he only looked at her.

“What do you think about that?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I think I’m glad you’re okay.”

“The eyes, Cain.” She refused to be sidetracked. He was really good at that.

“Princess, ever heard of contacts?” he growled, then sat up, wiping his palms on his pant legs.

Hurt, embarrassed, she turned her face. “Why did you come here if all you want to do is make fun of me?”

A rolling sigh barreled through his chest. “Look, I’m…” He sighed. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine.” She glared at him, holding out her arms for his inspection. “My dad told me who came and who didn’t come. I could have died. Why didn’t you come?” She tried but couldn’t quite keep the quiver out of her voice.

His brows lowered and maybe it should completely humiliate her that she’d just revealed to him how much it stung, especially when he wasn’t giving her anything back.

“What happened to that woman?”

He was acting fidgety again, scrubbing his large hand across his lightly stubbled jaw. “What’d you see?”

“Why do you answer a question with a question? Just give me a straight answer for once!”

The monitor went crazy as her heart rate spiked. He glanced at the screen.

“Look, I gotta go.” He stood up.

She hated that any part of her still wanted him to stay. Cain was Cain, a grade-A jerk of the highest order. Why would she think her nearly dying might have softened him up, even a little?

“Fine, whatever.” She crossed her arms and looked out the window, refusing to watch him walk away.

A brush of warmth feathered her cheek, and she gasped when she realized he’d kissed her. “Cain?”

He was so close, his unique, woodsy scent wrapping her up in a warm hug. His big blue eyes that she feared she might drown in stared at her for a long, silent moment.

“I really am glad you’re okay,” he said, and for a second she wondered if there would be more, but he clamped his mouth shut and with a hard nod walked out of the room. Only his scent remained. A reminder that he really had shown up.

Why?

Flint’s mouth turned down as she rubbed the spot on her cheek. “I really hate you,” she whispered, and it was such a lie.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Cain jumped out of his car, a rush of energy rolling through him like thunder, making his blood hum and his muscles thicken.

The night was cool, felt good against his sweat-slickened skin. Lights were on in the big top, and shouts and screams of amazement from the humans inside reverberated through the ground, traveling up the soles of his feet.

A sickle-shaped moon stared back at him.

He should have told her. Told her everything. But he hadn’t. Not because he didn’t think she couldn’t handle it, but because he didn’t know what she’d think of him when she knew he’d killed it. That the sight of her wrapping her hands around Flint’s neck had driven the beast inside him to a level of fury he’d never known.

That he’d ripped her body into twenty pieces, that the berserker rage inside him had gone so far over the top that he’d have killed his own brother at that moment. That only the sight of Flint lying so helpless and bruised had returned any level of sanity back to him.

“Cain”—Eli slapped his palm against Cain’s shoulder—“did you see her?”

He snarled. “Did you find the hive?”

Eli’s gray eyes narrowed into slits. “It’s like the MFers disappeared. Seth and I can’t get a read on them. There’s been no bank activity. Nothing to trace. And this… you gotta admit it was planned, right? That was a royal guard. She let herself be killed. She knew you’d get her. She was alone—they’re not stupid, Cain. She came into a camp thick with demons and berserkers. She had to know she wouldn’t walk away alive.”

Walking past a tree, Cain punched it, forcing all the hate and fear through the motion, ripping a hole through the woody pulp, splitting his knuckles wide open. He looked at his fist, breathing hard as the blood welled.

“It almost killed her, Eli,” he growled. “Why? What do they want with a freaking human? I say we go down to the school tomorrow and just effing take one. Make it squeal like a pig. Tell us what the queen wants.”

Eli stabbed his fingers through his blond curls. “Dude, you know we can’t. The Order—”

“Screw the Order,” he snarled. “They want us to take care of this mess, then let us take care of it.”

Shaking his head, Eli said, “It gets worse.”

“What?” Cain’s voice dropped an octave, growing thick with rager fury.

“Adam found out tonight that a member of the Order is here.”

The blood in Cain’s veins turned to ice. The Order, a sect of humans. Weak and pathetic, save for one tiny detail. They knew every secret of every monster around. The Order generally had a hands-off policy—let the monsters police themselves unless things got out of control. Unless it threatened the lives of mortals. One of the greatest secrets man would never know was that monsters really did exist, and humans were safe thanks to a watch group who knew how to take the monsters down if they got out of hand.

“Who is it?” Cain asked, cracking his knuckles.

Eli shook his head. “Not a clue.”

His nostrils flared. “Does Adam know why they’re here?”

“Right now, observing. But you can be sure that if we so much as step one foot out of line with this thing, we’ll have the entire army on our behinds. And it’ll be good-bye Diabolique.”

Cain popped his jaw. Since the day he’d been reborn as a rager, one thought had been beaten into his skull. Don’t ever think you can screw the Order, they will find out and they will put you down.

Even big, bad Adam got quiet when anyone mentioned them, and Cain couldn’t forget his aunt and the fear scrawled thick in her eyes.

“Cain, I’m not really sure what is going on, but I have to warn you, man, you should probably listen to Adam on this one and stay away from her. The more you’re around her, the more dangerous it is for her. She’s a human.”

“It’s forbidden, I know that. It’s why I’ve pushed her away.”

“Not good enough.” Eli shoved his hands into his pockets, but Cain heard the baritone rumble gathering in his voice. “Stop following her, man. Forget what I said about getting closer. It’s not working. The hive’s not taking the bait anymore. Just stop, you’re getting too deep. You can’t let anyone know. You know what happens to humans who find out.”

Cain’s blood boiled, pumping through his veins like a rushing tide. He didn’t bother answering Eli; if he looked at him another second, he’d punch him. Or maybe even worse. Instead, he turned on his heel and headed for the shed.

Once inside, he grabbed the black punching bag and chain leaning against the wall and walked to his car. Popping the trunk, he dropped it in and then rumbled out of the lot, heading to his woods.

Fifteen minutes later, he was out of the car, tying the bag around the fattest branch of the thickest tree and peeling off his sweater. He started pounding the heavy bag bare-knuckled, reopening the wound on his hand, smearing blood all over the bag as he punched over and over again.

The beast inside him raged out of control as visions of Flint filtered through his head. Her swollen purple face, the bite wound on her neck.

Punch.

The fever, signs of an Aswang infection. She’d been envenomed, but she hadn’t turned.

Punch. Punch.

Sweat poured down his brow and back, his shirt clinging to him as he punched harder, driving all his fury into it, wishing he could rip the body up all over again.

She’d almost died.

Harder and harder he hit.

The rage built in his bones like a toxin, turning his vision a deep crimson. He knew his eyes glowed; his body was twice its normal size as his fury transformed him from a man into a monster.

Cain was going to find the queen, and he was going to kill her.

The bag exploded in a shower of sand.

Chapter Twenty-Three

It was Wednesday by the time Flint’s father finally relented and let her return to school, an entire two weeks since the attack. She’d kept telling him she felt fine, that he didn’t need to worry, that the doctors had cleared her to return Friday.

She’d been so bored that the thought of having Mr. Wickham scowl at her again filled her with longing.

Not to mention the dreams that hadn’t stopped.

Over and over again she remembered the woman driving toward her, the bite, Abel’s scream… and she remembered other things too.

Cain’s bloated and distorted face, his voice that’d sounded like it was spewing from the depths of hell, and his smell.

He had been there.

And there’d been blood. Lots of it. It had splashed her. She hadn’t seen what he’d done, but she knew he’d killed that woman. It should probably terrify her that he was capable of doing something so brutal, but she was a child of the twenty-first century. She’d been desensitized to the idea thanks to the uberhot Damon on The Vampire Diaries. And the other reason it didn’t bother her… The woman hadn’t been human. Not with the teeth and the eyes and that rotten stench of sour milk. The same stench she’d smelled on the girl who’d stared at her at her locker that day.

Something was very wrong in this town.

Hesitant to call them vampires, because she was pretty sure it would make her sound like some sort of whacked-out nut job, Flint also didn’t have any other word to describe it.

When she’d fallen from the tightrope, Cain had moved so fast she hadn’t seen him. She was pretty sure now why he used the glasses at school. Not because of light sensitivity—she’d seen him too many times without them.

But because something triggered his eyes to change from blue to red. She wasn’t sure what, maybe when he got hungry.

She touched her neck.

Her father was hovering over her in the kitchen, holding a mug of tepid coffee in his hands. “You sure you’re feeling okay?”

Flint glanced up from her bowl of soggy cereal, so distracted she’d forgotten all about him. “Dad, please, I’m bored out of my mind. I don’t want to keep doing homework here, I want to go back to school.”

“But, Flinty—”

She scraped her chair back as she stood and then deposited her half-eaten bowl of cereal in the sink. “Dad, really, I’m fine.” She kissed his whiskered cheek. “I’ve got to run, or I’ll be late for my bus.”

“I could drive you.” He stood up, his green terry-cloth robe hanging open in the front. He looked better than he did at the hospital that morning, but not by much. There were heavy bags under his eyes, and he looked like he might have even lost a few pounds.

“Dad, I’m not dead. You need to get back to living. I’m seriously fine. Okay?” She took a deep breath, getting ready to utter something she hadn’t thought would ever come out of her mouth. “Look, why don’t you invite Katy over for dinner tonight?”

He perked up. “Really? I mean, we’ve got a show tonight, so that’s out. But what about Friday—we’re both off?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Do you really like her?”

He set his mug down and his shoulders grew taut. “I really do, Flinty.”

The smile was hard, but she made it happen. “I’m sorry I’ve been so psycho about her. I really thought I was ready. But more than anything, I really want to see you happy again. If she does that—” She let the rest of her words dangle.

No way she’d lie and say she was happy about it. But maybe with enough time she might start to understand what he saw in her.

She heard the bus outside her window. “Gotta run, Dad. Love you, bye.”

Blowing him an air-kiss, she grabbed her book bag and raced out the door, just barely making it to her stop in time. It was only when she sat down that Flint remembered something she hadn’t thought about since that day.

Katy had come to Layla’s RV. Not only that, but she’d seemed pretty intense about Flint leaving with her.

Friday, she’d find out why.

~*~

Flint was walking to her locker, thinking way too much, when she spotted a forlorn Abel leaning against the wall. His right arm was in a cast from his wrist up to his elbow, but his skin looked tan and healthy and she’d swear he’d grown another inch since she’d last seen him.

“Abel!” she cried and raced up to him, hugging him tight around the middle. “What happened to you?”

His brown eyes lit up as he wrapped his arm around her waist for a quick hug. “I was hoping you’d be here today.”

“Doctor cleared me to return last week, but my dad was sort of obnoxiously parental.” She smiled, kind of cute, though she’d never tell him so. “So what did happen to you?”

He glanced at his cast. “You were in a coma, so I’m sure you’ve forgotten.”

She grinned. “Oh, you mean when I heard you scream like a girl? I remember that!”

Abel glared. “I didn’t scream like a girl. She caught me unawares. Grabbed my arm and twisted it up like a pretzel, broke every single bone.” He pouted, flexing his arm up and down gingerly.

Kids, most of whom Flint had no idea who they were though she vaguely recognized a face or two, patted her on the back and told her they’d been thinking of her. She nodded, then turned her back against her locker and whispered so only Abel could hear.

“Who was she?”

Abel’s Abercrombie & Fitch plaid button-down shirt slid open as he rubbed his hand through his hair. “Adam says she worked for the circus, but I’m telling you, Flint, I’ve never seen her before in my life. And I freaking live there. And she smelled funny.”

She lifted her brows excitedly. “Like sour milk?”

“Yeah.” He looked at her, perplexed. “How’d you know?”

“Because I smelled her too.”

The first bell rang. Flint sighed and opened her locker, pulling out books. “I can’t talk to my dad about it, because well… I don’t think he’d understand, but something was weird about that night.”

She glanced at Abel from the corner of her eye. Of all the people she’d met here, he definitely seemed the most normal. But if something was up at the circus of the damned, shouldn’t he know? He did live there, like he said.

Was Abel one of them? And she still didn’t have a clue what a them even was. At this point she wasn’t ruling out zombie, vampire, werewolf, maybe even a fallen angel, or whatever other supernatural creature was popular at the moment.

“Yeah.” He dropped his eyes. “Look, I’ve got to get to class. Talk to you at lunch?”

She nodded. “Glad you’re okay.” She squeezed his good arm.

“Glad you’re alive.” He gave her his dimpled grin and then disappeared into the crowd.

Flint had barely a second to spare before the tardy bell rang.

Mr. Wickham’s raised eyebrows were oddly comforting.

“Sorry,” she mumbled and took her seat, refusing to look at Cain, who was already sitting in his seat.

But of course that resolution lasted all of one minute.

While Mr. Wickham blathered on about something, she looked at Cain. His hair was messy again, shading a corner of his eye while he rubbed his thumb and index finger along his lower lip. He was staring out the window, and she knew he couldn’t see anything; the windows were frosted, which meant he was giving her the brush-off.

“Whatever,” she muttered; at least she hadn’t dressed nice today. Standard skinny jeans, cashmere sage-green sweater, and boots.

Okay, so maybe she’d dressed a little nice.

But her hair was up in a bun.

“What is the most important rule in chemistry?” Mr. Wickham looked around the room. “Never lick the spoon.”

Someone in front groaned.

“That’s right—tomorrow we’ll be using our Bunsen burners. But today, pop quiz.”

Flint slouched in her seat. First day back, it figured.

But when Mr. Wickham walked up to her desk, he said, “Ms. DeLuca, good to see you back. No test for you today. Open your book and read.”

She was about to say thanks when she caught a whiff of something sweet. Sniffing, she frowned as she watched him walk back to the front of the room. It was him. She wasn’t sure how she knew, but she knew. He smelled sweet. Like sweet milk.

Now that she smelled it, Flint grew paranoid. Maybe it wasn’t him.

Trying to be discreet, she sniffed her wrist, suddenly aware of Cain’s eyes on her.

Had she spilled cereal milk on herself?

But she knew she hadn’t.

Biting her lower lip, she stared at Mr. Wickham. He must have felt her look, because he glanced up and lifted his brows.

Even though he was wearing glasses, his eyes weren’t bloodshot.

She grabbed her forehead. Not sure why it bothered her so much, Flint squeezed her eyes shut. It shouldn’t matter. It was just a smell. Like Cain’s woods, or her dad’s aftershave. But it bothered her.

“Princess?”

She looked at Cain; he wore a question on his face.

Not wanting to deal with him and his hot-and-cold attitude she forced her eyes back to the book in front of her.

~*~

By the time she hit gym class, Flint knew something weird was happening to her. She’d always been strong and graceful. Two skills she’d learned growing up a flier, but today when she’d climbed the rope, it had felt like someone had stuck her in an antigravity chamber she’d climbed up it so easily.

And when she’d hit the rock-climbing wall, she’d moved like a monkey, resting all her weight on her toes and fingers only.

She never even broke a sweat. Coach had been impressed, asking her if she’d ever considered track and field.

But not only was she stronger, ever since smelling Mr. Wickham, smells were stronger. And she smelled freaking milk everywhere.

Sweet milk.

Her stomach had started growling constantly. It’d been so bad in English that she’d lied to the teacher and said she had to go to the bathroom, but instead she’d raced to the snack vendor and bought a bag of powdered donuts, then finished them off in seconds.

Now it was lunch, and her stomach was growling again.

“Umm, are you planning to get any of the five major food groups other than sugar?” Janet eyed her tray when she sat down.

“Huh?” Flint studied her tray, only just realizing what she’d grabbed. A container of chocolate pudding, two candy bars, a bear claw, and three cartons of chocolate milk. “I was…”

“Gross.” Rhiannon eyed her tray with a curled nose. Her blond hair was gathered back in a tight braid, making her eyes appear more catlike.

Flint pried her carton open, studying Rhiannon’s eyes beneath her lashes. They were a pretty blue. Nothing abnormal about them. But then something gold caught her eye, and as Flint chugged the first carton of milk, she realized what.

The design on the pendant hanging from the chain was the same as the one on Janet’s gold cuff bracelets. She’d not spoken much to either Janet or Rhiannon since the night of the shadow incident, so it was with an anxious stomach that she asked, “Janet, where did you say you got that bracelet again?”

Janet and Rhi glanced at one another, a swift look, but odd enough for Flint to notice.

Abel spoke up. “You okay, Flint? You’re eating like me today.”

“What?”

In her hand was the pudding cup.

When had she even opened it? And when had she finished the milk? All the cartons were open and empty; the pudding was half-gone. She hadn’t tasted any of it.

Rubbing her neck as a cold chill washed through her, Flint jerked to her feet. “I’ve got to… umm.” She looked at her tray, then grabbed the candy and stuffed it into her pocket. “Yeah, I gotta go.”

“Flint!” Abel called, but she didn’t stop.

Flint ran outside toward the bleachers, not out of breath when she got there, but feeling the panic rush through her lungs. The second she got to the bleachers, she was hungry again. She tugged the now-squishy candy out of her pocket, then tore open the wrapper and scarfed the chocolate down, then proceeded to do the same to the second one.

Licking her fingers, feeling like a disgusting pig, she groaned and dropped her face into her hands.

What was going on with her?

“Flint?”

She didn’t need to look to know who’d said her name.

“What, Cain?” His name came out muffled between her fingers.

Cain pried her hands off her face and then slid his sunglasses off, his eyes gently probing her face. The scent of corn and car exhaust smacked her in the nose. She trembled. Maybe her dad was right and she was suffering some sort of PTSD, maybe she hadn’t been ready to come back.

“I think we need to talk.”

She lifted a brow, not in the mood for his games or his crap. “So talk.”

He was kneeling, looking over his shoulder at the cafeteria. The blond surfer twins were standing by the door. A jerk of his head sent Tweedledee and Tweedledum back inside, then he stood and held out his hand.

“Not here.”

“I know you’re not asking me to ditch, especially not after what happened last time.”

He sighed. “You’ll be safe with me, princess.”

Still feeling obstinate, she eyed him hard. “I was safe with your brother too. If you recall nothing happened to me until you,” she said, stressing the word, “took me to the circus. So maybe you’re the jinx. And you know what, I’m really not in the mood today. I’m not feeling good.”

She was feeling hungry again. Cramps twisted her stomach.

“You weren’t as safe as you thought. You want to know about those red eyes?”

That immediately got her attention. “What do you know about that?”

He turned and started walking toward the school parking lot. The message was clear—stay and learn nothing, or follow and maybe figure something out.

Disgusted by her actions, Flint stood and followed him. Teenagers really were stupid sometimes, because obviously she hadn’t learned her lesson with Cain. Hot and cold. Mean and caring. And she never knew which Cain she was going to get.

They were in the car, and she knew where they were headed before he even turned out of the lot. To his woods. Which she now strongly associated as their place. The place where, when they were there, Cain became the guy she actually liked to be around.

Stomach twirling with more than just a case of the munchies, she nibbled on her lip as the tense silence stretched between them.

“Last time you said the school called my dad. I really can’t do this to him again. I’m just lucky I nearly got killed—got me out of a year’s worth of grounding.”

A strange sort of snarl rumbled through his chest as he shifted gears, making the ride feel like it’d kicked into hyperdrive. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” she asked, confused.

He looked at her. “Make a joke about it.”

Heart fluttering like wings in her throat, she asked, “Why do you care?”

Cain was staring back at the road. “I just do.”

She knew they were close when the thick grove of trees appeared around them. This was wrong. If her dad found out, he’d be devastated, and yet she couldn’t pretend that she’d rather be anywhere else at the moment.

Then they were pulling onto the gravel road, and it felt to her like nobody else existed on the planet except the two of them. It was quiet, devoid of any other life. It was just them and the trees, and the thought shot a heady thrill down her spine.

When he parked, she opened the door and stepped out. There were still tree branches scattered all around from the storm, but the wind smelled of wildflowers and damp earth. Flint turned her face into it, closing her eyes for a split second, grateful not to be smelling milk or car fumes. Then his scent of moss and pine and clover teased her, made her lashes flutter open.

He was staring at her, gazing into her eyes, and she couldn’t have moved even if she’d wanted to. Pinned between the open car door and his body, she felt his heat push against her, making it hard for her to know where she began and he ended.

In that moment, Cain was all she could see or think about.

His hands were gentle as he rested them against her cheeks, the pads of his palms rough but exciting, making her body squirm with nervous anticipation.

Then he was pulling her into his hard chest and she wanted to fight it, this… whatever it was. Wanted to yell at him to leave her alone, stop screwing with her mind, her heart, but she did none of that. She sighed and wrapped her arms around his back, resting her head on his chest, entranced by the steady rhythm of his pulse.

All too soon, the hug ended and he was leading her to the bunker. Again she saw the tensile strength of his biceps flex as he pulled the wooden door up. This time, he went in first and she followed. He pulled the hatch back down, blocking out the sunlight completely. It was dark, but he held her hand as he led them down the long flight of steps.

His scent was everywhere—her nose, her hair, her clothes. It made her dizzy and happy. Cain led her to the inflatable couch, then he left just long enough to turn on the lantern. It was like they were back in that night. She smiled and glanced at the stack of towels, remembering.

“That day, when you told me you found me because of my smell.” She held her breath, feeling stupid for even asking. “Were you serious?”

Flint expected him to clam up like he’d done so many times before. He sat next to her, so close their thighs touched, and she couldn’t help the shiver that raced through her.

“Yes.” His eyes narrowed. “I saw you this morning. When Wickham walked by.”

She cocked her head, chewing on the inside of her cheek, feeling the strange urge to deny it, but knowing she needed to be honest if she had any hope of getting any information from him.

He licked his teeth. “Saw you at lunch too, eating all that sugar. It bit you—it did something to you?”

“It?” She swallowed hard, almost afraid where this was leading.

Cain scrubbed his hard jaw with his closed fist. “We call it hive, because of how they live. But their real names are the Aswang.”

There was a rabbit thumping in her chest, because no way could a heart beat as fast as hers was right now. “The Aswang?”

His jaw was clenched so tight that Flint sensed he didn’t want to tell her any of what he was about to say.

Tossing her a box, he sat back, then stared ahead.

Flint gave a pathetic laugh when she saw what it was. A box of granola bars. Reaching inside, she grabbed one and started to nibble on it.

“The Aswang are a sort of vampiric race.”

She coughed, bits of granola stuck in her throat. It was one thing to think it, because just thinking didn’t make you nuts, but it was another to hear someone actually speak it. “Do you mean like those Goths that dress up and wear fake teeth?”

He shot her a “come on” look. “No, princess. Porcelain teeth can’t rip hypodermic style into your neck.”

Trying to remain calm, even though her hands were shaking, she asked, “So what are they exactly? And are you one?” Her stomach, still hungry, was also full of sick nerves. But she had to know the truth. “Because your eyes are red too.”

He smirked. “That’s why I wear the glasses.”

Flint pulled away ever so slightly, very aware that she was trapped underground with a—

“But I’m not Aswang.”

Her racing pulse slowed a notch. “So what are you?” She was eating the granola, more to distract herself than anything else, still not completely trusting that he was telling her the truth. Afraid that maybe he was.

Cain pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know where to start with this.” His eyes were hard, still light blue, but a dark rim began to spread around the edges.

She finished the granola bar and tore the wrapper off another one. He stared at her, which made her all sorts of self-conscious, especially because she was already two bites away from finishing the bar.

“You gonna speak, or just stare at me like I grew a third eye?” she mumbled and swallowed. The rest of the box called to her, but Flint forced herself to set it aside.

“What do you know about vampires?”

“Only that they sparkle, holy water makes their skin fall off, and they hate the smell of garlic. Am I close?”

He laughed and so did she. Cain looked shocked, as if he hadn’t expected that answer.

“Funny,” he muttered and then sighed, and she noticed his eyes once again returned to normal.

“I’m not supposed to be talking to you about any of this,” he said finally.

“Then why did you bring me here?”

He searched her face. “Because I think part of you already knows. You’ve been followed by them.”

Flint thought back to all the times she’d seen red eyes and had shrugged it off, chalking it up to poor lighting or exhaustion. “How long?”

“Since the day I met you.”

“Why? Do I smell tasty or something? Is that why she attacked me? Should I perfume myself with holy garlic?”

His lips twitched. “I don’t know why they’ve taken an interest in you. I’ve been trying to figure that out.”

When he moved, it brought their bodies into close contact. Everywhere he touched her, she was hyperaware, and her breathing came harder, filling her lungs with more of his intoxicating scent.

“I’m confused. They’re vampires. But you’re not one. You call them hive and Aswang. What exactly is going on in this town, Cain?”

Rubbing his hands on his pants, he said, “This history is long and convoluted. It all started with Adam.”

“Your dad?” She frowned. “Is he a vampire?”

Cain shook his head. “No. He belongs to a race of people called the Nephilim.”

She sucked in a breath. Because even though she hadn’t been to Mass in forever, there wasn’t a Catholic around who hadn’t heard about the demon-human abominations. “Your dad’s a demon!” she squeaked. “So that means you’re a… a…”

The muscle in his jaw tensed. “A quarter. Yes.”

“Oh my God.” She got up, the sugar in her system making her feel the urge to vomit or pace. So she chose to pace.

She’d been obsessing over a demon. A fire and brimstone, forked-tailed, cloven-hooved… demon.

“Flint,” he said softly, “you can trust me.”

She didn’t look at him. “I thought you guys were fairy tales, that ya know… you were like the boogeyman or something. Made up to scare us.” She licked her lips as her speed increased. Back and forth between the shelves, afraid to look at him. Somehow feeling that now that he’d told her who he really was, his skin would turn red and a pronged tail would grow from his behind.

“Princess, stop walking. This is hard enough without you acting crazy about it.”

“Crazy?” She refused to believe the high-pitched giggle had just come from her. “I was thinking vampires, not demons and not”—she waved her hand at him—“you.”

Flint pinched the bridge of her nose. She would not panic. He was talking. That’s what she’d wanted all along. And though this was nowhere near what she’d imagined, she had to listen without acting like a silly little girl about it.

Taking a second to compose herself, she gripped the corner of the metal shelf and counted slowly to ten, stilling the chaotic thoughts running rampant through her mind. She’d let him talk. Tell her everything. Tonight when she got in bed, then she’d have her freak-out. But not here, not in front of him.

She turned on her heel.

“Do you swear that everything you’re telling me right now is the truth? You’re not trying to make an idiot of me, tell me something that isn’t true and laugh when I start to believe it?”

“Princess, I don’t have the time for that.” He shook his head, shoving his fingers through his thick hair.

Okay, he sounded sincere, and she really wanted to understand. Being braver than she’d ever been in her life, Flint returned to his side and sat back down.

“Tell me,” she whispered.

“I should tell you”—he eyed her—“that I’m not Nephilim. I don’t have enough demon blood in me to be like them.”

“Then what are you?” She was trying so hard to understand, but so much of this was confusing. “Are you human?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I’m what’s known as a berserker.” He paused.

She flicked her thumbnail against her teeth. “And that means?”

Cain blew out a heavy breath. “It means I’m worse than a guy on the juice. Anger triggers the demon blood. It makes me volatile and edgy. I can control it enough to not have a freak-out in school, but my eyes are the first things to change. They turn red when the blood pumps harder.”

Flint couldn’t help but look at his eyes now. They were a rich, startling blue. She really loved his eyes.

“Then why did you start taking them off around me?”

His smile was self-conscious. “Because I don’t feel angry around you.”

“You don’t?” Her heart flipped. “What do you feel?”

“Amused.”

She huffed and he grinned, then grabbed her hand and started playing with the pad of her thumb again. Flint sucked in a sharp breath at the heated contact.

“I’m glad you find me so amusing,” she said, voice grown breathy with excited nerves.

He shrugged.

“So you’re just a raging ball of anger then, huh?”

“Most times. But it’s more than just the rage. The anger fuels my adrenaline; it makes me stronger, faster.”

“And you can smell me?”

He nodded.

“So if you can smell me, can you smell them?”

Frowning, he asked, “Them? The hive? You smell them?”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “So does Abel. They smell like sour milk.”

Cain’s fingers stilled on her wrist and all she could think was she wanted him to keep touching her.

“Or at least I think they do. Today…” She sighed, wondering why she was telling him all this. “All I smelled in the school was sweet milk. I’m so hungry. I feel this constant need to eat now, and I’m scared.” Flint touched her canine. “Is it possible that when she bit me I turned into one of them?”

His thumb resumed running along the inside of her wrist, and her stomach fluttered harder.

“No, I don’t think so. From what I know about them, their queen is the one who ultimately turns them.”

Flint turned toward him, crossing her leg in front of herself. “The queen? You called them the hive earlier. So they live underground or…”

“No.” He pursed his lips. “We’re not really sure where they live. They move constantly, but I do know it’s aboveground. Each time we’ve found a lair, it’s been in an abandoned factory or shelter. But we always get there too late. They’re gone. We find stragglers now and then, but they never talk.”

She thinned her lips. “So those kids at school?”

He nodded. “Are hive.”

“Why don’t you ask them?”

Cain’s chuckle was sarcastic. “They won’t tell. Those kids at school, they’re called drones. They do the will of the queen—she tells them to jump, they ask how high. She tells them to kill, they ask how many. She tells them not to talk, they’ll die laughing in your face. But even if I could break them, I can’t touch them.”

“Why not?”

“The Order.”

“This is all really confusing. There’s”—she finger-quoted—“the Order, the Nephilim, hive, also known as Aswang, berserkers… am I forgetting anything?”

“You’ve just barely begun to scratch the surface, princess. My world is dark and nasty.”

“Then how come if there’re so many monsters out there, this is my first time ever learning about it?”

“Because that’s the way the Order designed it.”

“And who exactly are they again?”

“You have to swear that whatever I tell you now, you won’t tell anyone else.” His eyes were hard, sincere. Almost like he was worried.

“My dad?”

“No one, princess. This knowledge, your kind is not supposed to have it. If anyone finds out, it would be…”

She glanced down at their clasped hands. “Why are you telling me this, Cain?”

His finger grazed her jaw, forcing her to glance up. “Because you’ve seen too much. I’m not going to pretend like you didn’t see what you saw. I can guarantee that the Order is already keeping an eye on you thanks to that bite. If they find out you’ve been changed, they’ll send someone to take care of you.”

Her heart clenched, and terror must have squeezed through her eyes because he shook his head. “Mostly they leave us alone if we live by their rules. Follow the code. But if you step out of line, they will put you down.”

“But that’s not fair. I don’t even know the code, what if I’ve already stepped over?”

Flint mentally catalogued everything she’d done today. Aside from acting like a pig, there hadn’t been much difference.

He shook his head. “Have you told your father? Abel? Anybody?”

“No. So Abel is human? He’s not like you?”

Cain continued to mess around with her hand. Now he was running his thumb along the webbing between her thumb and finger.

“He’s as human as you at this point.”

“So he will be like you?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, his voice sounding grim. “But until he is, we can’t clue him in.”

“But he suspects something, Cain. I talked to him this morning. He knows that woman didn’t work at the circus.”

“Look, that’s the Order’s policy. Humans, no matter if they won’t be for much longer, can’t know. He may have seen something, but if we all deny it, human nature will insist it was all in his head and he’ll dismiss it. Human psych one oh one.”

The quiet hush of the bunker increased her anxiousness. It wasn’t hard to imagine some scary boogeyman listening in while they talked, ready to slit her throat the second it deemed she “knew too much.”

“So why are you telling me this and not Abel?”

Flint knew she sounded like a broken record, but if he was willing to let Abel believe a lie, why would he risk so much to tell her?

“Because Abel is protected within the circus. Almost everyone working there is a monster. If bad things come, we’ll take care of them. But you don’t have that. You belong to the world where we don’t exist. You could see the danger signs and never know it. I want you to be aware so you can guard yourself.”

A part of her had hoped he’d say it was because he was secretly in love with her, but Flint knew better. She released his hand.

“Fine, makes sense. So who’s the Order and what do they look like?”

Cain settled his elbows on his knees when he leaned forward. “As far as what they look like, it’s not a cult. They don’t all have bloodshot eyes like the hive. They’re regular-looking people. A human watch group. They’ve known about our existence for as long as I can remember. Adam tells me they’ve been around longer than he has.”

She snorted. “He doesn’t look much older than thirty.”

“He’s over a thousand.”

The way he said it, so deadpan, she knew he wasn’t lying. To think of that hot (slightly terrifying) man as that ancient was just weird. “Wow.”

He nodded.

“Are you immortal too?”

“Nah.” He glanced at her. “Berserkers are the offspring of a Neph and human match. Like I said before, there’s not a lot of demon blood in us. Even a little can completely alter the strands of human DNA, but it’s not enough to make me exactly like him. We live longer than humans, maybe two hundred years or so if we don’t get killed first.”

“So how old are you?”

He smiled. “I’m only eighteen, princess. I wouldn’t be in school otherwise.”

She laughed, relieved she wasn’t dealing with someone old enough to technically be her grandfather. That was the only part about Twilight that had always skeeved her out.

Cain turned to her, his look tender. And she couldn’t deny that it was doing crazy things to her insides. Made her want to melt into a puddle, laugh incoherently, and then kiss him.

She bit her lip.

“So why do you guys fear humans? What that woman did to me, what you say you can do. We can’t do any of that.”

“Way Adam put it, thousands of years ago, humans discovered that not only were the legends real, but they were even worse than the stories. A group of monks made it their life’s mission to find out”—he finger-quoted—“the truth.”

“And what is that truth?”

Now he looked nervous, which was crazy, because not once since she’d known him had he ever looked nervous.

His jaw muscle tensed. “That we each have weaknesses.”

She didn’t ask, but God, the question was burning a hole in her tongue. So she asked something else instead. “So they figured them out?”

Nodding, he crossed his booted foot over his knee. “Yes.”

Flint waved her fingers at him. “So you all have the same weaknesses?”

His brow dropped. “No. It’s different for each of us. For a demon, it’s learning their true name. For a vampire, it’s holy relics. Shifters”—he shrugged—“the moon cycle.”

“And berserkers?” She hadn’t meant to ask, but the forbidden had always been too tempting for her to ignore.

Rubbing his palms on his jeans, he flexed his jaw. “We’re more human than the rest. For us, it’s the link to our humanity.”

She cocked her head, still not fully grasping it.

Cain paused so long she worried he wouldn’t tell her. “It’s hardest for them to learn our weaknesses. That’s why we often travel with the Neph who created us. We’re harder to control. Of all the monsters out there, the Nephs are the only ones who swore an oath of fealty to the Order. We work with them. We’re basically their lackeys. They tell us to put down a group and that’s what we do. We’re the ones that keep humans ignorant of the creatures that live next door. But the Neph don’t like being controlled. Many choose to mate with a mortal so they can have a berserker to do the dirty work. “

“What makes you guys so special that the Order hasn’t figured out your weakness?”

He inhaled, pinning her with a hard stare, and she could almost imagine the thoughts floating through his head. Whether to trust or not, how much to tell and how much to keep secret.

Flint was still amazed he was telling her any of this. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he actually liked her enough to bother.

“Our humanity,” he finally said. “We feel more than the rest. We want, desire, need… and whatever calls us the strongest, that’s our weakness.”

She could have heard a pin drop, it’d grown so silent. They barely knew each other. And most of the time it was nothing but “I hate you” being flung from her mouth. No way she was his weakness.

But that didn’t mean a part of her didn’t wish she was.

“Do you have a weakness?” Flint couldn’t believe she’d asked it.

He grew very still, just looking at her, and his eyes were a deep, deep blue, his irises nothing but a pinprick of inky black. But then she saw them change, glow a dull red, and her heart leaped into her throat.

“No,” he said, “I don’t.”

Shaking, feeling as if she were walking in a dream, she heard herself say, “Oh.” Terribly disappointed, she cleared her throat. “So what’s going to happen now, Cain? Will more hive jump me at school? Home?”

He shook his head. “Part of the treaty with the Order is that monsters can’t engage the humans in settings that will reveal us. If we do, we’re exterminated. So far the hive has stuck to the rules.”

“What are they after?” She rubbed her neck.

“Don’t know. That’s why we were sent here.” He leaned back again. “We know the hive have been kidnapping people.”

“Your mom told me about a serial murderer, was that them?”

He shrugged. “Probably. Can’t be sure. We don’t know what the hive’s doing or why they’re doing it. We do know they’re killing humans and getting sloppy.”

“So we go to school with hive, but you can’t do anything to them?” She gave him a confused look.

“Not on school grounds.” He forked his fingers through his hair, and she grinned when a hank of it spilled over his eye. “The second they leave campus, they’re gone. Fast as I am, strong as I am, I can’t get a trace on them. I’ve dealt with vampires before, but there’s something about them that makes them difficult to track. The few I’ve found have been following you.”

“And again it comes back to me. I wish I knew why.”

“Yeah.” His lips thinned. “So do I.”

She frowned. “So they won’t attack me in my home?”

“I’m not saying they won’t, princess, only that by the rules they shouldn’t. But you were attacked in my circus, which is as screwed up as it gets. That guard must have known she wouldn’t leave there alive. Doesn’t make sense,” he growled.

“I’m home alone most nights, Cain.”

His nostrils flared.

Remembering the slumber party, her lips turned down in a frown. “That night Janet and Rhiannon stayed over, I saw Rhi… do something. What is she? Is she just like you?”

Because she was pretty sure now that it hadn’t been a hallucination.

“No, they’re called kanlungan. Killing shadow.”

Her fingertips immediately went cold.

He must have noticed her reaction. “Did you see her kill?”

Nodding slowly, remembering each horrifying detail as if it’d just happened, she couldn’t speak.

Cain squeezed her thigh and the touch made her insides burn.

“This is a lot to digest. We should stop.”

Numb, she nodded. There was still so much she didn’t understand, so many more questions to ask, but at this point she wasn’t sure she’d retain more anyway. Her brain was having a terrible time processing the duality of her life—one that was normal and safe and boring, and the other one that crawled with monsters and creatures that defied belief.

“I have to go home,” she said.

“You shouldn’t stay alone anymore.”

She laughed. “I don’t know where you expect me to go!”

“I could send someone to guard you.”

Flint shook her head. “No. I don’t want a babysitter.”

“Then you’re staying at the circus.”

“My father—”

Cain still hadn’t moved his hand from her lap.

“Won’t know. He’ll be at the circus working. He has no idea what you’re doing in those hours he’s gone. You stay at the circus the nights he works.”

“He’ll know.”

He shook his head. “Not if you’re returned before he gets home. But the nights he doesn’t work, I will send someone to guard you. Right now you’re the only lead I’ve got to finding the hive.”

It sucked to hear that the only reason he was so concerned with her safety was because for whatever reason she was a beacon for the hive.

Before she knew it, they were headed back to Cain’s car.

They drove to her home in silence. She lifted a brow when she realized that he’d not asked for directions.

“So what now?” she asked when he parked in front of her unit.

His finger was on her face, making her shiver at the hot contact. “I’m going to get Eli and Seth to find out what’s going on with you. When your dad goes to work tonight, you tell him you want to go with him. Bring a small bag.”

It was all so methodical, like he was giving her a lecture, not like he cared at all.

“Fine.” She turned her face and grabbed the door.

“Princess,” he said softly.

She looked over her shoulder.

“Don’t tell anyone.”

“I’ll see you tonight, Cain.”

She grabbed her book bag and walked to her apartment, feeling as if the weight of the world were on her shoulders. Looking at the world through different eyes, everything looked more frightening, less vibrant. Where before there’d been color, now there was differing shades of gray.

Who’d believe her anyway?

Chapter Twenty-Four

Eating dinner with her father was the hardest thing she’d ever done. Even though she was ravenous and ate three heaping plates of pasta, she couldn’t tell him anything. Not why she was pigging out, not why she was so clumsy tonight, dropping her fork and spilling her drink, and not that he should pack up his things and get out of there. As fast and far as possible.

But as much as she wanted him gone for his own safety, there were no thoughts whatsoever to her doing the same.

“You okay, Flinty?” He eyed her empty plate.

Stomach still not full, she sighed and pushed her plate away. “Fine.”

“You don’t sound fine.” He glanced at his watch and sighed. “Flinty, baby, something’s wrong.”

She shook her head, biting her lip. There would have been a time, not long ago, she’d have been overjoyed to have her father actually worrying about her. Giving him the biggest smile she could, which wasn’t much, she shrugged.

“Today was fine. Just, I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

His brows dipped. “If you like, I can call Adam and see if there’s any way I could…”

“Dad, no”—she cut him off with a flick of her wrist—“I’m not asking you to stay home. I’d like to come with you. Hang at the circus.”

“Really?” He took a sip of his juice. “You won’t be bored?”

“I’ve got friends there. Abel and”—she thought of Rhiannon and had to force herself to not weird out—“and Janet. I’ll be fine.”

Standing, he gathered their dirty dishes and walked to the sink. “Yeah, that’d be nice actually. I mean you’ve already seen the routine, but if you don’t mind rewatching…”

Relieved, kind of sad, frustrated… all those emotions rolled through her. “Of course I don’t mind. Let me just pack an overnight bag.”

Turning on the tap, he gave her the look. The one that said if she planned to bunk with a boy forget about it.

“Dad, please. You think I’d try something under your nose like that?”

“I don’t know, maybe. I was your age once too. Don’t think I don’t know what goes through you kids’ minds at that age. Besides, Katy tells me she’s seen you hanging out a lot with Adam’s boys. Especially the older one.”

How would she know that immediately popped into her head. She and Cain rarely hung out together, not in class, not in school. The only time they ever did was in the bunker, and even then it was rare.

“She’s crazy. I hate him.”

“Don’t call her crazy, and”—her father wasn’t stupid, his eyes were penetrating and far too knowing, but she raised her chin and gave him her best don’t you trust me look—“just be careful with him. I don’t trust that boy.”

She smiled, but what she really wanted to do was laugh hysterically. If only her father knew the whole truth, he’d really hate him then.

“Yeah, well.” She shrugged, pretending nonchalance. “That makes two of us.”

After heading to her room, she gathered whatever she could think of. Toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, all the things a girl could need to make sure she smelled decent in the morning. Then to keep up the façade of just hanging with her friends, she grabbed her book bag. If she was lucky, she’d actually manage to get some homework done. But she had no idea where Cain planned to take her.

Her stomach dived at the thought of being anywhere alone with him.

A half hour later her father called out, “Flinty, gotta go.”

“Coming,” she yelled, and with a nervous stomach and pockets full of last year’s Halloween candy, she followed him to the truck.

The circus was different than the first time she’d entered through the mysterious gates. Blue and green lights twinkled on tents, music poured out of loudspeakers as the entertainers stretched and limbered up for the show.

People were already milling in, parking and squealing excitedly at the thought of hanging out in a circus that catered to the damned.

Now that she knew, she found it completely ironic how honest their sign really was. Diabolique, circus of the damned. Cain had been right, when people didn’t want to see something, they wouldn’t.

Looking at the circus through new eyes, she stepped from the truck and studied the faces she thought she’d known. The jeweled-colored eyes of the performers, startling blue and neon greens. Not contacts.

She sucked in a breath as their smells bombarded her.

The green-eyed people smelled like dirt. Freshly turned dirt.

Blue eyes tended to smell more fresh. Like clean linen.

“Flint?” Janet grabbed her arm, startling her.

Janet pulled her in for a quick hug, her tiger-striped bodysuit glinting as a car’s headlights streamed in. A distinctive odor of char and smoke clung to her hair.

“Flint.” Her dad waved. “I’ve got to go and help warm the girls up before the show starts. You sure you’re okay?”

She nodded. “Fine, Dad.”

Then she turned to Janet, who was still staring at her with large, liquid-brown eyes.

Janet flicked a glance over her shoulder, then whispered, “Cain told me you guys spoke today.”

Flint turned her lips but didn’t say anything, terrified someone might overhear.

“You okay?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” She sighed, taking a step away from Janet, from the confusing feelings she felt at the moment.

And not to mention the tiniest tendril of fear at knowing Janet could kill the same way she’d seen Rhiannon do it. The door to Adam’s trailer opened and out stepped the man himself. His eyes homed in on her immediately, as if he was already aware she was there.

Her heart tripped.

He was a demon.

She looked at him, expecting to see his face melt into something horrifying and hideous. But his eyes were the neon blue she remembered, and his features were still as hard and devastatingly male as before.

“I’m sorry.” Janet held out her hands in a defenseless gesture, dragging Flint’s eyes away from the stare-down. “I hope you know that no matter what, I’m still the geek who’s in love with all things manga and wants to make lots of babies with Sam Heughan someday.” Her smile was tight. “And I’m still your friend.”

“Flint, that’s your name, right?” A deep voice she didn’t recognize spoke to her from behind.

Flint turned. It was one of the blond surfer twins. His hair was a golden palette comprised of many differing shades of blond. This was the closest she’d ever been to one of them. Always before she’d just looked at them from her spot at the lunch table.

Up close, she noticed he was a lot more handsome than she’d initially thought. He had razor-sharp cheekbones, impossibly thick lashes, and the bridge of his nose was slightly crooked. She sniffed. He smelled like the world after a hard rain.

“Yeah.” She switched her overnight bag to her other hand.

“If you would come with me,” he said, his voice cultured. The bark wasn’t in his words the way they were with Cain, and even though he was gorgeous to the nth degree, he didn’t make her body want to melt into a puddle at his feet.

He gestured for her to precede him.

Flint looked back at Janet. She wasn’t sure why, maybe just to be told it was going to be okay.

Janet’s smile was grim. “Adam’s only got me doing one run tonight. Maybe I’ll see you later?” She sounded hopeful.

Flint nodded, then looked at the Abercrombie & Fitch model. “Where are we going?”

“To Cain,” he said, and that was enough to make the crazy nerves and tension zing through her blood like electricity arcing through metal. “I’m Seth, by the way.”

She gave him her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Did you tell anyone?”

And she knew what he was really asking was had she talked to her father. “No. I’m not stupid. Besides, for all I know I’m still actually human.”

He smirked, and she noticed he had nice teeth. “You still eating like you did at lunch today?”

She paused to let a child carrying a red balloon zip around her. They walked past the ticket booth. Seth waved to a woman inside. Flint couldn’t help but notice the way her eyes tracked him. The woman’s eyes were brown, so probably not a monster. If she only knew what she was trying to flirt with, she’d probably run screaming in the other direction.

Or maybe not, because she sure wasn’t doing that.

“You caught that, huh?”

“Eli thinks he knows what’s going on with you.”

Her heart stuttered, and it was hard to swallow. “And what is that?”

He jerked his head. “I’ll let Cain tell you.”

Then he was leading her to a trailer at the farthest corner of the gated enclosure. Everywhere Flint looked, there were signs of life. The scents of cotton candy and funnel cake saturated the air, but she could still smell traces of corn from the field over and the trickle of human sweat and musk laced throughout.

Her sense of smell was definitely getting stronger.

They got to a silver-bullet-style trailer and Seth knocked. A second later, Cain stood in the doorway and heat pooled hard in her belly.

He was wearing a white A-shirt and low-slung jeans. Each hard line of his arms was exposed to her greedy gaze. Swallowing hard, she forced herself to glance up. Again, no sunglasses.

Blue eyes, hard as chipped steel, stared back at her.

“You got your bag?” he asked, and that scratchy burr of his did things to her.

Crazy things.

Hot things.

She flushed and nodded, holding the bag up for his inspection.

“Come on.” He turned on booted feet.

Seth touched her lower back. “You first.”

Clumsy, she walked up the stairs and couldn’t squelch the ridiculous excitement of finally getting to see his real place.

The inside was surprisingly clean, but sparse. There was a built-in couch affixed to one side of the wall, a small TV, a kitchenette with hotplate, and college-style fridge. There was also a bed. Large enough to fit him, but definitely not made for more than one sleeper. She’d expected to see lots of black but was surprised by the metal sconces affixed to the walls. They gleamed gunmetal silver and drew her eye because of their stylistic design.

“Nice,” she mumbled, not sure what she should say.

He sat down on the couch; Seth went to the bed.

“Where’s Eli?” Seth asked.

Cain pointed out the window. “Adam put him on guard duty tonight.”

“Ah.” Seth glanced between her and Cain as an uncomfortable silence stretched between them. “My part’s done—I’m gonna find Eli.”

With a wave, he was out the door, and now she was really uncomfortable. In the bunker, it was easy to talk. It felt like a world secluded, private, and a million miles away from humanity.

But this was his house, the place he laid his head at night.

She glanced at the bed.

“You can set your bag down,” Cain said.

“Huh? Oh, right.” She dropped the bag, looking around, not sure what to do next. “So what now?”

He beat the wooden bench frame of his couch with his hands. “How about you sit. Want something to drink?”

“Sure,” she said a little too quickly.

Grinning, he walked to his fridge. “Got water and a can of root beer Abel left here last night.”

“Soda.”

He tossed it to her; the cold of the can seeped into her heated flesh.

“How are the cravings?” He grabbed a water and walked back to his spot on the small couch.

Flint popped the top slowly, letting out the air so it wouldn’t fizz everywhere. “Terrible. I had three tubs of pasta for dinner tonight.”

Rolling her eyes in disgust, she drank the soda. He eyed her as she wiped the back of her mouth with her fingers. She wished suddenly that she’d thought to shower and change before she got here. Not that it should matter, but he looked so good and she felt so not right at the moment.

His smell was everywhere.

“Smells like pine in here,” she said, taking a smaller sip of her soda.

“You’re still human, princess.”

Relief crashed through her. “Seriously? I was kind of worried.”

He shook his head. “We’ve got a rack of books kept in a vault, books on every creature of lore. Only the queen’s bite can strip you of your mortality.”

She shook the can, surprised she’d finished it. “So what’s up with me? Why am I eating like this?”

He took a long draft of his water; she watched, enthralled, as his throat worked up and down. A hot feeling gathered in the pit of her stomach and sank deep into her bones.

“From what Eli learned, you are changed. You have heightened abilities. Things you were good at before are magnified. You ran up walls, now you can run up them faster—”

She smiled. “I had the nose of a bloodhound…”

“Now you can smell better.” He nodded.

It made sense.

“So no fangs?” she asked, touching her canine. “No freaky eyes?”

He set his water bottle down. “The venom’s in you though.”

“Which means?”

“We’re not sure. Generally we don’t let one of you live long enough to find out. I have no idea what you can do, can’t do, what will happen, has happened. All we do know is that the final transition can only come through the queen’s bite. Without it, you’re still technically human. I’m assuming that the desire to eat more stems from the fact that your metabolism is operating at an extremely high level at this point.” He shrugged.

She glanced at her lap, studying the dark fabric of her jeans, not really thinking about much of anything. Today had been a roller-coaster ride of emotions: disbelief, shock, fear, pleasure. She was still numb.

“Princess?”

Flint sighed. His look was searching, but she couldn’t make out what he was thinking.

A song blared through speakers, and then the ringmaster’s voice boomed through the night. She jumped and grabbed her chest. “Loud much?”

He lifted his brows. “One of the perks of living in a circus.”

She snorted, “Yeah, but the circuses we worked with never had loudspeakers throughout the entire fairgrounds.”

“That’s Adam for you.”

He was acting nice again, which was weird, but not at all displeasing. Deciding to push it and see how far he’d be willing to share, she asked, “Have you lived with him your whole life?”

“No.” He sat up straighter. “Mostly I lived with my mom. But once the change happened—”

“She couldn’t deal with you?”

His grin made her heart get all squishy.

“Bad enough going through puberty, even worse when the demon blood triggers insane mood swings. No, for the sake of everyone, I had to be sent away. So Adam took me, and we left.”

“Oh, so they’re together, still?”

He nodded; a strange look flitted over his face quickly.

“Sorry.” She shrugged, feeling stupid for assuming. “I just thought… well anyway, doesn’t matter.”

“Just do what I do and don’t try to understand it. Works better that way.”

Was he making a joke? Serious Cain? No way, she must have imagined the twinkle in his eye.

“Anyway.” He jumped to his feet. “I want to try something with you.”

Immediately her heart seized and she couldn’t help stealing a look at his bed. The bed she was currently sitting on. Her thighs shook a little.

“What?” she said, voice suddenly grown scratchy.

His lips twisted into a full-blown smile, and it was like getting smacked in the back of the head. Her eyes widened.

“You have a dirty mind, princess.”

“What?” she squeaked, cheeks flushing hotly. “I do not.”

“I want to see what you can do.”

“Excuse me?” She lifted her brows.

He snorted. “Mind out of gutter. I mean I want to take you to the woods, test your new abilities. See what you can do.”

The thought of running and jumping made her heart thrill in ways a bar of chocolate couldn’t at the moment. To let loose, feel her muscles burn, and breathe the clean night air.

But being alone with him… in the dark. It was one thing in his bunker—there she felt safe. But out in the open, what if another bug thingy attacked them? What if a whole swarm of them did?

He called them the hive, said they operated like one… didn’t hives attack in swarms? Was he strong enough to handle that many?

“I don’t know. I really have a lot of homework to do. I’m barely passing Wickham’s class as it is.”

“You can do it later.” He shrugged on a light gray sweater.

“Shouldn’t you be out there with Eli and Seth, or working the circus?”

His eyes narrowed as he shoved his fists into his pockets. “Now that you know what I really am, you’re scared of me? Is that it?”

He sounded angry.

“No.” She jumped to her feet. “I’m not scared of you. Should I be?”

Red glinted in his eyes for a brief moment and her pulse thumped.

“Yes.”

Feeling more daring than she probably should, she sauntered up to him. “Well, I’m not.”

He stepped into her, forcing her to either back up and thus exposing her words as nothing but a lie, or share his space and breathe. She stood her ground. His finger grazed her jaw and her lashes fluttered.

“Then if you’re not scared…” He lifted a brow in challenge.

A hank of brown hair slipped into his eye. Pulse pounding so hard she could taste the adrenaline on her tongue, she reached up and pushed it back. The contact of his skin on her fingers was like a jolt of lightning. She swallowed hard. His irises grew and gleamed with a molten red sheen.

“Let’s go,” she said.

~*~

They were back in their woods. Flint laughed as she raced about midway up the trunk of a large oak before gravity forced her to flip back to the ground.

Cain stood below, watching as she ran from tree to tree, at one point climbing up the base, latching on to a trunk and swinging blithely from branch to branch until she came to the top and could peer down at him.

“I feel amazing,” she called. It was crazy, but she literally felt like she could run forever.

“Come down here, princess.”

Cain was leaning against a tree, ankles crossed, staring up at her and looking more relaxed than she’d ever seen him. Like he might actually be enjoying himself.

She eyed the ground, considering the jump (at least thirty feet) and quickly decided against it. She might be able to run for hours, didn’t mean she’d fall without breaking bones.

Climbing down, she hopped the last foot and grinned from ear to ear, dragging a curl of hair that’d escaped her ponytail behind her ear. “Pretty impressive.”

“I’ve seen better.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I’m sure you have, jerk-off. Why don’t you show me something then, since you seem to think that was nothing?”

“I’d hate to fracture your puny human ego. I’ll pass.”

She rolled her eyes. “Admit it, Cain, you’re embarrassed. It’s okay.”

He chuckled. “Are you baiting me?”

She tucked her cold hands into her pockets. The wind had whipped up at some point. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was slightly chilly. Add to that she was sweaty from jumping and running, and she couldn’t stop the cold that zipped through her and made her shake.

Cain was by her side in a second. “You hungry?”

He was so big, blocking most of the wind from hitting her, and he smelled good. Better than the woods they were surrounded by. Flint was beginning to suspect the smell was uniquely his, not a result of him tramping through the trees, but his unique scent.

“Always,” she groaned.

“I’ve got some rations in the bunker.”

She cocked her head. “Only if you show me what you got.”

His lascivious smirk brought a hot flush to her cheeks.

“Now whose mind is in the gutter?” she asked with a voice grown breathy.

Snorting, he walked over to the tree she’d just climbed. Looking straight at her, he slapped the trunk. He didn’t bum-rush it, didn’t pull back and flex his hips, throwing all his weight and momentum into it, just slapped it.

The sound of groaning, cracking wood reverberated like gunshot around them. Which was impressive all in itself, but then with one final moan, the tree swayed and dropped like a stone—slicing jaggedly down the middle—to the ground.

His smirk was both sexy and infuriating.

“After you,” he said, still wearing the smug look on his face.

“Show-off,” she muttered.

Then he reached beneath his shirt and pulled out a wicked-long Buck knife and handed it to her hilt first. “Somebody might have mentioned to me that you’ve got skills when it comes to knives and swords. I’m interested to see it for myself.”

Her lips twitched when she took the blade from him. The steel was finely honed, and when she flicked the tip of her finger against the edge, she hissed as a thin band of crimson blossomed open. Rolling her eyes, she flicked the blade up in the air, grabbing it smoothly before it fell to the ground.

“I might know a thing or two. What exactly do you want to see?”

Lifting a brow, she could have sworn she’d seen a look of pride flash across his face. Of course, it was probably totally in her head, but whatever. She chose to go with pride.

“Mm.” He turned, squinting one eye as he glanced around and then jerked a finger out, pointing at a dark notch of wood in a tree ten yards or so away. “That. Hit it dead-on. Or at least try.”

“And what do I get if I do it?” She grinned, still flipping the blade around her hand.

It’d been a while since she’d played with knives. But just like tightrope walking and parkour, it wasn’t a hobby she’d entirely given up on either.

Stepping into her, so close that his heat completely invaded her senses, his look turned suddenly serious and intense, making her toes go numb as all the blood rushed to her head.

“I need to know that if something or someone comes at you again and I’m not there”—he thinned his lips, raising a hand and then dropping it after seeming to think better of the urge—“that you can still defend yourself.”

Feeling a lot like a balloon that’d just lost all its air, she nodded. She loved this intimacy with him, but man, was it so bad that she was beyond ready to move to second base already? A little boob-grab never killed anybody, seriously.

But then she had the unfortunate memory of her dad telling her to “wrap it up, DeLuca,” and that pretty much killed her mood instantly.

Stepping out of his reach, she plastered on a bright smile, determined to snap out of this funk one way or another. “Be prepared to have your mind blown, rage boy.”

His smile completely transformed his features. God, the man was gorgeous.

Frowning, she shut down those thoughts, turned on her heel, and then took a deep, steady breath, recalling Evan’s words.

Steady but loose wrist. Heft its weight just slightly, to the point that it almost feels like it’s going to fall out of your hand. Square up the blade to the target. Keep both eyes open. Release your breath. And…

The easily eight-inch blade sank like a hot knife through butter into the notch.

“Well?” She twirled back to him and gave a small bow before turning to retrieve the weapon.

His laugh followed in her wake.

Yeah, she’d blown his mind.

~*~

Ten minutes later, they were sitting back inside the bunker, white lights on and filling the room with a surreal fluorescent glow.

Cain ripped open a brown bag, then handed it to her. She looked at the black block lettering on it.

“Chicken parm?” She raised a brow. “In a bag? My grandpa would roll in his grave.”

He grinned and her heart banged hard against her ribs. He was doing that a lot. Smiling, laughing. It was nice.

“MREs suck but they’re filling.” He handed her a plastic fork.

Wrinkling her nose, Flint eyed the contents dubiously. There were five separate pouches within the plastic. The first one she pulled out was Chicken, the next one was labeled Crackers, another one read Cheese, there was a pouch that contained a fun-size bag of candy, salt and pepper, and a teeny-tiny Tobasco bottle. The final packet read Cocoa. Each was bound in a beige wrapper.

“And you’re supposed to eat this?”

Rolling his eyes, he snatched up the chicken, tore the corner open with his blunt teeth, and handed it to her. “Try it.”

The smell was obnoxious. Like ten-day-old leftovers. Her mouth turned down.

“I knew you were a princess.” He said it with the thread of a dare in his voice.

“I’m not even sure roaches can survive on this stuff, Cain.” She looked at him. “So you told me your secrets, now you’re trying to kill me?”

He snorted. “Funny.”

Taking the pouch, she decided she’d get that know-it-all look off his face once and for all. Lifting her chin, saying a quick prayer that she wouldn’t develop food poisoning, she dipped the plastic spoon into the pouch and brought the lukewarm red-and-brown mush to her mouth.

The gag was immediate and hard. Her nostrils flared as she forced her mouth to chew what it so desperately wanted to spew out. The chicken—and calling it that felt sacrilegious—was cold, tasteless, and she wasn’t even certain at this point it was meat. Tears gathered in her eyes, and then Cain was laughing harder than she’d ever seen him before.

“You should see your face. All puffy, like a chipmunk.”

Choking the nastiness down, she huffed, wishing she had a tongue scraper to get the rest off. “Water,” she wheezed.

Grabbing a bottle by his foot, he twisted the cap off and handed it to her. His eyes were shiny as his laughter finally got back under control.

Flint practically poured the water down her throat, swishing it around a few times, until all that remained was the slight bitter aftertaste.

“I can’t believe you actually ate that.”

She tensed. “You mean, you don’t—”

“Just the crackers and candy. The rest is god-awful.”

“Oh, I hate you!” She punched his arm, feeling his bicep flex in response.

She wanted to stay mad and might have except his humor was contagious, and before she knew it, she was joining him.

“You really suck, Cain.”

“You should know better than to trust a monster.” He winked.

Winked!

She wanted to squeal like a fan girl. Her insides were having a massive riot, and wings fluttered in her throat.

Flint wasn’t sure this new him was any better than the old him. If he kept it up, being nice, she’d fall hard and fast. And she wasn’t sure giving her heart to something like him was good for her health.

“Here.” He took the packages off her lap, then tore open the bag that held the candy. “They taste a little stale, but otherwise, they’re decent.”

She eyed the thing like he was trying to hand her a chunk of kryptonite.

He had really nice lips, especially when he smiled.

“Don’t believe me?” He sounded mock outraged.

“My taste buds still haven’t recovered.”

He popped a piece of candy in his mouth and chewed. “See. No problem.”

Deliberating, she twisted her lips. He popped another one in his mouth, hard jaw working as he crunched it down.

“I’m gonna finish them all, princess, and when I do, you can’t complain.” He took another one out.

She snatched the hard green candy from his hand and swallowed it. He was right, it wasn’t bad. So long as you considered stale chocolate a delicacy. Shrugging, Flint took the bag out of his hand and nibbled on the last few.

“So I can climb faster, run harder,” she mused. “Will this be permanent?”

He leaned back. “Honestly, I’m not sure. I’ve still got Eli trying to find out whatever else he can on you. But you’re special. One of a kind.”

She knew he didn’t mean it the way she wanted to take it, but that didn’t stop the flush from spreading up her neck.

“There’s a dance next week,” she said, toying with the frayed edge of the now-empty bag. “You going?”

“Homecoming?” He shook his head. “I don’t dance.”

“Yeah, me either.” She gave a nervous laugh, wishing she hadn’t said anything. Of course he wouldn’t go, not Cain. She could never picture him in a tux and bow tie. Though her stomach gave a flip when she tried.

“What do you do most nights?”

He inhaled deeply, his entire body seeming relaxed. Uptight Cain was sexy, relaxed Cain… sexy as Jaime Fraser on his wedding night.

“I hunt hive. Though lately most of my leads have dried up.” His lips twisted with disgust.

“Does Adam know you’ve told me all this stuff?”

He glanced at her from out the corner of his blue eye. “Yeah.”

“Was he mad?”

“What’s he gonna do about it? You know too much, saw too much. At this point you were more of a liability not knowing. It was either tell you or kill you.”

She really hated that it bothered her when he said things like that. Just because he’d told her secrets about his world didn’t mean he liked her, didn’t mean he had any motive other than what he’d already admitted to earlier. The hive was following her and with no new leads, she was his last chance at finding more information.

“So why didn’t you kill me?” she grumped. “Seems like it would have solved all your—”

He snatched her hand as she swung it in frustration, squeezing it tightly but gently. “Never say that.”

Heart pounding so violently in her chest that she could taste adrenaline on her tongue, she nibbled her bottom lip. Kiss me, Cain. If those words mean what I think they mean. Then freaking just do it already…

The air between them was charged, electric, sparking so hot that she felt it like tiny little pulses rubbing against her skin.

But rather than lean in, he let her go.

Rubbing her temple, she frowned. “It’s getting late. I really need to get back and start working on my pile of homework.”

His jaw clenched. “Yeah, all right.”

Leaving there was the hardest thing she’d done all day. When she and Cain went to his bunker, it was like nothing and no one else existed. It was a happy place for her, a place where she got to see him as something other than a douche who existed solely to make her life miserable.

They were almost to the car when she suddenly smelled sour milk. She turned on her heel and dragged another shot of air deep into her lungs.

“What are you doing?” Cain was by her side in a second.

She looked at him. “Don’t you smell it?”

He sniffed. “Smell what?”

How couldn’t he smell it? It was thick and cloying, coating her lungs and nostrils. Like the nasty smell that came from opening an empty bottle of milk that’d been sitting under the sun for a couple of days. Flint started walking, following the smell like it was a beacon.

“What do you smell, princess?”

“Cain, you don’t keep milk stashed down there, do you?”

He cocked his head. “Are they here?” His voice had grown deep, his eyes starting to glow with pinpricks of molten heat.

The wind whipped through her hair, tugging the ends around her face and into her mouth. She spit it out. There were so many smells tangled up in the air. The sharp tang of rotting leaves, the nutty scent of seeds, Cain’s powerful piney smell, and faintly, a thread of milk.

She scanned the trees as she walked, tracking the scent like a bloodhound, knowing when she veered too far off because she’d lose the trace. Finally the smell ended a hundred yards back from the bunker, behind the large base of a poplar tree. She touched the rough bark, leaning in to take a whiff.

“One of them was here.”

“Where did it go?” he growled and she looked at him, shaking her head.

Flint walked around the tree, off several feet in either direction and then shrugged. “It disappears from the tree.”

Cain stood still, peering through the thick gloom of night, and in that moment she did experience a thrill of fear. He was Cain, but he was bigger. He’d grown; the muscles on his arms looked stronger, thicker.

There was a scratchy quality to his voice when he said, “Let’s go.”

Once in the car, Flint asked, “Were they following me?”

He shifted gears. “Probably.”

“Why? Do you think they saw me climbing that tree?”

Cain looked at her for a long moment. There was something in his eyes, an undecipherable meaning in them, then he shuttered them as if throwing up an invisible wall. He turned on the main road leading back home and didn’t speak to her again.

It seemed like time flew by, and before she knew it they were back at the circus, walking up to his trailer. Immediately she spied a small figure sitting on his stoop.

Layla eyed her son hard, then with a loud sigh turned to Flint. “I kind of figured you’d be with him. Your father was looking for you between shows.”

She bit her lip, glancing at Cain as he continued on up to his trailer. He didn’t look back or say anything, just walked inside and shut the door.

Her heart sank. Why was it the second they left the bunker, he turned into a guy she could barely tolerate?

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

Layla clapped her hands on Flint’s shoulders and gave them a gentle squeeze. “I covered for you. It was the least I could do after what you did for me.”

“What did I do?” she asked, confused.

The good side of Layla’s lips turned up. “You saved me that day, Flint. I’m only sorry you were injured in the process. If it hadn’t been for you though…” Her eyes took on a faraway look before she shuddered. “Just, thank you.”

Flint nodded, wrapping her arms around herself.

“Did you leave anything in Cain’s trailer?” Layla glanced at the silver bullet.

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Why don’t you go get it? I don’t think it’s smart for you to stay with him tonight, he seemed a little… aggravated.”

Flint wasn’t sure whether Layla knew that he’d already told her who he really was. But just in case, she nodded. Walking up to the door, she knocked lightly, feeling weirdly abandoned. Like she’d done something to piss him off.

Which was highly irrational and annoying.

He opened the door, her black bag in his hand.

Jutting out her jaw, she muttered, “Thanks,” and snatched it.

Cain flicked a glance at his mother. He’d changed. He was wearing a black sweater and jeans now, and he’d pulled the hood over his head and the sunglasses were back on.

She wanted to ask him if he could actually even see in the dark with them on but thought better of it. He stepped outside, closing the door behind him.

Acutely aware that his mother was standing right behind them, she jumped back, even though the heat of his body had been welcoming and thrilling.

“Tell Adam I’m going hunting,” he said, and she wasn’t sure, but she thought maybe he glanced at her before walking off and leaving them alone.

Flint stared long after he’d disappeared.

“Cain hasn’t always been like that. I hope you know that,” Layla said, as if apologizing for her son. “He’s different now, but I still think, deep down, he’s the same kid I raised.”

Yeah, a murdering demon spawn, she thought mutinously, still thoroughly aggravated at him for giving her the silent treatment on the way home.

They walked through rows of food vendors, the thick smell of sausage and onions tickling Flint’s nose and making her stomach growl in response.

“You hungry?” Layla asked.

“I’m always hungry,” Flint muttered, wondering if this desperate need for food would ever fade.

Layla went up to the vendor, lifted two fingers, and returned a second later with a silver-wrapped hot dog. “On the house. Though don’t tell Adam. Bottom line and all that.” She winked.

Flint smiled, eagerly accepting the meal. She was just taking a bite of the oily goodness when Layla spoke.

“You know, I think he likes you too.”

“Who?” Her heart sped up, knowing full well who she meant but needing to hear the words anyway.

Layla smiled. “Cain. I’ve never seen him…” She paused, eyes distant and faraway, then with a sigh, she smiled.

Never seen him what! Flint wanted to scream but forced herself to chew and swallow.

“Anyway, I know someone who wants to see you.” Layla gestured for Flint to follow her.

A minute later, they were at a white camper trailer lifted up on stilts. Layla knocked, and a second later a sleepy-eyed Abel opened the door. He had his shirt off and was wearing nothing but a pair of checkered sleep pants. Scratching his cast, he stepped back, giving her a quick flash of dimple.

“Hey there, beautiful.” He grinned. “You missed me?”

She snorted. “As if.”

Layla clapped her hand on Flint’s shoulder. “Why don’t you two hang out for a bit? I’ll send Rhi and Ja over soon as their routine is done. If you want, I can ask Marco if he’ll whip up one of his famous pizzas for you.”

“Yes!” Both Flint and Abel cried out at the same time and then laughed.

“You got it.” Layla waved and then slinked back into the crowd that was still going strong, even well past midnight.

“Your mom’s so cool,” Flint said, glancing back at her.

Abel stepped back and flicked on a lamp. “It doesn’t bother you that she’s all burned?”

“Well, that was blunt.” Flint walked inside and dropped her bag on a small table. “And no, not anymore. I like her.”

He ran his hand over his head and gave a loud yawn before saying, “Well, that’s good. She’s been kind of different lately though. Happier. Nice to see her that way. When Adam’s out of town she’s not like that. I think she likes you.”

His smile was shy.

Never good with compliments, Flint shrugged it off. “It’s kind of late. Were you asleep?”

“Naw, can’t sleep when the monkeys are caterwauling out there.”

The shrill sound of claps and screams punctuated his words.

“Does it bother you?” She sat on the foot of his bed. “Living like this? This is the first circus I’ve ever been at that has their shows so late at night.”

He walked over to a small cooler and grabbed a bottle of water. “Want one?”

She shook her head.

Abel took a sip and then said, “Used to. But after a while the sounds sort of grow on you.” He sat down beside her.

Which, there weren’t a lot of places to sit in his place, but it felt weird sitting on the same bed with him. He leaned over, snatched a faded red shirt off the floor, and pulled it on.

But not before Flint noticed his bird chest didn’t seem quite so birdy tonight.

She wondered how close he was to turning.

“Saw you with Cain earlier,” he whispered, picking at the paper wrapper on his bottle.

“Oh?” She picked up her bag, unzipping it and pretending to look inside for something.

He turned toward her. “What did you guys do today when you ditched school?”

He sounded hurt and she didn’t have a clue what to tell him.

“Isn’t he the one that went bat guano when I hijacked you that day?” His brown eyes were alive with curiosity.

She pressed her lips tight. “He just wanted to talk.”

“About what? About what a douchebag he is with you?” He clenched his jaw.

Flint grabbed her chem book and pulled it out, opening it on her lap. She laughed. “Not really.”

“Then what?” He pressed his palm over the book, forcing her to look him in the eye. “He goes from ignoring you, yelling at you, and you’re cool with this?”

He was angry and looking at her with questions in his eyes. She could tell that the situation had been bothering him all day.

Sighing, Flint shook her head. “Honestly, I have zero clue what goes through your brother’s head more than half the time.” Truth. “I wasn’t feeling good today.” Truth. “He… he just wanted to talk. I’m pretty sure I’m well on my way to failing chem, my dad is dating someone here, I was a wreck. He saw me, and that’s all.”

Again truth.

“Really? He only wanted to talk? Douche bag Cain?”

“Yup.” She popped the p sound and started doodling on the corner of her book.

Lielielielie, her conscience screamed as heat tracked up her neck. She was a terrible liar and wondered that a scarlet letter hadn’t magically appeared on her face.

She never got to hear his response because a knock sounded a second before Layla’s head popped in. “I come bearing gifts.”

The smell of pepperoni, cheese, and red sauce made her stomach growl. Abel took the box from his mom’s hands, and with another wave, she was gone.

He opened the box and they both dived in. Flint gasped as the cheese seared her tongue, scalding the sensitive skin instantly.

Then the door was flung open and a very sweaty Janet and Rhiannon walked in. They waved, glanced at the pizza, and then crowded onto the small bed.

Abel grinned. “I could get used to this.” He waggled his brows.

“Ew.” Rhiannon grabbed his navy pillow and tossed it at his head. “Gross.”

“Pizza. I’m starving.” Janet groaned and snatched up a slice.

Flint couldn’t help but stare at her.

Her skin looked just as firm and supple as this morning, there were no strange markings crawling up her arms, down her legs… Now that the show was over, she’d replaced her contacts with her familiar, funky cat’s-eye glasses. Lime-green ones this time. Her long, silky hair was drawn back in a tight ponytail.

She looked normal.

As if feeling Flint’s stare, Janet looked back. She chewed her pizza thoughtfully.

“Oh shoot, Rhi,” Janet said, setting her half-eaten slice back in the box. “I forgot my book bag in my trailer. Can you get it?” Her smile was sugar sweet.

Rhiannon turned big blue eyes on Flint, a strange look filtered on her face. A flash of something… almost like guilt. “Yeah, sure,” she said. “Abel, come with me?” She scooted off the bed, her pink tutu fluffing up around her hips as she scuttled off.

Abel looked put out, chewing on the crust and staring at all three of them as if they’d gone crazy. “This is my trailer.”

Rhiannon rolled her eyes and fluffed her blond hair. “Stop whining, you know you’ve been dying to hang out with me all night.”

“Oh please,” he growled, but she yanked his wrist, and after he reached for another slice, they were out the door.

As soon as they were gone, Janet turned around. “We don’t have much time. I’m sorry.”

It seemed ridiculous that Janet was apologizing. “Ja, no, you didn’t do…”

“No. Yes, I did.” She cut her hand through the air. “Cain told me you saw Rhiannon that night.”

“You saw Cain?”

She nodded. “Just before I got here. You shouldn’t have seen that. That’s why I was following you. I didn’t realize you had a window in that bathroom.”

Ja was staring at her pink tights.

Looking at her, remembering her quick plea that she loved manga and Sam, it was hard to imagine that what she’d seen Rhiannon do, Janet could too. Because she looked so human.

“Can you show me?” Flint asked.

She jerked her face up. “You want to see?”

“Yeah.” Flint shrugged. “I’m curious. It was dark that night and I still have a hard time believing that you can turn into that.”

Janet’s face screwed up, as if she wanted to laugh but realized it might not be the right moment. “Well, since you asked.” She touched her wrist, or rather the golden bracelet on her wrist. “You remember asking about the markings on my bracelet?”

Flint nodded.

Janet glanced over her shoulder, at the still-open door. Quickly jumping off the bed, she shut the door and then returned to Flint’s side. “The markings are actually magical runes. This bracelet is spelled to help me retain form. Without it, I’d be a big blob of shadow.”

Flint grabbed her wrist, holding the bracelet up to the light. “No joke?”

“Uh uh.” Janet smiled. “Rhi wears the same thing around her neck.”

A bronze sheen illumined the markings on the cuff. Now that Flint realized they were runes and not just strange markings, she saw they did actually seem to have a similar pattern, like something you’d see inscribed on a runic slab. Not that she was big into that sort of thing, but she’d seen books now and then.

“I noticed that,” she said, finally releasing Janet’s wrist. “So you’re a kanlunga?”

Janet laughed. “No, I’m called a kanlungan. Shadow demon.”

“I’m assuming that means neither you or Rhiannon actually have parents in this circus. Am I right?” she said, lifting a brow. She’d often wondered why in all the times she’d come to the circus, she’d never once bumped into their parents.

Snorting, Janet shook her head. “Yeah no, that was just our cover with the humans.” She winked.

“But Abel—”

She smiled sweetly. “Sees exactly what we want him to see. Kanlungan are born of the eternal darkness. We simply are.”

Her heart thumped hearing that word again.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Flint,” Janet said, as if aware of her reaction. “I’m Cain’s familiar.”

“And what is that exactly?”

Janet slipped one of the cuffs off her wrist. The moment she did, a trembling took over her arm. It started in her bicep, traveled through her forearm, and when it reached her hand the shaking got so hard that it literally seemed as if her skin ripped apart. A dark, vaporous smoke undulated upward. If Flint looked real hard, she could almost see that the smoke formed into a hand of sorts.

Janet flexed shadowy fingers and quirked her lips. “Adam snared Rhi and me centuries ago. Because he knows our true names, we’re bound. Me to Cain, Rhi to Abel. Though he doesn’t know it yet.”

Flint’s eyes widened. “Oh wow.”

“Yeah.” Janet lifted a shoulder as she wrapped the cuff around the shadow. Like a vacuum, pieces of the shadow drew in tight, and then a rich bronze tone covered that shadow, followed by layers of bone, muscle, and skin.

It was macabre, but like watching a car wreck, she couldn’t look away.

“Creepy, huh?” Ja voiced her thoughts.

Flint gave a half chuckle. “A little. So you’re older than Cain?”

She nodded, and Flint couldn’t help remembering her first initial impression that Abel wanted to hang out with an older girl just so he could be cool. Little had she known, or him, that Ja and Rhiannon should be mummies by now.

Janet cocked her head as if she was listening to something. “They’re coming back. Look, real quick. We’re not here to hurt you. I like you. If you trust me, I’d really like to stay friends. And…”

The knob on the door turned.

“If you have it in you to talk to Rhiannon, she feels like crap,” Janet finished just as Abel and Rhi reappeared with her Hello Kitty book bag.

Abel shook it. “There, we got it, lazy bones. And I hope you saved me a slice of pizza,” he grumbled good-naturedly.

Janet rolled her eyes and it was a déjà vu moment for Flint.

Rhiannon and Ja both acted no different than she did, talking about hair, what nail colors they’d recently found at the mall, the latest boy bands, and after a while, it was easy to forget they weren’t exactly who they claimed to be.

“So.” Rhiannon closed the magazine she’d been riffling through. “Homecoming. Who’s going shopping for a dress?”

“Totally,” Abel shrilled in a high falsetto.

Flint dug her finger into his side, making him break out in a squeal. He swatted her hand.

“Well, I’m going.” Ja smiled. “You should come with, Flint.”

“Yeah.” Rhiannon nodded, hope shining in her eyes.

“Do you guys even have dates?”

Rhi elbowed Janet, who actually looked like she was blushing.

Janet’s almond-shaped eyes gleamed. “I got asked today,” she admitted.

“Pft.” Rhiannon shook her head. “She makes it sound as if she wasn’t asked by the hottest guy in school. Captain of the football team.”

Flint giggled. “Gabe asked you? That’s awesome, Ja.”

Janet shrugged. “He said he’s wearing an orange tie. Thought maybe I’d try to match him.”

“Well.” Rhiannon pushed the last bite of crust into her mouth and chewed while she talked, glancing at Abel. “You can stop holding your breath. I’m not going with you, dweeb. I’m holding out for Kyle.”

“Whatever.” Abel flicked a wadded-up piece of paper at her. “You wish. And that’s gross. Cauliflower ears Kyle?” Abel shuddered.

“Who’s that?” Flint asked.

Rhiannon’s full red lips tipped up. “Captain of the varsity wrestling squad with thighs like tree trunks and arms like pythons.”

“She likes ’em big.” Janet giggled.

Rhiannon thinned her lips, shooting daggers at Janet. “I’m thinking that might be the night.”

Abel choked on a cough. “You what? Let him pop your cherry? Rhiannon, I swear, your standards lower every year.”

She laughed and stretched out her pink-stockinged legs, propping her feet on Abel’s lap. As much as they fought, it was obvious the two cared for each other.

“So, you coming or what?” Rhiannon looked at Flint with the slightest hint of doubt in her smile.

Rhi acted tough, but Flint thought she was nothing but a big softie on the inside.

“I don’t have a date. In fact, I wasn’t even sure I’d be going, but I’ll go with you guys.”

“Of course you’re going!” Janet swatted her arm. “We’re only young once, right?”

Did she honestly expect Flint to answer that? In response, she lifted a brow. Rhiannon snorted and then chuckled beneath her breath.

“Whatever.” Abel rolled his eyes, gathered up the empty box, and walked to the door. “Too much estrogen in here for me. I’m gonna throw this box away.” He held it out to them. “When I come back, I expect to hear you talking about guys, guns, and blood.”

The second he left, Rhiannon turned to Flint. “Flint, about the other night…”

“Rhi.” Flint grabbed her friend’s hand and gave it a quick squeeze. “Look, I’m not going to lie and say this isn’t weird, but… it’s water under the bridge. And…” She looked at the floor. “Something happened to me when that hive,” she whispered, feeling weird saying the word, “guard attacked me.”

Janet clapped her hands. “Okay, now that that’s out of the way, heads up, but I’m pretty sure Abel’s planning to ask you to homecoming.”

“What?” Flint frowned. “Who told you that?”

But before she could answer, Abel returned.

He peered at them, cocking his head at the thick silence that had suddenly descended like fog, and said, “Who died?”

Cheeks flaming, Flint shook her chem book at him. “I’m about to if I don’t get some studying done. Gah, it’s past one and I’m not even sleepy. I really need to finish my homework.”

“Ugh,” Ja whined. “Me too. How ’bout Rhiannon and I go get us some super industrial-sized coffee and we do this thing? We help you, you help us?”

Flint laughed. “Not sure how much help I’ll be. But yeah, sure, whatever.”

They left, taking their scent of smoke with them. It was awkward with Abel. Flint expected him to ask her any moment.

He sat down and took the book from her lap. “Seriously, Flint, what’s so hard about this? Just a bunch of letters and numbers.”

“So says the geek.” She dug her finger into his ribs.

He grabbed her finger, gave it a quick squeeze, then grabbed a pencil. “I know it’s tempting to see these muscles and pretty face and think that’s all I am.” He grinned, giving her the huge dimpled smile that never failed to elicit a response from her. “But I’ve got mad skills.”

And just like that, the nerves were gone.

***

There was too much.

Too much buzzing.

Too much anger.

Too much Flint.

Cain needed it to stop. The constant thinking, worrying… After the attack, when he’d seen that thing fly at her, the hands wrapped around her slender neck, something beastly inside him had snapped.

The sensory overload of the circus grated on his nerves tonight, the kids screaming, the adults looking weary but morbidly fascinated… He needed to get away.

Not to mention that her scent lingered on him. He’d taken three showers earlier, trying to get it off. But the smell clung like a parasite, infecting his brain, his mood.

What he needed to do was kill something.

He clenched his jaw, flexing the fingers tucked into his pockets.

Maybe having her come here hadn’t been the best idea. Seeing his mother take her to Abel’s trailer had filled him with a cold anger that’d spread its icy claws through his blood, his body.

He needed time away from all this.

Maleficent—the bearded, tattooed lady—slinked up to him in her usual black catsuit costume. She was smoking a cigarette and stretching her limbs, getting ready for her fire-breathing act.

Every inch of her body was covered in a magnificent blue-and-red tribal marking, except for her face, which she claimed she’d never touch, otherwise it would be too hard to see the tuft of fur she called a beard on her chin. Usually she wore nothing but a bikini when she was in the freak tent, but tonight she was standing in for Liam, their usual fire act, who’d called in sick at the last moment.

“What’s up, hottie?” she called in her raspy voice, human-colored blue eyes gazing back at him.

“You seen Eli and Seth?”

She coughed and then tossed the butt of her cigarette on the ground, grinding out the ember beneath her thigh-high booted heels. “Yup”—she pointed over her shoulder—“saw them on the east side of the gate.”

Cain turned to go.

“Cain,” she said, making him turn back around, “saw that pretty little thing you rode with today. Crew’s talking.” Her red-lipsticked smile curved dangerously high. “Does my boy finally got himself a girl?”

Jerking his head away before the blood rushing to his eyes gave him away, he snorted. “Nah, you know my heart’s with you.”

She laughed, a deep, exotic sound that filled the night, even above the din of so much noise. “You couldn’t handle this heat, Cain.” Her amused voice disappeared behind the tent flap.

Cain jogged to the east side of the gate. Eli and Seth were getting ready to start another roundabout.

“Come with me,” he said.

The twins looked at him, their eyes looking full of silver dust in the moonlight. “What’s up?” they said in unison.

“We’re going hunting.”

Their grins were lecherous and greedy.

“You found a lead?” Seth asked, brushing a blond lock out of his eyes once they were in the car.

Cain’s Corvette kicked up gravel as he pulled out of the lot. “No.”

He felt Eli’s hard stare. “Then what are we doing? Leads have all dried up, and I don’t know about you, but I’m getting tired of just standing around like a moron, waiting for one of them to just magically appear.”

Growling, Cain glowered at Eli in the rearview mirror. “I was at the shelter—one of them was there.”

Seth sat forward. “You said you didn’t have a lead. Did you catch it?”

Trees shot by in a blur as his speedometer crept up past a hundred.

“No,” he ground out, shifting gears, shoving down harder on the gas and letting her fly.

“Then?” the twins mumbled at the same time.

“Flint smelled it,” Cain reluctantly admitted.

“Where, in the shelter?” Seth asked.

“Dude, wait, you mean to say your girl smelled one of ’em?” Eli countered.

“She’s not my girl.” Cain shook his head.

The speedometer crept past a hundred and fifty.

“Look whatever, not important.” Eli cut him off. “Don’t you understand what that means?”

Cain wasn’t an idiot, he’d already thought of it. He’d seen what she’d done in the forest. Flint could potentially be an asset. She was nimble, fast, and could scent them out. Maybe.

Seth snorted. “Our own bloodhound. That could work, man.”

“No,” Cain bit out. “Look, we don’t know how stable these new powers are. How long they’ll last. She’s a human. A fragile human. That’s the last thing I need to worry about while out hunting.”

Seth cocked his head. “And running around blind is better? Have you asked her? You should ask her.”

Cain shot a nasty look at him. “I said no. Now drop it.”

They were at the turnoff, and reluctantly, he let up on the gas. Turning onto the dirt road, Cain scanned the trees, seeking any sign of movement. Parking in the same spot he’d been earlier, he got out.

The night was cooler than before, the moon a deeper, misty blue. Cain scented the breeze, dragging in the air like a junkie on ice, trying to find any trace of what she’d smelled earlier.

He hadn’t smelled it then.

He couldn’t smell it now.

All he smelled was trees, dirt, and her.

“Well, where do we look?” Eli clapped him on the back.

Seth stood to the side of his brother, a dubious look on his face.

Cain gripped the sides of his head, frustration welling up inside him.

They came around whenever she was near. In school, the hive made sure to stay close to humans, knowing if they went to a more secluded area, he’d corner and torture them for the truth.

They were smart, cunning, and up to something, and it pissed him off that he couldn’t figure out what that something was.

“Look over by that tree line.” He pointed to the far right, at the spot Flint had said its smell had disappeared.

The twins nodded and walked off, their black trench coats flapping behind them in the chilly breeze.

Cain went toward the bunker. He scanned the ground, looking for any trace or sign that something had been there.

What he saw was crushed grass, his boot treads marked in mud, and Flint’s smaller print beside his. The drone hadn’t come this way. Keeping his head down, he kept walking, finally entering the left-hand clearing.

There was a rustle in a bush a few yards ahead, and a tiny mouse scampered out. He eyed the bush, waiting for a telltale shake or wiggle of hiding prey.

The wind blew through his hair. Then he heard something.

Soft.

Like the slide of shoes on damp leaves. Turning slowly, he eyed the drone who’d crept up on him.

It was a girl, one he actually recognized. The one from school he’d seen eyeing Flint in the cafeteria. She held up her hands, her eyes a deep, solid red. Only a recent feeding could bleed the whites out.

“My name is Tamara,” she said in her sibilant voice.

Something about the way she approached him, talked to him first, didn’t sit right with him. She was mollifying him, preventing the anger from bleeding through his bones and filling him with the rage he’d need to make the kill.

He lifted a brow. “You’ve been following her?”

Tamara nodded her pixie-shaped head, obviously aware of whom he meant. Her dark hair curled attractively around her face. She wasn’t peeling—in fact, she seemed more human than the rest of them. Though that wasn’t saying much; there was definitely an alien quality about her.

“Why?”

“To warn her.” She blinked, revealing that she had a clear membrane over her eyes, much like a shark’s when attacking.

Cain clenched his jaw. “Warn her how?”

Her head moved like a charmed cobra. “I cannot say,” she hissed. “We are not your enemy, rager.”

He curled his lips, feeling the first faint stirrings of anger. “You nearly killed her. Why did the queen send the royal guard?”

She blinked again. “She did not die. If we wanted her dead, she would be.”

“Then why send the guard?” he barked as the blood in his body began to stir restlessly.

“I told you… a warning.”

A snarl rumbled in his chest. “Then you’ve failed.”

“Have we?”

“I killed her.”

“It’s just a body, there’re more.”

Tamara’s cavalier response made his veins throb. “Is she one of you?”

She stood completely still, looking so like an automaton that for a moment he wondered if the hive weren’t actually some form of cyborg hybrid. “Not yet. Only the queen’s kiss can bestow the blessing.”

“So what is she?”

She smiled. “Altered. Faster. Slow to age now.” She blinked.

Those last few words made him feel like someone had just kneed him in the gut. “Slow to age? How slow?” Like him? Slower?

So not quite as human as he’d thought. He licked his lips.

But the Aswang merely cocked her head. “Does it matter?”

Which told him nothing. “Why do you want her?”

She pursed her lips and paused, as if listening to something far away. “My queen’s reasons are her own and not mine to share.”

“Then why are you here?” He heard the guttural tenor sing through his voice, felt his body flex and heave, fill with the monstrous strains of his curse.

She swayed, like a loose limb in the wind. “Because I know what is to come. And I do not like it. I want you to kill me.”

His nostrils flared.

None of this conversation was making any sense. His body thirsted for the change, but his brain knew that when he went berserker, logic fled. Cain desperately wanted to reason through this, understand what was happening. Why it was happening.

Tamara stepped into him. And even from this close distance, he couldn’t smell her. There was no smell of milk, no smell whatsoever.

Fearlessness was reflected in her red gaze. “Do it, rager. Spare me.”

He snarled. “Had you not asked, I might have complied.”

The first sign of emotion crept like feelers across her face. Anger, disappointment, and then she was a blank canvas again. “Do not say I did not warn you. Flint will die.”

Fire heated his veins, made him suck in air like a bellows, red descended like a haze over his vision. He was reaching, seconds away from latching on to her neck and squeezing the life out, when she vanished. Literally disappeared.

But now he was angry.

With a roar that shook the heavens, he ran. “Eli, Seth.” His voice came out twisted and demonic, shivering with the sound of a thousand voices.

In seconds the twins ran out. They took one look at him and then muttered. “Aw, crap.”

They knew what they had to do. If they didn’t, Cain would kill and he wouldn’t stop until the fever was suppressed.

He stood in the center of the field and spread his arms. “Do it,” he said, his body trembling with adrenaline so sharp it was a visceral pain, cutting through his gut, cramping his muscles with his restraint.

The twins shrugged off their coats.

Their aggression was so much different than his own. Long ago, they’d learned how to control it. Maybe sharing the anger and fire had also strengthened them. But they didn’t lose control the way he did when the rage took them.

Their muscles flexed and inflated. Their eyes turned a molten silver.

Eli threw the first punch.

Pain exploded through his jaw like a firework.

Seth went next, punching Cain in the solar plexus, causing him to bend over and wheeze as the air left his lungs in a violent rush.

But the shivering didn’t stop.

Coughing blood, he spat and then growled. “Again.”

Eli and Seth ripped into him, punching, feinting, jabbing, making his head rocket with lasers of searing-hot agony.

Again and again, they beat into him, dropping him to his knees. Sweat poured off his body as he accepted the punishment. What would she think if she saw this?

One final blow from Eli to his temple knocked him out cold.

~*~

Finally Flint finished the last equation. She had no idea what Wickham had planned for them to make tomorrow. She rubbed her head. At least she’d gotten the assignment done.

“Need sleep,” she moaned.

Janet and Rhiannon merely grunted; they’d passed out thirty minutes ago.

Abel patted her head. “Yup.”

Just a little rest, that’s all she needed. Flint closed her eyes. A few minutes and then she’d go find her dad. Next thing she knew, the sun was stabbing her in the eyes.

“Princess.” A thick voice made her heart jump in her throat.

It took her a second to realize she was lying prone on the bed. Janet was curled into a ball at the foot, Rhiannon at the bottom, and Abel was sprawled on the floor.

And then she smelled him and everything inside her came instantly awake. Pine flooded her senses, but when she blinked to clear the fog, it wasn’t Cain staring back at her.

At least not the one she’d come to recognize.

He was a mass of bruises. Both eyes were swollen—black shadowed the bottoms. She gasped.

“What happened?”

Pressing a finger to his cracked and bloody lips, he jerked his head toward the open door, then he walked out.

Did he want her to follow?

What had happened to him?

Curiosity hammered at her skull until she ignored her instinct that she shouldn’t go to him. Cain was trouble. She sensed that. Felt it in every fiber of her soul. And yet… she disentangled herself as carefully as possible, trying not to wake anyone as she tiptoed out.

She couldn’t seem to control herself where he was concerned.

Easing the door shut behind her, she looked and spied him leaning against the trailer wall opposite Abel’s place. He had his hands in his pockets, his eyes on the ground, and looked as still as a statue.

The gray sweater she’d seen him in last night was now stained with dirt and grass and blood. His hair was disheveled, and her heart was racing so hard it was almost painful. He looked terrible.

“What happened to you?” she whispered when she finally got close enough to him.

He didn’t look up, but the muscle in his jaw tensed.

“Cain?”

His nostrils flared, and when he finally glanced up, she saw the burning red rimming his irises. Without saying a thing, he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her into him.

A part of her wanted to pull back, to make him let her go. But the muscles under his shirt were twitching, and the way he leaned into her, like he was drowning and she was the air he breathed…

It did things to her.

Crazy things.

Made her forget how he’d acted last night, how he acted almost all the time. When he was like this, she could forget almost everything.

Flint wrapped her arms around his neck and just stood there, wrapped in his strong arms, wishing she could do more.

A memory came to her then, one she hadn’t thought of in over five years. Her and her mother walking along the lake. The sun was beginning to set and the sky was ablaze like someone had taken a torch to it. A cloud had parted, revealing a flock of white geese zooming in for the water. They landed in formation, and the sight had caused Flint’s twelve-year-old heart to sigh.

Her mom had looked at her and said, “Take a mental picture, Flinty. You’ll never see that again.”

That’s how this felt. In this moment, in his arms, while the rest of the circus was asleep and the sun was just beginning to rise. They were surrounded by people, creatures, humanity, but in a tiny sphere of time, it was just the two of them. Hanging on for dear life.

His fingers dug into her waist, and she rested her head on his chest, listening to the steady beating of his heart, and as she did, she snapped her eyes shut, taking that mental picture and saving it for a rainy day.

All too soon, he was pulling back. “I’ll take you to school.”

His eyes were blue again and she couldn’t help but smile. “What time is it?”

“Breakfast wagon is up, if you’re hungry.”

She nodded. “Yeah, let me get dressed first. I’ve got to find my dad too.”

As she turned to leave, he grabbed her hand. His throat worked, as if words were trapped in there. Finally he nodded and released her.

It was hard to walk away.

Ten minutes later, she’d brushed her teeth, pulled her hair back in a ponytail, and changed into a pale pink cardigan sweater with jeans. She’d half expected him to bail, because that’s what he always did. As if showing a softer side was a sin for him, he’d get all hard and gruff and idiotic afterward.

She was grabbing her bag when Abel rubbed his bleary eyes and sat up. Pieces of his hair stuck up in every direction. Flint covered her mouth to still her laugh. He looked sort of adorable in the morning.

“Flint?” He glanced first at her, then at the bed where the two girls were still snoring.

“Getting breakfast.”

He started to get up. “Wait for me, I’ll come.”

She bit her lip. “Actually, Cain is waiting…”

Abel’s face screwed up. “Cain?” he hissed, trying to keep his voice down.

“Hmm… what’s up?” Janet whispered groggily, then kicked out at Rhiannon, who’d somehow maneuvered Janet to the smallest corner of the bed. “Move, you slug.”

Rhiannon moaned and rolled over.

“Cain?” Abel whispered again with furrowed brows. “Since when?”

She shrugged. “I’ve got to find my dad, Abel. See you at school?”

Scowling, he shoved his hand through his hair. “Yeah.”

It broke her heart how glum he sounded. Almost jealous.

Which, it couldn’t possibly be. It was Abel. Her friend. He knew that, right?

He turned his back on her as she walked out, muttering under his breath. Feeling like the world’s worst friend, she almost turned back and told him never mind. But then Cain was there and looking at her in a way she’d never seen him do before, and things like I’m sorry, I suck flew out the window.

He wasn’t touching her, but something felt different between them. Less hostile maybe. She didn’t know. All she knew was that it might be chilly, but she’d never felt so warm.

And jeez was that corny.

He’d changed, taken the scruffy sweater and jeans off, replacing them with another one of his all-black ensembles.

“Gothed out again, huh? You angsting or what?”

His lips twitched. “What?”

She shrugged. “Just that I notice when you’re all in black you’re generally mad at me. Or ignoring me, or… I don’t know. Pick your poison.”

He stopped. A stiff breeze laden with the buttery scent of eggs, fatty bacon, and coffee teased her nose. Her stomach curled in on itself.

“Princess, believe it or not, I do more than just sit around and mope for you.”

And there it went again.

Her happy buzz.

She narrowed her eyes. “Why, why do I ever expect you to act nice, for once?”

“What?” He looked baffled.

“Jeez, I was just trying to tease you. Do you even have a clue what that means? It means, laugh a little. Have a ha-ha —”

Somehow she was back in his arms and he was staring down at her, hunger glinting in his eyes. And she didn’t think it was for food.

Her eyes widened and she moistened her lips, a completely involuntary reaction since she had no desire for him to actually kiss her while he was so angry with her.

“What are you doing?” Was that her voice? All airy and breathy?

His arms were like strong bands, holding her in place against the firmness of his chest and thighs. Every part of her that touched him was zinging with currents of fire and heat.

Cain’s lips were so close to hers. If she were brave, she’d lean up and kiss him.

“I can laugh.”

“I don’t think you can. I don’t think you really know how.”

He narrowed his eyes and she noticed they were a vivid cobalt blue, deep and pure as an artic stream.

Then he stepped back and she was breathing hard. His smile was smug.

Gulping, hating her pale skin and the fact that she was blazing like a Christmas tree, she lifted her chin. “I’ve got to see my dad.”

Cain pointed to the breakfast wagon. “He’s in there.”

“I knew that.” She thinned her lips, pushing past him, ears flaming at the sound of his snickering.

The second she opened the door, the smells blasted her full force. Her stomach twisted with a cramp so fierce she groaned.

“Flinty!” Her dad’s voice carried over the rhythmic murmurs of a few of the performers. Most had their heads down, nursing a cup of coffee. She was surprised to find any of them awake actually.

She followed the sound of his voice, a large smile on her face until she caught sight of Katy sitting next to him.

Flint had to force herself to not to stop and turn around. Cain had touched the small of her back and it was weird, but it was almost as if he could sense her indecision. She flashed him a brief glance, then leaned over and kissed her father’s whisker-roughened cheek.

He had bags under his eyes, and his hair was messy and sweaty, but apart from that, he seemed happy.

“Hello, Flint.” Katy flashed a white smile, her gaze landing on Cain’s.

And for just a second, Flint could swear she saw hate gleaming in the woman’s moss-green eyes. But it’d happened so fast, and by the time she turned back to Katy, her gaze was bright and welcoming.

“You just finishing work?” she asked her father.

“Mmm.” He nodded.

She looked between them. They were sitting close, so close she knew their knees were touching underneath the table. Katy’s sparkly catsuit highlighted her “assets.”

“Where’d you sleep last night?” he asked, taking a sip of his coffee and eying Cain hard.

“In Abel’s trailer with”—she rushed to say the next bit, seeing him inhale and knowing he was ready to light into her for staying in a boy’s room alone—“two other girls.”

Ironic that on the one hand he seemed to give her the green light to hook up with a boy, until he actually knew the boy in question. Then suddenly it was verboten. Not that she had any intentions of shagging with anyone, anyway.

Katy grinned. “Well, that sounds naughty.”

Her father cleared his throat, lowering his brows at Katy. “I came looking for you earlier. Layla mentioned you were studying?”

The way he said it, she knew he didn’t believe it.

“I did. I finished all my homework. Abel’s really smart and helped me a lot.”

“Hmm.” He drank from his cup.

“You’re Cain, right?” Katy piped up, looking over Flint’s shoulder.

Cain nodded. “Yes.”

“Why don’t you sit?” She gestured at the table.

As if she owned the table, or had a right to question him. Flint barely knew the woman—she was completely out of bounds.

Cain checked his watch and then nodded. “Can we get some breakfast first? I’m going to take Flint to school. If that’s all right with you,” he said, looking directly at her father.

Her heart seriously melted. Like turned into a quivering puddle in her chest.

Was he really asking her dad for permission?

And why was that so ridiculously sweet?

Her dad looked worried. Katy grabbed his arm and gave it a tender squeeze.

Turning on her heel, Flint walked to the start of the food line. A large black man wearing a hair net—which was funny considering he had none—scooped a pile of eggs, home fries, and gravy onto her plate. Flint pointed to the stack of bacon, mouth already watering thinking about it.

“You know, you don’t have to sit with us.” She leaned in, whispering low so only Cain could hear.

He smiled and it took her breath away. “You don’t like her.”

It really wasn’t a question, so she didn’t bother pretending. “That obvious?”

He pinched his fingers together. “A little.”

“Long story.”

“Tell me about it.”

She took the plate from the kitchen worker and walked over to the beverage stand. Flint noticed Cain’s plate was piled as high as hers.

“Really? You want to hear all the gory details?”

He shrugged. “Don’t have anything better to do.”

“Oh jeez, thanks.” She rolled her eyes, filled her cup with orange juice, and waited for him to do the same.

He got two glasses, and their trays looked ridiculous.

Her father’s brows nearly reached his hairline as he eyed her food when they neared the table. “Flint? You sick or something?”

She snorted and sat, Cain taking the empty seat next to her.

Normally, she’d lose her appetite having him so close. And then when he stretched his legs and his knee bumped hers and he didn’t pull back… Yeah, a little bit of torture. But the appetite was a beast that refused to be denied.

“Just hungry,” she muttered and then said a quick prayer beneath her breath. After that, she began digging into the eggs first.

They tasted better than they smelled, gooey with cheese and salted just right. She almost didn’t come up for air.

“What happened to your face, son?” her dad asked, and Flint whipped around to look at Cain.

Silly, but she’d completely forgotten about it.

“Ugh, Dad,” she whispered, blushing furiously. “What are you doing?”

Heat crept up to her ears, and she wished she’d left her hair down.

“What?” He looked at her with innocent eyes. “Don’t I have a right to ask the boy who’s taking my daughter out what’s happened to him?”

“Oh jeez, Dad.” The bacon tasted like leather when she snapped it between her teeth. “We’re not dating. It’s just a ride.”

“It’s okay.” Cain placed his hand on hers, stilling her fingers and making her heart gallop. “I had a sparring match last night. Buddy got a little rough.” He gritted out the last part and then smiled.

Flint tried to see Cain as her dad must at this point. Swollen face, cracked lip, and dressed in black. His nightmare come to life.

“Hmm,” he muttered.

Katy glanced between them and then cleared her throat.

“So, Cain, you’ve taken a shine to our Flint have you?” Katy asked.

Our Flint? It was enough to make her want to gag. She ground her molars hard. Because if she didn’t, she’d say something she’d really regret. Her fork clattered to the plate.

“Flint.” Her father’s stern voice made her swallow her snappy retort.

Planting a hard smile on her face, Flint shook her head. “You want the truth?” she said, her voice low, aware of the other people sitting around. “It’s hard, okay. Her calling me ‘our Flint.’”

Katy grabbed her chest and glanced at Flint’s father. “I’m sorry, I was just… I’m…”

He patted her arm, giving Flint a scathing look full of disappointment, censure, and reprimand. It was worse than actually getting a tongue-lashing.

“I hardly think this is the best time or place,” he said, looking directly at Cain.

Cain, for his part, was chewing on his food but looking hard at Katy.

“Yes, Dad,” she whispered, hating more than anything how much she kept disappointing him.

Katy just looked sad, which made her feel even worse.

Why couldn’t she just like her? Everything would be so much easier for all of them.

Cain glanced at his watch. “Flint and I really should get going if we don’t want to be late.”

Her father sighed and then nodded, gesturing for Flint to come and give him another kiss on the cheek. If he still wanted a kiss, then maybe she hadn’t hurt him too bad. But his long-suffering sigh made her doubt that.

“Love you, Daddy.” And, taking a deep breath, she humbled herself, “Sorry about that, Katy. It’s just…”

She smiled. “I understand. I really do.”

And somehow it sounded genuine, which only made Flint feel worse.

Cain wrapped the pile of bacon into a napkin and then handed Flint her bag. Giving him a grateful smile, she turned and left.

The moment they were outside, she took a deep breath. “Well, that sucked.”

“It wasn’t that bad.”

Flint screwed her face up. “Wasn’t that bad? What planet are you from?”

“Oh, you mean when you completely humiliated your dad in front of me?” Humor glinted in his blue depths.

Giving him the evil eye, she growled. “Oh my God, I hate you so much right now.”

He chuckled and then shook his head, getting serious. “Honestly, princess, it wasn’t that bad.”

The heat in her cheeks said otherwise. There was going to be heck to pay when she got home from school later. Flint was used to her dad always being super protective of her mother, even herself at times, but to see him like that. With Katy. It’d stung.

Staring down at her feet, lost in her woe-is-me thoughts, she didn’t see Abel until they bumped shoulders.

“Oh, Abel. Sorry,” she stuttered, suddenly remembering their weird good-bye earlier.

He was dressed in a pair of tan shorts, sneakers, and a tight baseball shirt. It was definitely not her imagination; he was starting to fill out. He’d looked as close to skeletal as she’d ever remembered seeing someone when she’d first arrived, and in only three months, he was bulking up.

Abel eyed Cain hard before turning back to look at her. “Sorry,” he muttered, “should have been looking where I was going.”

Flint watched as he walked to the food shack, thinking maybe she should follow, say something. He was her best friend—she didn’t want this weirdness between them.

Cain’s warm hand clamped onto her shoulder. “You ready?”

Sad, feeling like the world’s biggest screwup, she sighed and nodded. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

When they were in the car, he spoke up first. “It’s really going to be okay.”

Why was he being so nice all of a sudden? Especially today, when she’d shown her butt to not one but two very important people in her life.

Though, in the case of Abel, she wasn’t sure the guilt was appropriate, but she felt it anyway.

“You think? Because I really think my dad is pissed.”

He shrugged, shifting into a higher gear. They were taking a different route to school, heading the opposite way. She’d come this way once; it added a good twenty minutes to the drive. Which was why she’d never taken the route again. But today, she kind of liked going the long way around.

He shrugged. “It happens. I’m pretty sure Adam’s wanted to kick my butt a time or two.”

His smile made her belly roll and then it grumbled. Which was just about the most unromantic thing ever.

Nodding to the center console, he said, “Figured you’d start growling like a bear. Brought that bacon for you.”

Putty. Warm gooey putty, that’s what she was. “Ah, you shouldn’t have. My hero.” She snatched the white wrapping and took a bite of the first slice of bacon, unable to hold back the moan that spilled from her throat.

“Tomorrow’s report card day,” she mumbled around the food. “So not only is my dad pissed about the whole Katy thing, he’s going to have a seizure when he sees my grades.”

“You know what you’re getting?”

She popped another piece of bacon in her mouth, chewed, swallowed, and then said, “I’ll be lucky if I get a C minus in Wickham’s class. What about you?”

“A.” He didn’t even crack a smile.

“All right.” She rolled her eyes. “Whatever you say. At least I don’t live in denial.”

Cain narrowed his eyes. “What, you think I’m in denial?”

She nodded. “Oh, I know you are. All you do is tap your pencil and act like a giant loser with me. If you’re passing, it’s just barely.”

A secret gleam twinkled in his eyes. It was getting easier to read his moods. Which was weird. When she’d first met him, Flint had thought he had one attitude: Pissed off. But his eyes were more expressive than she’d ever thought they’d be.

He snorted. “See you demolished the pound of bacon.”

“Next time, make it two,” she quipped and wiped her mouth with the edge of the napkin, then bunched it up and tossed it back onto the console.

Time flew by, the twenty minutes had felt more like five, and before she knew it they were pulling into the school parking lot. As more and more groups of students filed out of their cars, Cain became more and more pensive. His smile was gone, his easy manner was now pent-up and he was uptight.

She’d think he was embarrassed to be seen with her, but at this point she was more inclined to believe that he was just like that with anyone he didn’t know.

He pulled up next to the curb. “Your dad doesn’t work tonight.”

She shook her head. “No.”

There was no inflection in his tone to give away what he was thinking. She bit the inside corner of her lip, wishing she could rub her finger along his bristled and bruised jawline. Anything to make him look at her like he had earlier. Flint clutched her book bag tight.

“See you tomorrow then.”

She frowned. “You’re not coming to school?”

“Got to hunt.”

He’d put on his glasses again and was now staring straight ahead, putting up that wall between them that she was coming to despise.

She toyed with her seat belt. “I thought you said the leads were dry.”

He turned to her, his jaw clenching and unclenching.

“Did you find a new one?”

Cain drummed his fingers on the wheel but still didn’t answer.

Which made her wonder all over again why he’d bothered telling her any of this in the first place. Clearly he wasn’t in the sharing mood, so what was the point?

“Fine.” She undid her seatbelt and opened her door.

“Lock your doors tonight. Don’t leave, you understand?”

It took everything she had not to roll her eyes at his heavy-handed manner. Just when she thought maybe they were progressing to a point that some of the ice was thawing, it would get colder and more bitter than ever.

Flint got out and then stood there, watching him drive off. The day was sunny and bright, but now it felt gray. Trees shook in the stiff breeze—winter wasn’t that far off. She could smell its nip in the air.

A hand draped around her shoulder. “Probably better that way.”

She glanced down at Janet, who was staring at the road as Cain’s taillights disappeared over the horizon. Dressed in a peacock-inspired outfit, she looked just this side of eccentric in a vivid blue jacket with golden epaulets, a pea-green corduroy skirt, and thick brown stockings. Her hair looked like a peacock’s plume the way it spiked behind her head.

Classic Janet, as gorgeous as she was, she could pull off anything. Flint would just look like a brightly painted baboon’s butt in that.

They headed up the gray stairs toward first period. The moment they walked through the doors, it was like homecoming had come and thrown up all over the place. There were banners hanging from the doors, posters on the wall, even stars dangling from the drop-down ceiling.

“What is this?” Flint looked up in disbelief.

Janet pointed. “A night to remember. Oh, how very clever.” She snorted. “I’ve seen better.”

Reminded yet again of her age, Flint’s lips twitched. “I’m sure you have.”

“So, we still on for the shopping trip?”

Flint shrugged on her backpack. “Yeah, unless of course my dad grounds me for life.”

“Why?” Janet’s brown eyes looked huge behind her cat’s-eye glasses.

“Report cards. Tomorrow.” Her stomach churned just thinking about it.

“I’m sure you’ll do fine.” Janet patted her arm.

“No. I won’t. And if he doesn’t ground me, he’ll get all ‘Flint Allison DeLuca, I’m very unhappy with you young lady,’” she said in her deepest voice. She flicked her wrist. “Anyway, at least you’ve already got a date.”

Janet shrugged and then stood stock-still, glancing over her shoulder.

Flint turned and frowned when she saw Abel walk in. Earbuds were in his ears.

A girl bumped into him, someone Flint didn’t recognize. A pretty blonde with too much makeup on. She grabbed his arm, giving it a squeeze before laughing.

For his part, Abel looked totally bored but polite.

She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she figured the girl was flirting by the way she clung to his hand. Flint curled her nose, ready to crack a joke when she noticed something she’d never seen in Janet’s eyes before.

“You like him!”

“Sssh!” Janet hissed, waving her hand in Flint’s face. “Quiet. And I do not.”

Flint glanced back at Abel, who looked desperate to disentangle himself from the blond piranha. “How long? Oh my, wow, Ja,” she squealed. “Does he know yet?”

Janet rolled her eyes and started walking. “I haven’t told him, and you’d better not. It’s weird, okay? It’s just, lately I’ve been… I don’t know.”

“What? Tell me.”

They headed down Flint’s hall, walking slowly.

“It’s just that lately I’ve been smelling something around him. I know that sounds weird, trust me.”

Shocked, Flint turned in front of her. “Wait, you smell him?”

If Janet could blush, she’d probably be doing it now. Her face was deadpan when she said, “I know how stupid that sounds. But it’s a”—she glanced around, then lowered her voice, forcing Flint to bend her head so she could hear the whisper—“monster thing. When we come across a potential match we… smell them,” she finished, mouth thinning out as if waiting for Flint to laugh.

“Does it smell like pine?”

Ja shook her head. “Pine? Why would you—” Now it was her turn for her eyes to widen. “Cain? That’s not possible.” Ja eyed her hard. “Does he know?”

The first warning bell rang.

Janet started to back up. “Lunch, we gotta talk. ’Kay?”

“Sure.” Flint nodded, confused, weirded out, and curious as she entered her class.

Wickham was all business today, barely pausing to glance at her. Thankfully, he didn’t pester her in class either. Which meant she had way too much time to think.

Mostly about Cain and why she could smell him. Even before the bite, she’d been attracted to his scent.

And it was different than the millions of other smells she was bombarded with all day long. Those scents were just… information. His made her want to stay close to him, act crazy and wild and reckless. His scent drove her nuts.

But maybe she only smelled his aftershave?

Did he even wear any?

The bell rang. Gathering up her book, she was headed out the door when Wickham stopped her by gently touching her shoulder.

“Flint, do you have a minute?”

His bespectacled eyes looked huge and owlish today. She hadn’t noticed earlier, but he’d definitely looked better. In fact, it was fair to say he looked downright scruffy today. There was a reddish-orange stain on the lapel of his shirt, and the beginnings of whiskers shaded his smooth jaw.

Kids filed out, barely even pausing to glance back at her.

“I know I’m failing,” she muttered, heart sinking and realizing immediately what it was he wanted to talk about.

His lips were thin as he nodded. “Utterly. I’m thinking maybe it’s time I call your parents in for—”

“It’s just me and my dad.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what’s going on with me.”

When he crossed his arms, she was blasted with the scent of sweet milk. She’d begun to think it had nothing at all to do with Wickham in particular and everything to do with the fact that her school was literally overrun by hive.

The sweet-milk smell made her stomach growl, and she suddenly had a terrible craving for caramel. He lifted a brow.

She shifted on the balls of her feet. If her dad had to come in, that was it. No social life, no nothing. It would be over for her, at least until college. Which, all things considered, should have been the least of her worries. Maybe being locked up wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

Then again…

“Look, I can tell you’re a bright kid. I’ve asked around—you’re not failing any of your other classes. In fact, you’re excelling in most. Which leads me to believe something’s going on here. Namely, Cain.”

Her heart spasmed in her chest. “What? I can hardly stand him and I know he hates me.” Recent events made her question whether that was even true anymore, but it definitely wasn’t any of Wickham’s business.

“So that’s why I saw him drop you off at school today?”

She frowned. This was getting weird. Like Twilight Zone weird. Why was her teacher fishing for deets about her and her love life? More importantly about her and Cain?

It didn’t make sense and made her weird-dar go off. Which was why her words came out a little snappier than she’d intended. “And that’s your business why?”

He narrowed his eyes at her tone. “You’re my business. I didn’t get into teaching just to watch someone with so much potential fail because of a guy. That’s why, Ms. DeLuca.”

Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she counted slowly to ten, wondering if there was a point to this inquisition.

Wickham brushed his fingers through his hair. “Look, that’s not the point of this conversation. My point for asking you to stay was to find out if you’d be interested in extra credit. Right now you’re swinging a solid D plus. If you do this, it’ll bring your grade up to a C minus.”

She licked her lips as new kids started filing in, watching her and Wickham with curious eyes. “What kind of extra credit?”

“You going to Homecoming?”

She shrugged. “I don’t have a date. Not really sure. I was thinking about it though.”

“Good, actually.” His grin was weak with relief. “If you don’t have a date, you won’t be obligated elsewhere. I’m heading the setup and cleanup committee. I’d need you to come and hang decorations three hours prior to the event and then stay afterward to take down. Which of course means no after-party.”

This was both good and bad. Good because her dad would never have to know just how close she’d come to totally blowing her GPA and any hope of getting accepted into a decent college out of the water. Bad because she’d for sure miss the party of the year.

One option sucked a little less.

“Yeah, I’ll do it.”

Pulling a roll of hard caramel candy from his pocket, he popped one in his mouth and grinned. “Good.”

Well that totally explained the smell. Jeez…

The class was almost full at this point, and she knew she was going to miss her next bell. Wickham grabbed a pad and pen off his desk, then started to write something.

“And Ms. DeLuca, a bit of unsolicited advice—stay away from that boy. He’s trouble.” His brown eyes gleamed with a mysterious flicker of something she couldn’t name.

The worst of it was, he really meant it. She heard it in his tone. And that totally pissed her off. It was none of his business.

Spine instantly rigid with disgust and fury, she snatched the tardy slip he handed her and didn’t bother responding.

The bell rang and Wickham was back in teacher mode, calling the class to order as she walked out. Her stomach grumbled as she headed for the nearest candy vendor and bought a roll of hard caramel candy.

Lunch couldn’t come soon enough.

Chapter Twenty-Five

“Hey.” Flint dropped down into her seat, casting a quick glance at the table behind them. The twins were there.

Seth waved hi. Or maybe it was Eli.

She still couldn’t tell them apart.

And why weren’t they with Cain? She thought they always went hunting together?

“Hey.” Abel sounded glum as he took a bite of his ham sandwich.

Flint looked at Janet, who was staring down at her pudding cup. Rhiannon was giving Flint big eyes, as if to say “what the…?”

All she could do was shake her head and shrug.

Flint unrolled the first of her three tacos and said, “How’s the wrestling-stud quest going, Rhi?”

Rhiannon growled, tossing her carrot sticks onto the tray. “Awful. Tara Dean,” she said, drawing out the name, “already asked him and he said yes. The moron.”

Janet laughed. “Though in his defense, he totally looked desperate to make the switch. Did you see how big his eyes got? And then when he looked at Tara—oh man, it was pathetic.”

Her friend was sounding like her chirpy self again, and Flint grinned.

“Well, his loss. I asked Joe.”

Abel screwed his face up. “Who?”

“You know, gap-tooth Joe.” Rhiannon tapped her front tooth.

“Oh, you mean John,” Janet said. “Gap-tooth John. Joe has the scar.”

“Whatever.” Rhiannon shrugged, looking completely bored. “I almost don’t want to go anymore.”

“ Nuh-uh.” Flint shook her head. “Homecoming was your idea. I don’t even have a date and I’m going because of you. You can’t bail now. Plus—”

Abel’s head shot up and he cut her off just as she was about to whine about Wickham’s extra-credit assignment. “Cain didn’t ask you?”

Flint gave him a get-real look. “Why in the world would you think he’d ask me?”

Eyes as big as saucers, Abel shook his head. “Why not? Because he’s only been acting crazy around you lately. Suddenly wanting to hang out with you… I just thought,” he muttered.

Flint pursed her lips when Ja dropped her head, staring down at the sandwich in her hands.

Abel checked his watch. “I gotta bail. Promised to help my friend before class.”

“Mmhhmm…” Rhiannon twisted her lips. “Help. Don’t think I haven’t seen you passing Monique your homework assignment before class so she can copy.”

Standing, Abel ignored her and instead asked Flint, “You stopping by the circus tonight?”

“No. Dad’s home for the night. One of his rare nights off. I think we’re doing the whole domestic family thing.”

“Oh, okay then.” He turned to go.

“Bye!” Janet chirped at his back.

He just waved and sauntered off.

“Bye,” Janet mimicked herself in a high-pitched falsetto. “Epic fail.”

Rhiannon just patted her shoulder, a shared look passing between the two girls before Rhi got up and nodded, then left as well.

“Okay, talk.” Flint unwrapped her second taco and took a huge greasy bite of it, nearly sighing with relief as the food hit her belly.

Janet’s shoulders slumped. “About this morning?”

“Of course.”

Glancing over her shoulder, Ja dropped her head and whispered. “Look, I’ve been thinking about what you told me this morning. How you smell Cain.”

Stomach dropping to her knees, Flint paused with the food at her lips. “Yeah.”

“That’s totally not normal, Flint. Not to say that it’s forbidden for a monster and a human to you know, hook up. Obviously. But I would really advise you to stay away from him. Just in case.”

That was so not what Flint had been waiting all morning to hear. She’d wanted to know about the secrets of monster mating and if there was a possibility that it wasn’t… well, monsterly. All she kept thinking about now was kissing Cain, and then everything pretty much went blank from there. Though her visions usually involved some brimstone, fire, and the pits of hell. Which was the world’s biggest buzzkill.

“Why does everyone keep telling me that?” she ground out. “Look, I’m not trying to make vampy babies with him, so what’s the big deal? Besides, Layla’s as human as I am.”

Janet frowned and then waved her hand, as if waving away her words. “He can’t make vampy babies with you, and I don’t think you understand what exactly you’re getting yourself into. Adam had to go before the Order to claim her as his… think of it as a ‘get out of jail free card,’” she said, finger quoting.

“And that means?”

“Meaning that the Order gave her a stay of execution because Adam claimed her as his. That also means if she ever steps out of line, he has to kill her.”

Flint grimaced.

“Exactly,” Janet whispered, “and only God knows why, but she loves him. She understood and lives by the rules, can you do the same?” Ja’s grip was strong and firm when she clasped Flint’s wrist. She sighed. “You know too much, Flint. You can’t tell anyone. You do, and we can’t protect you anymore. Only Cain can, and I’m not sure he’s going to claim you.”

She wasn’t even eighteen. Flint didn’t want to be claimed and didn’t much care for the term. But she also finally understood why Ja was always warning her off.

“I swear I won’t tell. I’m not getting myself into anything. Look, we barely say two words to each other, and even when we do it usually devolves into fighting anyway. I’m just curious.” Nibbling on the corner of her lip, she kept telling herself to shut up, to stop talking, but there was nobody she could talk to about him. No one that knew the whole truth anyway.

“It’s just, I can’t stop thinking about him. I don’t want to. Half the time he’s a huge jerk, but then he saves me from a tornado and takes me to his bunker.” She smiled, remembering. “And he holds my hand…” The tips of her fingers tingled. “And he sniffs my hair, which should probably be creepy, but it’s not, and he…”

Suddenly realizing that she was gushing like an idiot, she clamped her mouth shut only to notice Janet gazing at her with a horrified expression in her dark brown eyes.

Dropping her brows, Flint yanked her wrist out of Janet’s grasp. “What?” she hissed.

Janet’s lashes fluttered as she patted her hair back into place. “He’s doing that? He knows better. Adam will kill him. He shouldn’t be doing that with you, Flint.”

“So it’s okay for Adam, but not for Cain. That’s not…”

Janet shushed her with a flick of her wrist. “You have no idea how hard it’s been on Adam. I may not always understand him, or sometimes even like him, but what he did to her… it almost broke him. He loves Layla, but he loves his sons too and doesn’t want the same thing for them.”

It hurt like a mother to hear her friend say that. Looking at Janet, it was easy to forget that beneath the teenage exterior, she was actually a ghost/spirit/thing, that her allegiance most definitely didn’t lay with Flint. Why should it? The circus was her family, she was just like them. Not a human at all.

“No. No.” Janet shook her head, black bangs swishing like a blade across her forehead. “I see where your mind is going. Stop right now. I’m not saying that because I think he’s too good for you, or whatever you’re thinking.”

“I wasn’t thinking that,” Flint muttered angrily, because she’d been thinking that exactly.

Janet just gave her a droll look. “I know humans, okay. Don’t insult my intelligence by telling me that wasn’t what you were thinking. Fact is, you’re too good for him.”

“Yeah.” Flint snorted.

“I’m serious.”

Two chairs were suddenly pulled out. One beside Flint, the other beside Janet. The twins sat down.

“Seth?” Flint looked at the blond next to her.

He grinned. “I’m Eli.”

She rolled her eyes.

“I’m sure you guys heard, right?” Janet glanced at both of them. “Help me out. Tell Flint that it’s not about her.”

Seth nodded, his blond hair slipping into his silver-gray eyes. He brushed it aside. “She’s right. He shouldn’t do that.”

There wasn’t much that could make her choose to stop eating nowadays, but this was one of the few things that stole her appetite. Flint dropped the half-eaten taco onto the tray.

Eli shook his head. “Cain’s not an idiot. He knows the rules. Heck, he made them.”

That was new. “Why?”

The twins blew out identical breaths, studied each other with a grim twist of their lips, and then Seth gestured for Eli to continue.

“Because in a lot of ways a berserker”—he tapped his chest—“is infinitely more dangerous than any other breed of monster out there.”

Heart thundering in her ears, Flint wasn’t sure she was ready to hear this. To hear that her fears were justified. That there would be fire and brimstone and maggots flopping out of eyeballs.

Okay, that last part was gross… but what exactly did happen when you kissed a monster? Did they turn into the stuff of nightmares? She had no idea.

“Why?” she asked with a tongue that felt suddenly swollen.

“Because.” Seth sighed. “Once the rage grips us, it’s like a boiling pot of water spilling out of control. We can’t control it at that stage. Eli and I”—he pointed at his brother—“we’ve got a connection, we feed off each other. When I’m weak, he’s strong and vice versa. Cain doesn’t have that. When he’s weak we either have to beat the piss out of him to wake him up, or he goes on a rampage and he can’t remember anything until he snaps out of it.”

She swallowed hard. “What triggers it?”

Seth drummed his fingers on the tabletop.

Eli picked up where he left off. “Strong emotion. Good, bad, and ugly.”

Janet chimed in. “All monsters go crazy. You’ve seen Layla, right?”

Flint’s jaw came unhinged and Seth placed his finger over his lips, as if sensing she might speak too loud and draw attention.

“Adam did that?” she hissed.

All three heads nodded slowly.

“Yeah,” Seth said, “except ragers get crazier.”

“Fact is,” Eli interjected, “you draw him. We see it. We all see it. We don’t know why, but…”

“You should stay away from him,” Janet finished. “We can still stay friends, you can graduate, go to college… nothing has to change. Just… don’t do anything to get in trouble. Be his friend, flirt if you must, but stop the rest, Flint. It’s too dangerous.”

Heartsick, Flint whispered, “Stay away from him.”

Janet glanced at her watch. “I’ve got class. Look, we need to talk about this more. I don’t want you to feel like we’re bullying you, we’re not. We’re saying this because we like you.”

The twins nodded.

“But our world is dark and I’d hate to see you become like so many of us.”

“How’s that?” Flint asked.

Standing, Janet grabbed her trash. “Jaded.”

Flint looked at the guys after Janet left. Eli picked at a rough edge of the table; Seth chewed on the wooden tip of a toothpick.

“You guys did that to him this morning, didn’t you?”

Neither one spoke, but neither tried to deny it.

She tapped her finger on her lap. “Have you guys found them”—she shot her eyes toward the empty table where the hive used to sit—“yet?”

Both sets of lips turned into fierce snarls, and for the first time, Flint could finally see just how similar to Cain these two really were.

“No,” they said.

She wasn’t sure why she was trying to help. Why she was even going to tell them this. After all the talk of stay away from Cain, they probably wouldn’t want her help. But if she told them, and they could find the hive, then the threat to her would finally be done.

“I smell them.”

Seth sat up, eyes narrowed, irises growing large. “We know.”

Eli had gone absolutely still beside her.

“I’ve told Cain before… you what? You know?”

Eli sighed. “He told us already.”

“I can help. You can use me to track down their lair, or whatever. If you can fix a place where you think they might be, I can sniff them out. This could work.”

Already Seth was shaking his head. “No way.”

“Why not?” Her lips screwed into a tight frown.

Eli rolled his eyes. “You’re not one of us. Have you forgotten what that she-devil did to you?”

Glancing over her shoulder, aware of several pairs of eyes staring at them, Flint lowered her voice and hissed, “Of course not. I’m not trying to fight. I want no part of that. All I’m saying is maybe I can help.”

Both twins narrowed their eyes into razor-thin lines.

“This doesn’t concern you,” Eli said.

Clenching her jaw, pissed beyond reason, Flint forced herself to count silently to three before answering. “You can fight them, so you don’t fear them. I couldn’t defend myself against that thing, and for whatever reason it’s after me. Of course it concerns me. It wants me.”

Seth spit out his toothpick. “You’re just a pawn, Flint. If they’d really wanted you, we’d know.”

“Then what do they want?”

Seth shrugged and Eli ruffled the tips of his blond hair with his blunt fingers. But neither answered her question.

“Fine.” She stood, grabbing her tray. “Whatever.”

She didn’t say good-bye. She didn’t trust herself to be nice at the moment. What she really wanted to do was cuss them out until their ears bled, but the truth of it was… deep down in that secret part of her, the mature and grown-up side of Flint, she knew they were right.

Last thing she wanted was to become like some stupid character in a novel who runs headlong into danger. After dumping her garbage, she shoved her hands into her pockets and walked to art class. She might be able to run faster, jump higher, and swing like a monkey now, but she couldn’t fight hand to hand. She’d be no match for the hive, and trying to get involved in their world was beyond stupid.

It was times like this that she really missed her mom. She sighed. But it wouldn’t have really mattered anyway. Not like she could have told her the truth.

The rest of the day faded in a blur, and before long the final bell rang. One thought became painfully clear after she got over the hurt. Her friends were right. Her and Cain, it couldn’t happen.

Ever.

Flint was at her locker, shoving the last book into her bag when she felt a shoulder-bump from behind. Smiling, she turned. “What, Abel?”

But it wasn’t Abel.

It was Cain.

He had his head low and his eyes shaded with his dark glasses. And jeez, he smelled so good. Like the outdoors mixed with a scent all his own, one that burned like fire through her blood and made her body hum and buzz with excitement. Her stomach tripped at the sight of his hard jaw and the light stubble on his chin.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I’m taking you home.”

His deep voice shivered across her flesh like a slow tide crawling up the beach.

Swallowing hard, feeling like her tongue had swollen to twice its normal size, she noticed kids staring at them. There was curiosity written in their gazes, questions in their eyes… the girls especially seemed to seethe with jealousy.

Cain didn’t do this.

“You shouldn’t have come back,” she said and slammed her locker shut.

He gave her that grin that made her body a traitor to her mind. It wasn’t fair how he did that to her. Played her like a cheap fiddle.

“You know the rules, princess. Never alone.”

Cain was standing too close. It was making her pulse flutter like that of a cornered rabbit. He was big and powerful and so imposing, and it made her feel small and vulnerable and oddly safe. She clenched her fingers on the book-bag strap and hiked it over her shoulder. She didn’t want him to make her feel safe. No one person should have that effect on her. Especially not him.

“I’m sure Eli and Seth…”

He growled. Like full-on throaty growled. Which was so odd, and hot. Mostly hot. And that was infuriating. She hated that he cast such a spell on her. Cain was dangerous. He’d killed that woman.

Flint hadn’t exactly seen the fight, but she’d seen the evidence of it, the splatter of guts and gore on her face and clothes. She was human. He wasn’t.

She had to stay away.

But then his knuckles brushed her cheek. Softly. Tenderly. A featherlight whisper of words left unspoken, and her lashes fanned closed and it was hard to catch a breath.

His lips were by her ear as he whispered, “Don’t even think it.”

Then his touch was gone and she could breathe again. Her eyes snapped open and fire rushed to her cheeks. The halls were mostly clear now, except for a few stragglers, and they were definitely staring in openmouthed shock.

As if the world had ended.

And maybe it had, because Cain had just touched her. Almost branded her. Out in public, where the whole world could see. He’d leaned in, and they didn’t know his words had come out more of a threat than an endearment. To them, Flint DeLuca had somehow tamed the beast.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His lips twitched. “Come with me.”

“No.” She stiffened her spine.

She wouldn’t be a silly girl. Not her. No way. Flint was tough and smart. Smart enough to know Janet and the surfer twins were right—she needed to stay away.

“The buses have already left, princess. You’re out of options.”

She rolled her eyes. “Then I’ll walk.”

“No. Way.” The mint of his breath tickled her lips as he thrust his face close to hers again. She inhaled greedily, wishing it was a kiss.

His lips curled, exposing his canines. They weren’t sharp and pointed like she almost expected them to be. It would be so much easier to believe that he was some sort of vampire enthralling her to feel these things. Light-headed and dizzy, clueless and hopeless, desperate longing so sharp it cut like a knife through her heart… but no, what she felt was impossibly human.

Flint was attracted to the forbidden.

And Cain was the fruit she shouldn’t eat but desperately wanted.

“I don’t understand you,” she finally admitted.

And his grin was as cocky as she’d ever seen it. Shoving his hands into his jean pockets, he jerked his chin toward the door as if to say “after you.”

Rolling her eyes, she walked out. They didn’t talk the entire way to the car. He’d parked way in the back of the lot. The sky was gray, but no clouds. He clicked the doors unlocked, and she rushed to her side, opening the door a split second before he could do it for her.

They were not dating. She wouldn’t pretend they were. Flint raised her brows at him, a silent challenge for him to back off.

Cain held his hands palm out. “You don’t want me to open the door, I won’t.”

She slipped inside and tossed her book bag in the backseat, then pinched the bridge of her nose. Why was he acting like this today? Especially when she’d finally decided to let the idea of “them” go.

As he started the car, she felt his stare on her.

“What?” she growled, refusing to open her eyes.

The car pulled smoothly out of the lot. “What did you do today?”

Cracking open one eye, attempting to ignore the building throb inside her temple, she threw the question back at him. “What did you do? Kill lots of bugs?”

He snorted. “That’s cute.”

Cain seemed relaxed. His shoulders were loose, his smile easy.

“You’re acting really weird,” Flint said and looked at him full-on.

He slipped off his glasses. The bruising under his eyes that’d been so visible this morning was now a pale yellowish green. He was almost fully healed. The swollen and cracked lips were gone too.

Blue eyes pierced through her. “Why? Because I want to know what you did today?”

Screwing her face up, she gave him a wide-eyed look. “Seriously, Cain? What are we doing? I’d swear if I didn’t know better that you’re flirting with me. Which is impossible, because it’s you and you don’t flirt, you growl.” She made gravelly noises in the back of her throat.

He laughed.

Full-on belly laughed, and it was one of the nicest sounds she’d ever heard.

No, nice was the wrong word. It excited her, made her body ache in weird and disconcerting ways. She hugged her arms to her waist.

“I don’t sound like that,” he teased her, and his eyes sparkled.

“Yeah.” She nodded. “You do. You go all Animal on me. I swear if I put some drums in front of you you’d probably go ballistic.”

“Animal?”

“The Muppets?”

He shrugged. “Never heard of them.”

“Really? How sad.” Her voice dripped scorn.

He licked his front teeth and her chest warmed. “And what if I was?”

She frowned. “Not following.”

Shifting gears, Cain kicked the car up from fifty to over eighty miles per hour. Trees rushed past in a blur.

“Flirting with you.” He looked at her and she waited for the smile, the mocking grin, but it never came.

Time froze. Not literally. But one of those strange moments in her life when she knew something momentous had just happened and her brain couldn’t quite process it just yet. Instead it focused on the mundane, making her hyperaware of the cold blast of air running through the car, the gentle glide of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed, and the way he almost seemed to hold his breath as he waited for her answer.

But then the moment shattered when a second later he grinned. “Yeah, I thought so.”

She blinked, not really sure if she’d just imagined that heated look in his eyes and the way his knuckles had gripped the wheel so tightly they’d whitened.

“So what did you do today?” he asked again and she could have kissed him, grateful beyond reason that he’d switched the subject.

Because for a split second she’d almost felt on the verge of tears.

Why?

She had no idea.

Flint cleared her throat, trying to remember to act normal. “Umm… Wickham asked me to help set up and take down the dance. Apparently I’m failing his class and this extra credit will give me the C I need to pass.”

His lips pursed but he didn’t say anything.

“I ate ten candy bars and a few more at lunch.” She groaned, patting her belly.

Cain chuckled under his breath.

“And oh yeah”—your friends told me to stay away from you—“I made out with the cute guy in gym class. You know, hot Joe.”

Why had she said that?

His nostrils flared as he worked his jaw from side to side. Red began to bleed through the blues of his eyes.

“Who is he?” There was no growl in the question, but ice so sharp it quickened through the air like a sharp blade.

She shook her head, instantly feeling like she needed to defuse the situation. “I’m sorry, Cain. It was a joke. I was kidding. There’s no Joe.”

There was, actually. And yes, the girls in her class called him hot Joe because well, he was hot. Tall, with thick brown hair that reached his collar and a smile that might have made her melt into a pile of goo had she never met Cain.

And yes, they’d actually bumped against each other today, but not because Joe had tried to make out with her. She’d been playing badminton and he’d been playing basketball, the ball had flown into her court, and he’d accidentally run into her, throwing her to the ground with him on top. There’d been lots of catcalls and whoops.

But for Joe’s health and safety, she thought it might be better if Cain never really knew the truth.

He blinked a couple of times, and Flint bit her bottom lip as she noticed his biceps start to twitch. The red in his eyes was growing bigger. He wasn’t talking anymore, and she didn’t know what to do.

“Cain?” she whispered.

Turning the wheel sharply, Cain pulled off to the side of the road and parked. His fingers curled and uncurled around the wheel, he was breathing harder, and his arm muscles looked like they were starting to swell.

So easy to forget who he was sometimes. When he was laughing and teasing her, he didn’t seem anything other than human.

Fear slithered through her soul, gripped her spine with its lecherous claws, and made her want to rip the door open and bolt as fast and far away as she could.

Not believing she was doing what she was doing, she unclicked her seatbelt and gently gripped his warm upper arm.

He sucked in a sharp breath.

“Cain,” she whispered. “It was just a joke. I’m sorry.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, his entire body starting to shake.

The tension in the small car ratcheted up, making her pulse quicken so much she could taste the burn of adrenaline on her tongue. Sweat slid down her neck, but even though the fear was thick… his scent still called to her. Reached deep inside her soul and beckoned for her to do something.

Flint stared out the window, worrying her bottom lip. He could kill her. He was a killer. A terrifying monster, worse than the bug who’d put her in the hospital.

Crawling over the narrow space between them, she eased her way onto his lap. His thighs were hard as steel, the vibrations of him rattled her teeth. His eyes were clenched shut, his jaw no longer moved, but his throat worked up and down and it was obvious to her he was trying desperately to control the demon inside.

The wheel bit into her hip painfully, but she didn’t care. Flint grabbed his face.

“Open your eyes, Cain,” she murmured softly.

He didn’t do it.

“Open them,” she ordered again.

He blinked them open and they were a bloody, fiery red. The irises glowed as if lit from within; the pupils were nothing but a narrow pinprick of inky darkness.

She should be scared. Running for her life. Any sane person would.

But maybe Flint wasn’t so sane after all.

Maybe she really was the girl in the horror movie, because Cain was as dangerous as they came.

“You’re so beautiful.” She finally admitted it to him.

Something seemed to flit through his gaze, and she knew he’d heard her.

She nodded, refusing to deny the obvious. Refusing to take her words back. She’d laid them out there. For better or worse, he knew how she really felt. Flint had never seen anyone as gorgeous as Cain.

She touched the corner of his eye, searching him. “I’m here. Do you see me?”

His jaw moved, but no words came out. Then hard fingers clamped into her waist. It hurt. Bad. But she sensed that he barely had a leash on his sanity and wouldn’t move until she was sure it was safe to do so.

He nodded slowly.

She smiled.

So quick she didn’t know what was happening, Cain pulled her tight to his chest. His hands framed her back and he held on to her like a man adrift in a violent sea, looking for shelter. She was going to bruise tomorrow. But she didn’t care.

Nothing had ever felt so good. So right.

His body shook and weird noises spilled from his lips as he frantically rubbed her back up and down. There was nothing sexual about it, she wasn’t even sure if he was aware it was her, but whatever he was doing, it was definitely soothing him, because gradually she became mindful that his muscles were returning to normal and his breathing had become more even.

With one final exhale, he relaxed fully against her.

Feeling confident that she could finally move, she pulled back a little. His eyes were the blue of a spring sky.

“Flint,” he whispered in a broken voice and then with a loud moan pulled her face to his, and even though she closed her eyes, her world exploded with color.

The touch of his lips was red. His breath was blue. The sweep of his tongue was a vivid purple. A miasma of chaotic liquid color, it moved like molten lava. She melted into his touch, his kiss, digging her fingers into his shirt and bunching it in her fists.

His hands swept lower until they braced her back, right above the start of her hips. His whiskers rubbed her smooth skin, the abrasion rough but pleasant. And his smell.

It saturated her senses. Coated the inside of her nose, her mouth.

Fire and flame and the woods.

Madness and magic lay on his tongue.

Again and again he kissed her, his tongue and her tongue moving as one. All the words they’d not spoken, all the thoughts they’d not shared… they shared in that moment.

Reality intruded much too soon, and when he pulled back, they were both panting. He rested his forehead on hers, his hands back framing the sides of her face.

“You said my name,” she whispered.

His eyes searched hers with a look so deep she couldn’t fathom its meaning, but she felt it quicken through every inch of her. “I’ve always known your name, Flint DeLuca.”

And then he was kissing her again.

Chapter Twenty-Six

They stared at each other for the longest time, knowing things had changed but not knowing how. Cain looked less frantic now.

His hair was mussed, and her lips tipped up because she’d done it. She’d woven her fingers through his silky locks and maybe even tugged a time or two. But his kiss had made her turn into someone else. Someone who existed solely on taste and touch, like an exposed nerve, with no thought to right or wrong or today or tomorrow. Only now.

She curled her fingers into a fist, imagining she could still feel him.

He stared out the window. “Do you need to run?”

Run?

She felt like she needed to fly.

Flint stared at the dashboard. Her father would be waiting and wondering. Katy was probably already there. “I’ve got to get home. I’m already half an hour late.”

Cain tugged on the tips of her hair. “Tell him you were studying.”

She gave him a cross-eyed look.

He grinned. “I’m not ready to let you go yet.”

Pitter-patter. Skip.

The sound of her beating heart.

“Studying?” she asked him.

He nodded. “Studying.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. One more hour.”

A thrill of adrenaline shot through her veins like acid. Flint opened the door and ran toward the trees, not turning to see if he followed. She heard the sound of his muffled footsteps behind her.

Joy gave her wings. The ground opened up beneath her feet as she dug her feet into the dirt, her long-legged stride tearing across the distance. Her entire body tingled and she gave a jubilant cry as she raced toward the tallest, fattest tree and then like a squirrel scampered up the trunk, grabbing hold of the lowest limb before climbing from one to the other until she was scaling the heavens, fifty feet off the ground.

Up in the trees, there were no thoughts. No embarrassment. No questions. It was just her, breathing the air, tipping her face up toward the sky, tasting the first faint hint of water on the breeze. She was alive and she’d been kissed.

Flint wasn’t sure what it meant, but she knew she’d never be able to forget it.

His touch.

His smell.

His skin and lips.

Laughing, breathless, she hugged the tree and then leaned against it as the sweat trickled down her brow.

Scanning around, she finally saw him. He was grinning, leaning against the trunk of the tree opposite hers, staring up with his blue, blue eyes. And suddenly she didn’t want to be so far away.

In no time she scrambled back down, as limber and nimble as a monkey. His hands were in his pockets, his gray shirt hugging his muscular frame in a way that made her almost envious.

Realizing how silly she must have looked, she gave him an embarrassed grin. “Hey.”

Smoothest. Line. Ever.

He snorted and she blushed.

Biting the inside of her cheek, she rocked back on her heels. What now? How were they supposed to act?

“Do you have any more side effects from the bite?” he asked.

It wouldn’t be a stretch to say her heart dropped. Stupid, but she’d hoped he’d rush up and grab her again. Kiss her. Make her forget everything but them.

She shook her head. “You mean besides my mad monkey skills?”

Laughing, he nodded. “Do you want blood? To bite?”

I want to bite you.

Would it be bad if she said that out loud? Probably. She shook her head. “That’s gross. I want candy. Sugar. Food.”

Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a small baggie and tossed it at her. Snatching it out of the air, she frowned as she glanced down at it. It wasn’t Valentine’s Day, but somehow he’d managed to find a bag of heart-shaped candies.

Fighting the grin, she tore it open and pulled one out. “I love you,” she said and glanced at him, holding up the candy for his inspection.

For a second, he stood completely still, like a statue. But it didn’t last. “That’s what they all say, princess.” His insolent tone and swagger were back.

Narrowing her eyes, she snarled and then chomped down on it. “Whatever.”

Glancing at his watch, he jerked his head toward the direction of the car. “We’re about a mile away from the car, probably should head back if you want to get home in time.”

Had she really run that far?

Neither of them spoke, but they kept doing the awkward glancing dance. One would look up, then down, and the other would look up, then down.

And when they got in the car, it was even worse for Flint. She couldn’t stop looking at his lap, at the wheel, and remembering what they’d done.

What she’d done.

What she still wanted to do.

Taking the corner of her lip between her teeth, Flint turned to stare out the window. The air was charged, sort of like it sometimes felt after a heavy lightning storm. And it wasn’t just her; she felt Cain’s eyes like a brand and heard the constant tapping of his fingers against the steering wheel.

The scenery gradually became more and more familiar until she finally spied her apartment. Katy was already there, her black car parked in its customary spot. Her heart sank.

Cain pulled into the slot next to Katy’s and parked. Finally Flint looked at him—his jaw was clenched and the muscle flexing sharply.

Frowning, she grabbed her book bag. What should she say? Thanks. Bye. See you later. But it all felt lame and standoffish; then again, maybe that’s what he wanted. Hating the uncertainty, she huffed.

“What’s going on here?” Her words came out soft.

With a last heavy sigh, he looked at her, and within the depths of his deep blue eyes, she saw something that looked suspiciously like tenderness. Which of course only made her heart act all sorts of crazy and girly and perfect.

“I should stay away,” he said, but his actions didn’t match his words as he reached out and gently wound a strand of her hair around his finger. “Being with me, around me, it’s dangerous for you. I can’t always control myself.”

She grabbed his hand, threading her fingers through his and squeezing. “You did fine earlier.”

He shook his head. “This time. I was close, Flint.”

“To what?”

“When a berserker flips, we can’t see things right. We don’t feel anything but the hunger to hurt.” Squeezing his eyes shut, he licked his front teeth. “Why do you think my mom looks like she does?”

“Adam.”

Nodding, he opened his eyes. “He poured a gallon of acid on her once. He was lost in one of his rages. I know he loves her, and he didn’t mean it. But it happened. You should leave, princess. And don’t look back.”

Maybe he was right, but she didn’t believe it. Cain was stronger than he thought himself. She didn’t know why Adam had done that to Layla, but she wasn’t Cain’s mom. Flint could climb like a monkey, run like a gazelle. If she had to run away, she was sure she could.

But honestly, she wasn’t sure it would ever come to that. Not that she had any basis for her theory, more a gut feeling.

“I should do a lot of things,” she whispered. “But usually I don’t.”

His lips twitched and she reached out her finger to touch the corner of his mouth. He stilled, closing his eyes, and inhaled. “I’ve tried so hard to stay away,” he admitted so quietly she wasn’t sure he’d meant to say it aloud.

A sharp rap on the door startled them, and for a second Flint felt Cain’s arm twitch, the muscles flex. She patted his bare arm absently as Cain rolled down the window to reveal her father with his eyebrows raised and glaring daggers at them.

“Cain,” he said with a no-nonsense voice that meant she was in serious trouble.

There went her “I was studying” excuse. He’d never believe her now.

Then he turned his frosty eyes on her. “Flint, we’ll talk later. Get in the house, young lady.”

Wincing, humiliated…. she turned to Cain and gave him a tight smile. “Gotta bail. See you tomorrow?”

Nodding, he looked back at her father. “We were just studying, didn’t realize how much time had passed.”

Her dad wasn’t buying it. His arms were crossed over his robust chest and his lips were pursed as he said, “I’m sure.”

Figuring it would be best to absent herself as quickly as possible, Flint got out of the car and marched upstairs without looking back, emotions a wild mess because she knew that thanks to her father’s timing, he’d ruined what would have been the perfect kiss.

Then she felt his angry presence behind her. “Young lady, I’m disappointed in you. You knew we had company.”

“Dad, I—” She turned to him, catching a brief glimpse of Cain disappearing down the road.

“Not right now.” He hushed her with a flick of his wrist, “I’m so angry I could spit and would probably say something I’d regret later. You get your butt in that house, wash up, and be nice!” He snarled the last, then without another word marched past her and into the apartment.

~*~

Katy’s eyes were pinned to Flint’s face, enough so that it made her squirm in her seat as she twirled the pasta around her fork.

Bright red lips curled into a feminine pout. “How’s school, Flint?” Katy asked.

Like she cared.

It was insane that she got so angry, but Flint couldn’t deny the irritating buzz churning through her gut whenever Katy tried to act all domestic. This wasn’t her home and she wasn’t Katy’s daughter.

Her father sighed, setting his fork down.

Giving a tight smile, Flint nodded. “Fine.”

“Flint.” Her father’s voice was rough with annoyance.

Katy placed a hand on his arm and patted it gently. “It’s okay, Frank.”

Remembering that she was skating a fine line with him at the moment, Flint put on a brave face. She loved her father, she really did. Looking Katy square in the face, she nodded. “Doing okay, but it could be better.”

“Yeah.” Katy twirled a long length of pasta around her fork. “How so?”

Frank relaxed infinitesimally. If this made him happy, then Flint was happy to dance.

“Mr. Wickham, my chem teacher, says I need to boost my grade a little.”

Her dad narrowed his eyes and she gave him a small smile, one that she hoped said “it’s not that bad, really” instead of “I’m failing miserably.” He eyed Flint for a second longer before returning to the task of eating.

Stomach a mess of nerves, Flint exhaled. “So he’s asked me to help with the setup and takedown for homecoming.”

Katy’s head was cocked, and Flint finally noticed that her smile was no longer open and engaging, but tight and serious. “Mr. Wickham? Interesting last name.”

Frank looked at Katy. “You know him?” he asked, the fork dangling loosely in his hand.

She shrugged and fluffed her brown curls. “Maybe.” She turned to Flint. “Does he wear glasses and have a youngish face?”

Flint nodded, wondering at Katy’s sudden interest. “Yeah.”

“Hmm.” Katy took a sip of wine. Then her entire demeanor changed again and her smile was screwed back into place. “Think he might be the guy that works the coffee shop where I live on the weekends. Like I said, interesting last name.”

That was weird. Flint returned back to her plate, wondering why it felt like Katy had just thrown out a convenient excuse. Her dad must have been thinking the same because he’d stopped eating (which for him to stop eating a plate of pasta with red sauce was tantamount to aliens landing and saying “take me to your leader”—it just didn’t happen) and was looking at Katy with a question burning in his eyes.

“So,” Katy said, “homecoming, that’s exciting. Got a date?”

Frank scratched his head. “A date. No, not Flinty. Right, wait…” His face scrunched up. “Do you?”

Seeing her father’s reaction made Flint’s lips twitch. He could be so adorably clueless sometimes. In his head, he probably still pictured her as the girl in pigtails who liked to make mud pies in the backyard and pick up frogs.

“Actually, no.” Stabbing at her noodles, Flint tried to ignore the sick twist in her heart. Cain probably wasn’t going to ask her. She was pretty sure if he’d meant to, he would have by now.

“Good.”

Flint stared at Katy’s raised brows.

“Because then you’ll have more fun. No drama wondering if he likes you, or what he expects afterward…”

Frank cleared his throat.

Katy laughed. “Anyway.” She waved her hand. “I was so sure Cain was going to ask you. I see how that boy looks at you.”

Heat crept hot fingers up her neck. Bringing up Cain was not a good idea right now.

And sure enough, her father glowered, his face going as crimson as hers felt. “That boy better not even try.”

“Dad!” Flint cried. “You don’t even know him.”

“I know enough.” He set his fork down, pushing half his plate away.

Throwing an accusing glance at Katy, Flint locked her jaw. Katy refused to look up, still eating her noodles as if nothing had happened.

She’d done it on purpose. Somehow, Flint knew that.

“What if he asks me?”

“Then you say no.” Frank lifted his brow.

“Daddy, please. You’re being unreasonable. You don’t even—”

“Know him?” He cocked his head, finishing her sentence. “I don’t need to—I know all about boys like that. He asks, you say no. End of discussion.” He sliced his hand through the air.

Full-on glowering now, Flint tossed her napkin on the table.

“So where are you going to get a dress?” Katy asked, glancing between a father and daughter’s frosty stare-down.

Her anger so hot it burned her gut, Flint turned to stare at her. “Don’t know,” she managed through clenched teeth.

“You got money?” her dad asked as he reached into his back pocket.

What the heck? Okay, bad enough that Katy felt the need to insert herself into Flint’s private life. If her father wanted to be with Katy, not like she’d stop him, but for Katy to think she could do what she just did and then things go back to chummy… and not only that, but her dad suddenly acting as if he hadn’t just turned all dictator on her, was just flat-out nuts.

Something really weird was happening, and Flint didn’t like it at all.

“No,” she grumbled.

Her dad tossed her two one-hundred-dollar bills. “Let me know if you need more. When you going shopping, by the way?”

Flint eyed the cash lying crinkled in the center of the table. “Ja and Rhi are taking me to the mall soon.”

He nodded. “Baby,” he said more softly, “I hope you understand. I do love you. I just don’t care for that boy. Something’s not right with him.”

Snatching the cash before he could change his mind, Flint shoved it into her pocket. “Okay.”

He lifted his brows at her wooden response. It was either that or act like a royal witch, and she loved her dad enough to try to keep her temper curbed. But it was taking every ounce of inner strength she had not to hiss and rant and rave like an idiot, or an adolescent teenager in her case.

Staring blankly at her plate, Flint tried to ignore them the rest of the dinner.

But toward the end, she couldn’t take any more walks down memory lane as Katy told yet another prom horror story.

Dad was laughing, drinking the last of his second glass of red wine, and Flint finally reached her threshold. Plastering on a fake smile, she said, “It was really great catching up with you again, Katy.”

Her father’s eyes narrowed to tiny slits.

“But I have a lot of homework today.” And that was true. She was way behind on papers and assignments.

Running his fingers through his hair, her dad nodded. A few strands in the front poked up at odd angles, and Katy smoothed them down. Jerking to her feet, Flint grabbed her book bag. The whole thing made her sick.

She hated Katy. Flint wasn’t even really sure why. On the surface, Katy was pretty perfect. A great flier, a lifelong circus performer… she understood the life, and there couldn’t be anyone better for her dad at this point.

But that was the problem. Everything about her was too perfect. Like an actor, polished but fake.

Shoving all that to the back of her mind, Flint did something she hadn’t done in weeks. Studied. Really studied. She was halfway through her last paper when there was a gentle tap on the door.

“Come in,” she called, never glancing up. “Hey Dad, almost done. Sorry about—”

“Actually, Flint…” Katy’s voice made her snap her head up. “It’s me.”

Rolling her eyes, Flint dropped her pencil.

Katy frowned. “Look, sorry about what happened back there. I didn’t expect Frank to go all ballistic the way he did.”

“Didn’t you?” she snarled, grateful Katy had shut the door behind her. “Because it sure seemed like you did. You must have known he caught us out in the parking lot.”

Katy shrugged. “I really didn’t. I felt bad and wanted to tell you that.”

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Flint sighed as she felt the end of the mattress depress under Katy’s slight weight. Glancing over her shoulder quickly, she whispered. “Look, I know things, okay. And I’m just asking you to be careful of that boy. That’s all.”

Pulse thundering so hard in her ears she was amazed Katy couldn’t hear it, Flint cocked her head. “What do you know?”

Licking her lips, Katy studied Flint’s face for what felt like forever. So much passed between them in that moment: truth… clarity… insight. The mask that was Katy, the one Flint sensed all the time, was gone. In its place, she saw the same beautiful woman but one with less laugh lines and more frowns. Worry gnawed at her forehead.

“I can’t tell you more than I have. But…” She grabbed Flint’s hand and brought it to her lap, holding on tight. “Believe me when I say all is not what it seems.”

Fear coated Flint’s tongue. Not because of what Katy said—Flint already knew all that. She knew what Cain was, what Adam and Janet were… but because Katy was definitely more than human if she knew that too.

She searched the woman’s eyes, looking for the red lines, and inhaled harder, trying to detect any hint of sour milk, but it wasn’t there.

“Like what?” Flint asked, feigning ignorance.

Katy cocked her head. “There is a war being waged, Flint DeLuca. An age-old battle of good versus evil.”

“Katy?” her father called out just before knocking on Flint’s door.

“Here,” Katy cried and released Flint’s hand, standing and nodding as if they had an understanding.

For her part, Flint could only stare, too numb to say anything else as Katy walked out of the room.

But the one thought that kept popping into her head was how did Katy know? And did her father know too?

The questions kept hammering in her mind later on that night. Katy had long since left, her father had returned and grounded her from ever being alone with Cain, and all the lights were off as he slept in the next room over.

Flint stared at the ceiling, not sure what to do.

At 12:37 there was a tap on her window.

Shocked, she jerked up and stared out at the darkened night. Then her heart leapt into overdrive when Cain pointed at the window as if to say “open it.” Licking her lips, she made sure her bedroom door was locked before walking over to the window.

Somehow he managed to slip his big bulk through. And the second he was inside, it was like someone had sucked out all the oxygen. His smell was everywhere, pine and night, and so overwhelming she had to take a seat on the purple foldout mushroom chair next to her bed.

“Cain?” she whispered, glancing back at the door, both terrified and thrilled he’d come. “What are you doing here?”

He spread his hands. His full lips pursed into a straight line, then he shrugged and she gulped, suddenly very aware that she was wearing one of her sexier sleep shorts. The moment it dawned on her, he must have noticed because his eyes narrowed and a lick of red swirled at the centers.

Snatching her mother’s checkered lap blanket off her bed, she wrapped it around her legs as best she could. He blinked and then nodded. But he was breathing heavily.

“How was dinner?” he asked a moment later, his voice scratchy and rough, and it jolted through her body.

“My dad’s banned me from seeing you.”

“Why?”

She shrugged and picked at a loose thread on the blanket. “He thinks you’re bad for me.”

The left corner of his mouth lifted. “I am.” But he didn’t sound glum about it, more cocky than anything, and she couldn’t help but answer his grin.

Flint shook her head, shoving most of her hair behind her ear but playing with a strand. He sat on the corner of her bed, his presence filling the room so that she felt almost claustrophobic. But in a good way.

A great way.

A way that made her forget that there were things like monsters in the world. That he was one of them. It was just her and Cain underneath the moonlight and it was enough.

He scooted farther down the bed until his knees barely grazed hers. The heat pouring off him coated her and prickled along her bare arms as the cool night breeze rubbed languidly against the thin cotton top on her back.

“I think Katy knows about you,” Flint whispered.

His jaw clenched even as he gently took the piece of hair out of her fingers and slowly rubbed his thumb along it. “What makes you say that?”

It was getting more and more difficult to think straight with the way he kept looking at her. Then his hot hands were framing her face and he just stared. Didn’t move in, didn’t do anything other than study her, as if memorizing every line, every bit of her face.

Her chest heaved for air and she moistened her lips.

Flint’s lashes feathered along her cheekbones as she closed her eyes, unable to hold his hypnotic gaze any longer.

“Princess,” he said, his mouth so close to hers she felt the warmth of his breath tickle her lips.

She sighed. Couldn’t help it.

Then he released her, and just like that, the weird pull was gone and she was suddenly cold. She snapped her eyes open, rubbing her arms.

He shook his head. “I don’t know what’s happening to me,” he gritted out.

“What do you mean?”

Leaning back on her bed, he closed his eyes. “I can’t stop thinking about you. Wondering what you’re doing. Who you’re doing it with. I don’t know…”

She felt the exact same way. It was scary, this overwhelming need that she felt for him. Like the world was all wrong, she was all wrong, if he wasn’t around, if he wasn’t sharing her space, breathing her air. It was wrong and sick, and so scary perfect it made her stomach heave.

Holding the blanket tighter to her, almost like a shield, she nodded mutely.

“I shouldn’t be around you, Flint. My kind and your kind, we don’t mix. Like oil and water. It never works out.”

She swallowed hard.

Scrubbing a large hand down his face, he asked, “Why do you think Katy knows?”

Trying to remember the conversation while forgetting the swarm of kamikaze butterflies in her stomach, she said, “Because she mentioned something about good versus evil and an ancient war. She knows, Cain. Do you think she’s…” She licked her lips. “The queen?”

His brows dipped.

“I’ve been thinking about this all night. When I got attacked…”

He shook his head.

Flint finished her thought anyway. “She was there. Right before it happened. She poked her head inside, and I can’t remember what she said, but I remember feeling like it wasn’t right. It was weird.”

Cain shook his head harder. “Are you sure? It can’t be.”

“Why not?”

His look was piercing, the blue eyes looking almost black in the darkness. “Adam would know. He’d know. The queen wouldn’t be so stupid to be right under our nose.” But he didn’t sound like he believed his words.

She shrugged. “I think you should keep an eye on her, just in case.”

Running his palms down his thighs, he nodded. Heaving himself to his feet, he looked down at her as he walked back to her window.

Gripping the windowsill, he stared at her for so long she became aware of just how loud the room actually was, from the breaths they took to the ticking of her art deco wall clock.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Stomach a quivering mess, she nodded.

“I’ll pick you up in the morning.”

The shuffling of feet snared her attention and made her jump. Her father was waking up. “Not here,” she whispered. “My dad won’t—”

But when she turned back, Cain had already left through the window.

A second later, her father knocked on the door. “Flinty, are you talking to someone?”

Squeezing her eyes shut, she scrubbed her face and shook her head. “No. Talking to myself, can’t sleep.”

“Want some hot milk?”

She smiled that he remembered. Whenever she’d have a nightmare as a child, he’d always bring her a mug of hot milk and tell her it would chase the monsters away.

Getting up, she opened the door. His hair was sleep tussled, and a hint of a beard whiskered his cheeks.

“Sure, Daddy.”

He smiled and wrapped his arms around her.

Tomorrow she’d figure out some way to ride with Cain so that her father wouldn’t see.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Flint yanked the curlers out of her hair, deciding for once she’d try to do something with it other than pull it back in a messy ponytail. Her hair flounced around her shoulders in soft waves as she gripped her stomach, trying in vain to squelch the nerves threatening to make her lose her bite of toast this morning.

Her green knitted top made her hair look even redder. Frowning at the mirror, she touched the pale skin under her eyes and ran her finger along the bridge of her freckled nose.

Things had changed and she couldn’t help wanting to look her best.

She glanced at her wristwatch. Cain was probably going to show up any second now.

“Flinty!” her dad cried and she dropped the glass she’d been holding into the sink. “Your friend’s here.”

He sounded chipper and not at all growly like yesterday.

Not a little curious, she yanked her book bag onto her shoulder and headed toward the front door.

Janet waved cheerfully at her. Flint frowned, scanning over her shoulder.

“Umm…”

Dressed in a baggy navy-blue sweaterdress, leopard tights, and furry boots, Janet was a strange sight in more ways than one. “Tell you later,” she whispered in Flint’s ear as she hugged her.

Walking up to Flint, her dad clapped her shoulder. “Show tonight. Will you bring her to the circus, Janet?”

“Sure, Mr. DeLuca,” Janet chirped as the black sprays of hair encircling her head like a peacock’s plume bobbed. “But we’ve got plans.”

“Plans?” Flint shook her head.

“The dresses, remember?” Ja winked.

“Oh, yeah… the dresses.” That they’d never set a date or time to go shopping for. Janet was up to something.

“You gonna do the show tonight?” Her father wasn’t looking at Flint.

Janet shook her head. “Night off, strained my calf muscle. So is it cool?”

Flint glanced at her dad and smiled.

“Yeah, sure.” He hugged her. “Now hurry up before you’re late for school.”

“What was that all about?” Flint asked the second they were well out of earshot.

Janet rolled her eyes and then stopped, all playfulness gone. The girl looking back at her suddenly seemed ancient, immortal. Crazy clothes or not, she was not someone to be messed with, and she was pressing the hardness of that gaze into Flint like steel.

“What the crap, Flint!” She smacked her arm.

“Ow.” She cried and rubbed her throbbing arm. Tiny she might be, but the little Asian demon-ghost packed a wallop when she wanted to. “What was that for?”

“I told you to stay away from Cain, didn’t I? Do you have any idea what you’re doing, what you’re getting yourself into?”

They were walking past the bus stop, heading toward the busy road.

“I’ve tried. But… I don’t know, it’s just…”

“Crazy? Obsession? Insane? Stupid?”

At the last one, Flint frowned, hurt that Janet would go there. “I don’t expect you to understand, because I’m not even sure I do. But I can handle myself.”

Stopping, Janet grabbed her arm. “Look, I’m just gonna tell it to you straight. I’m his guardian—all I’ve ever wanted is for him to be happy. But I’ve seen Cain in a way I’m not even sure he’s seen himself. All I’m saying is be careful and don’t try to be the martyr. Don’t think you can save him. And when he blows it, run. As fast and as far as you can.”

“Why aren’t you even giving him a chance? Why does everyone think he’s going to lose it like that?”

“Because he’s berserker, it’s what they do. And I like you—you’re my first human friend, and I’d like to keep you around for a while. That’s all.”

Pulling Janet into a hug, Flint said, “He’s stronger than you think.”

Then she stilled. He was here. Pine and moonlight. Smiling, she turned.

Cain leaned against the side of his car with his hands in his pockets. Something that looked almost like a smile played along his lips. “You said your dad didn’t want me around.”

Pulse thundering so loud in her ears she’d barely heard him, Flint nodded mutely.

He didn’t move closer to her, but the weird thing was happening again—the one where the world dissolved into a tunnel of light and white noise around them. He was wearing jeans and a black leather motorcycle-style jacket. His hair blew in the wind, reminding her of an Abercrombie & Fitch model.

He was gorgeous and looking at her like he thought the same thing about her.

“Gimme a ride to school, I missed the bus,” Janet said after a bit.

Crazy, but for a second Flint had completely forgotten about her. Rolling her eyes, Ja tromped toward the car, grumbling under her breath about “disgusting” before getting in and slamming the door shut behind her.

Cain chuckled. “I guess she warned you off and you said…”

“To trust you.”

A bright luminescence covered his eyes before they dissolved back to the familiar blue, but he didn’t say anything. Instead he grabbed her book bag off her shoulder.

At some point she must have walked toward him.

His large hand lingered on her upper arm. “Like the hair, princess.”

She rolled her eyes. “Didn’t do it for you, caveman.”

He snorted and then opened the car door for her.

She could be cool, act like his nearness didn’t bother her. Didn’t threaten to send her heart into cardiac arrest. That Cain was just another guy. A good-looking one with an awesome car who just so happened to have major Hulk issues every once in a while.

No big deal, right?

His car smelled like him. It was everywhere, anywhere, she turned. Even the strap of the seat belt smelled like him when it snicked into place.

The car started moving.

“Your girlfriend and I are going dress shopping tonight,” Janet said without preamble.

Flint jerked, staring dead at Cain’s face. Girlfriend? Had Janet actually called her that? They weren’t that. Right?

Holding her breath, she waited for Cain to correct her, but he grunted instead. “When will you be done?”

He wasn’t looking at Janet.

Fighting the urge to grin, Flint shrugged and placed her suddenly trembling hands under her jeaned thighs. “No idea. Didn’t even realize we were doing that tonight.”

Jaw flexing, he glanced away.

Surely Cain knew what they were going dress shopping for. Not that Flint wanted to push the issue or anything, but was he ever going to ask her?

“You’re not going alone.”

“Duh.” Janet rolled her eyes. “Rhi’s coming too.”

He glowered. “You know what I mean.”

“Oh yeah,” she said snippily. “I heard you, I was just ignoring you. Don’t forget that Rhi and me, we’re pretty bad-a, don’t need boys, especially not the ’roid-rage kind.”

Flint pulled her lips in, trying hard to hide the smirk. It was kind of funny to see Cain get some of his own medicine.

Glancing at her from the corner of his eye, he said, “I’m glad you find this funny, princess. But if I don’t go, you don’t go. Period.”

That pissed her off. Made the hot Italian temper flare. She was so not one of those girls and he’d better learn it quick.

“Excuse me, I’m right here: (a) you’re a fool if you think you can stop me, and (b) I’ve seen Rhi turn hive into powder, so I’m pretty sure I’ll be just fine.”

Red pinpricks circled his irises and she patted his arm slowly, up and down, like one would a feral dog with its hackles raised.

“Cain, listen… I think this is kind of your caveman and wildly misplaced way of telling me you’re worried about my safety—”

His nostrils flared.

“And it’s sort of… sweet?” She shot Ja a look.

Janet smirked and held up her hands as if to say “it’s all you, babe.”

“But I’m just going to the store. A crowded mall to shop for a homecoming gown. Nothing is going to bother me there, and if they do I’ll scurry away like the good little monkey I am.”

She grinned, fluttering her lashes in what she hoped was a sexy smolder and not an “I’ve got a lash in my eye and look like an idiot right now” kind of way.

And instantly she felt the heat, the tension gathered in his arm dissolve. He laughed. “You’re killing me.”

“Yeah, well…” She studied her nails. “You love it.”

Giving her that slow, secret smile of his that always made her toes curl and her stomach heave, he finally said, “You fishin’, princess?”

It took a second for his meaning to sink in. With a disgusted huff, she smacked his shoulder. He laughed and looked back at the road. They were almost to the school; streams of cars and yellow buses filed into the parking lot ahead.

“Oh, so gross. Berserker flirting. Somebody save me before I hurl.” Janet moaned from the back seat.

“Whatever.” Flint slouched in her seat, but not before she stuck her tongue out at him. Then her stomach growled loudly. She hadn’t really eaten breakfast.

With a cocky smirk, Cain reached into his pocket and tossed her a candy bar. King size.

She snapped it out of the air. “I could kiss you!” She ripped the wrapper open and groaned with delight as chocolate and caramel slid down her throat.

“Well, Cain, now you know what you need to do if you want to get a little sum-sum from her. Box of candies and she’s all yours.” Janet snorted.

“Yeah, I’ll remember that.” His deep voice purred, and if she hadn’t been so hungry, she might have been embarrassed, but she was starving, so she licked her fingers and ignored them.

Once they’d found a parking spot, Janet hopped out. Cain grabbed Flint’s forearm. “Wait,” he said, just as she was ready to get out.

“Hmm?” She frowned, tucking the empty wrapper into her pocket.

His look was serious, his eyes incredibly blue. “You look really pretty today.”

She smiled as warm heat slipped through her tummy. “What, you mean I didn’t turn you off with my candy fetish?”

Chuckling, he shook his head as his fingers toyed with her sleeve. “It’s kind of cute actually. I like buying you candy.”

Heat rose in her cheeks, and all she could do was smile. Hard. Like, getting a charley horse in her cheeks kind of hard.

“I’m not going to the dance.”

It was like someone blowing out a candle; all that heat and fire was gone in an instant. “What? Why?”

Licking his lips, he shook his head. “I haven’t forgotten the hive, or the fact that they’re still gunning for you.”

“I haven’t been attacked in a while, Cain.”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t mean anything. They’re patient and plotting. My gut tells me they’re going to try something that night. I need to hunt. Me and the guys.”

Hurt didn’t even begin to describe how she was feeling at the moment. She crossed her arms.

“I’ve already asked the girls to keep an eye on you.”

“You what?” she exploded.

And yeah, maybe she shouldn’t have. But she was getting sick and tired of being treated like a pathetic, puny china doll who couldn’t do jack for herself. He was only trying to watch out for her, but it was homecoming, and call her pathetic and stupid or whatever, she wanted to go with him. Not stag.

“My mind’s made up. I’ve got to keep searching. I need to find the queen.”

“And what about what I told you? Katy?”

“I told Adam, and we’re keeping an eye on her. If she moves, Adam will know, but I gotta tell you I don’t think it’s her. We would have seen the signs already. She’s human, princess. Same as you.”

Why did the way he’d said it make it sound like some sort of an insult? Her spine stiffened.

“And what if somebody asks me?”

He inhaled deeply, staring out the windshield. “Then I obviously can’t stop you. It’s not like we’re dating, right?”

Ouch.

Just when she thought they’d moved beyond all this crap, here he was acting like the ignorant dork she’d first met.

“You know what, you’re right. We’re not dating.”

The muscle in his jaw tensed and his fingers dug into his lap hard enough to make the knuckles turn white. But she wasn’t going to apologize. If that’s the way he wanted to play it, then so be it. She was sick of not knowing, of all the games. She had a right to live her life and have fun.

“I like you. A lot. But I’m not doing this with you, Cain. So you either grow up and decide what exactly it is you’re doing with me, or leave me alone.”

Getting out of the car, she slammed the door behind her, hating that her heart ached and that a huge side of her wanted to get back into that car and scrub the past five minutes from their lives. Things had been so good.

“Umm.” Janet pulled her lower lip between her teeth. “Just heard that. Totally wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but ouch. You okay?” She rubbed Flint’s arm.

Flint shook her head, fighting back tears, and plastered on a smile. “He’s right, we’re not even dating. He never said anything, or promised me anything, or…” Her voice shook.

Janet shook her head. “For what it’s worth, I’ve never seen Cain act with anybody the way he does with you. In the car, when you touched him…” Her lips quirked. “Just be patient.”

Flint stopped walking. They were at the steps that led into the school. A group of kids were hanging out on the stairs, and some were behind it as they sneakily tried to smoke a quick cigarette.

“Weren’t you the one who told me to stay away? So why are you giving me dating advice now?” Flint rubbed her forehead as suddenly every nerve in her body tingled with a warm rush of awareness.

Cain’s scent lit up her senses like a firework. He walked past them without looking back. But she couldn’t peel her gaze away from his back as he walked up the steps and disappeared beyond the doors.

Janet’s tiny hands fluttered as she threw them up into the air. Her golden bracelets jingled with the movement. “Yeah, I know. What’s wrong with us, right? But you’re my friend, and I just want to see you smile. He likes you. I just don’t think he wants to, which is why he’s acting the way he does. I know I keep giving you crap about staying away, but it’s because of stuff like this. He’s different. He’ll come to this in his own time, or never. And maybe that’s not so bad.” Her eyes pleaded for Flint to understand.

But she didn’t understand. She hurt. And it sickened her that she should still care. He’d never pretended to be anything other than a jerk; she was the one with the problem. Expecting him to be something other than himself. She shook her head.

“Hey girl!”

The voice brought a smile to her face, lifting her sour mood immediately. Turning, she had just enough time to brace herself for impact right before Abel barreled into her, picking her up around the waist as he twirled with her. The cast was off his arm now, and he only wore a sling.

“Your arm.” She swatted at his chest.

“Is fine. It’s healing quick. Like crazy quick. Mom’s been giving me one of her Frankenstein concoctions, and the bone’s already mended.” He frowned at his arm as if he couldn’t quite believe it himself, then he flexed his fingers and smiled before picking her up again to swing her around.

Yelping, she slapped his chest, very much aware that he was definitely starting to get muscle. Obviously the change was coming quick. Cain had healed quickly from the bruises too. “Put me down.”

His face shone with laughter. “Missed you yesterday.”

“Umm, okay.” She smoothed her clothes out when he finally set her down, realizing he’d yet to say hi to Janet.

Shoulders slumping ever so slightly, Janet waved. “I gotta jet or I’ll miss my class.”

Abel grinned and waved, then hooked his arm through Flint’s and led her up the stairs. He looked nice today in jeans and a soft cream sweater. He was definitely thicker in the face and chest too. Still skinny, but not the stick she’d first met.

His dimple was in full relief when he turned his face toward her. “Look.” He stopped them before they walked through the door. The first warning bell rang.

“We gotta go, Abel, or we’re going to be late, and I can’t afford to piss off Mr. Wickham anymore.”

He looked her up and down, his molten brown eyes sparkling. “You look really great today, Flint. Green’s a good color on you.”

“Thanks,” she said softly.

“So I’m just going to say it, because every time I try to find the perfect opportunity, you’re always rushing off.”

He took a deep breath and she tilted her head, intuitively knowing what he was about to ask her.

“Will you go to homecoming with me?”

A million thoughts ran through her mind at that moment. So many different reasons why she should say no. Because he was a good friend and she wasn’t looking for more with him. Because she was afraid he wanted more from her. Because Janet was crazy for him. But then another thought popped in, sitting in the car with Cain and him telling her he wouldn’t ask her. That they weren’t dating and that she could go with whoever she wanted.

Janet already knew he was going to ask and she hadn’t told Flint to stay away. Plus, Janet had a date.

Maybe going with Abel wouldn’t be such a bad thing. They could do it and stay friends. If he tried more, she’d just tell him the truth. Whatever the truth was—she wasn’t even sure what she felt at the moment.

All those thoughts ran through her head in a blink, and then her decision was made and it was the easiest one she’d made in a while.

“I’d like that.”

“Really?” He blinked, as if stunned she’d actually said yes, which only endeared him to her more.

“I think it would be fun to go with one of my best friends.”

His grin only grew wider and she was glad. She’d put friend on the table and he didn’t look hurt or annoyed. Maybe this would work out great after all.

“Awesome. Okay.” He nodded, slipping his good hand into his pocket. “I’ve gotta run. We’ll talk at lunch, cool?”

She smiled. “Sure.”

Feeling as if she were floating on a cloud, Flint jogged to her locker, ready to stuff some books in when a paper fluttered to the ground.

“Huh,” she muttered as she bent to pick it up. The scrawl was immediately familiar. She’d seen it before.

Meet me in the girl’s bathroom at 8:15.

~T

Frowning, she glanced over her shoulder. Should she really go? Tamara creeped her out, but then again… she’d never actually done anything to her either.

Worrying her bottom lip, she stuffed the note into her pocket alongside the candy wrapper and ran toward her class, sailing through the door just as the final bell rang.

Wickham glared at her. “Ms. DeLuca, why am I not surprised? Take a seat quickly.”

“Yes, sir.” She bobbed her head as she headed to her desk, glancing at Cain from the corners of her eyes.

He wouldn’t look back at her.

Dropping into her seat, she glanced at the wall clock. She had five minutes to decide whether to go or not. Debating if she should show the note to Cain, she decided against it. He was ignoring her and she really didn’t want to come off as someone who needed his approval for everything.

Almost as if he knew what she was thinking, he finally stared at her, his blue eyes full of questions. Glaring at him, she turned away.

Yeah, it was childish, but she didn’t really care at the moment.

A minute later she decided.

“Mr. Wickham?” She raised her hand.

Cain slouched in his seat, tapping his pencil on the edge of the desk, his long leg poking out from underneath the desk.

She didn’t know how, but he knew she was up to something.

“Yes, Flint,” Mr. Wickham said with an air of resignation.

Tilting her chin up, she ignored her nerves and Cain’s hard stare. “Can I go to the bathroom?”

He huffed and Cain sat up straight. “You barely make it to my class on time. Those are issues you should take care of before class starts.” He made to turn.

Mary and some of the other girls at the front of the class giggled.

Furious that he would dismiss her like that, she did something she probably wouldn’t have done otherwise. Refusing to glance at Cain, she said, “I’m on my period.”

“Gross,” a guy sitting beside her said.

Wickham grabbed his nose.

“Flint?” Cain hissed.

Oh yeah, he was definitely on to her.

She pretended she didn’t hear him.

“Then by all means.” Mr. Wickham waved his hand and jerked back toward the chalkboard, dismissing her.

Tips of her ears flaming, Flint fished a pad from out of the bottom of her book bag, just in case anyone was watching.

She could have sworn she heard Cain growl as she walked out.

Heart pounding so hard it rumbled through her ears, she marched to the bathroom. Why was Tamara contacting her again? Why were the hive no longer in school? What was the queen planning?

All questions that would soon be answered.

Opening the door, she scanned the empty bathroom and wondered for a split second if maybe she’d gone to the wrong bathroom and then a stall door opened and the stench of sour milk blasted her nose.

“You,” she breathed, recognizing the dusky-skinned hive girl immediately. Bloodshot eyes studied her.

Pulse hammering in her throat, Flint inched back toward the door.

“You wanted to talk?”

“Stop.” The girl’s soft voice was a sibilant sound. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

“I was counting on that. It’s why I even bothered to show up. What do you want?” She grabbed the door handle, ready to throw it open and run if Tamara tried anything. “Why did the royal guard attack me? What do you want from me?”

“My name is Tamara,” she said, ignoring every question Flint had flung at her.

“What? I know, you already told me that before.” She stopped, brain stuttering to a halt as she tried to process the nuttiness of this meeting.

For her part, Tamara looked genuinely surprised, her eyes and mouth widening.

What game was she playing? Did she honestly not remember?

Pinching her forehead, Tamara shook her head. “I… sometimes forget things. The… metamorphosis… I…”

Was she trying to make friends? Was this some crazy hive ritual? Let’s be friends before I kill you?

Tamara sighed and she squeezed her eyes shut. Her skin was more luminescent that Flint remembered. Before, it’d seemed to be peeling and cracked, now it looked smooth. Even her hair gleamed—it shone like liquid ink underneath the bathroom’s fluorescent lights.

“Are you going to the dance?”

Cocking her head, Flint debated just what she should say. “Why are you writing me notes? You said they were watching me, why?”

Tamara ran her fingers through her short bob. She was fidgety, nervous, gazing around the room as if she was afraid of it.

Which helped ease Flint’s nerves. Tamara didn’t seem like someone ready to attack her. In fact, she looked as if she was terrified of being caught.

“I… didn’t…” Tamara blinked rapidly, her clear double eyelids obvious in the face of her nerves. “I’m sorry.”

Not what she’d expected to hear at all. Flint dropped her hand from the door. “Why did you guys attack me?”

Tamara’s throat worked furiously, her mouth opening and closing as if she were debating whether to speak or keep silent. Finally she shook her head. “I cannot speak of it. I want you to—” She paused and brushed her hands down her sweater. “I wasn’t always bad,” she finally said. “Are you going to the dance, Flint?”

“How do you know my name?”

The second she asked it, she realized how stupid a question it was. They were following her—they probably knew a lot more than just her name. A cold chill swept down her spine. What did she want?

Clenching her fingers into fists, Tamara took a small step forward. “Ask me the right question.”

“What?”

Light snapped in Tamara’s dark eyes, her jaw flexed, and her voice was stronger as she said, “Ask me the right question.”

The emotions rolling off her were no longer anxious. They were determined, angry. “I came here at great risk to my life. Ask me the right question, Flint DeLuca.” Her face contorted, sharp teeth becoming exposed behind her small lips, the double eyelids blinking rapidly. “Ask the right effing question or I can’t bloody help you!”

She was close now, moving like a blur, so fast Flint hadn’t even tracked her. Tamara was almost on top of her, her arms extended and fury burning in her eyes. Frozen like prey, Flint just stood there.

Banging sounded on the door, crackling through the bathroom with an ominous echo and making Flint’s heart jump into her throat.

“Flint!” It was Cain’s voice and he sounded angry. “I hear it.”

“Last warning, girl, don’t go to the dance.”

Flint whirled as the door was shoved open. When she looked back, the window was up and Tamara was gone.

Cain grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her to him and giving her a fierce hug. His body trembled as she played her fingers up and down his back, and one thing became painfully clear in that moment.

Whatever was going on between them, it was deep, powerful, and all consuming… for both of them.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“What did she say to you?” Cain asked once they’d walked back into the hallway. He was whispering, looking over his shoulder, knowing they’d probably be caught by a teacher any second.

He’d searched every inch of the bathroom after their hug, but Flint knew Tamara had disappeared out the window, probably the same way she’d snuck in.

Hooking her hair behind her ear, she shook her head. “Nothing really.”

“Flint.” He tipped her chin up with his thumb and her skin tingled with a rush of blood. His eyes searched hers, his mouth turning down into a tight frown. “I’m sorry about what I said earlier. I do care, okay. And I’m not pretending. If I wasn’t so consumed with your safety, I’d take you to that dance. I don’t want to be anywhere you’re not. Do you believe that?”

His large hands framed her face.

It was more than she’d ever expected him to say, to admit out loud. Sometimes it was easy to believe he didn’t care at all, but then he’d do or say something like this that just knocked all the air from her lungs, and it made it impossible to think around the fuzz shorting out her brain.

She turned into his palm, planting a kiss on it. He sucked in his breath sharply, thumb gliding along the length of her cheekbone.

“She didn’t touch you?”

“No, I told you. She didn’t really do anything.” Grabbing his wrists, she held tight, stomach a twisted mass of knots.

He stepped in close to her. “If she had…” His throat worked hard on a swallow.

Tracing her finger along the length of his lower lip, she shook her head. “It’s okay, Cain. I’m okay. She only asked me if I was going to the dance.”

Light rimmed his eyes. “Why?”

She shrugged. The air between them sizzled, burned, seeped into her flesh, and made her shiver. He was staring at her the way she’d sometimes caught her dad staring at her mom. It was her turn to swallow hard.

“Right before you came in, she told me not to go, and then she ran away. I don’t know.”

Closing his eyes, he rested his forehead against hers, just breathing slow and easy. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she stood there, content to never move. He smelled so good and this felt so right.

Like fate had planned this from the very beginning. Two opposing forces gathering momentum and speed, like two comets barreling through dimensions, headed for a collision, and nothing could stop them. It was violent, epic, and undeniable.

Then he was nuzzling her neck with his nose and she could barely remember her name.

A loudly clearing throat made Flint snap her eyes open.

Sara—Wickham’s favorite pet—eyed them behind her thick glasses. “Dry-humping by the bathrooms. Seriously?” She rolled her eyes. “You’re just lucky it was me and not Wickham. I’d suggest you get back to class soon before he comes and you get slammed with detention again, Flint.”

Tossing her thick blond ponytail over her shoulder, she bumped Flint’s shoulder and walked into the bathroom.

Cain surprisingly didn’t growl. Instead, he dropped his arm over her shoulder and gave her a quick squeeze.

“If we go back at the same time he’ll know something was up. You go first.” He touched her cheek.

“Okay.” She let her hand slide along his as long as she possibly could and then walked back, still feeling unsettled by her meeting with Tamara and what it could possibly mean.

~*~

School passed in a blur. She’d expected to see Cain at their lunch table, but he hadn’t shown and she hadn’t seen him the rest of the day after Wickham’s class. Abel, on the other hand, had been animated and Janet really quiet.

Which made Flint think she’d been stupid to say yes after all.

Rhiannon snapped the radio on. She was driving her mother’s car, a silver Honda. Flint had had no idea Rhi already knew how to drive, but she was glad to see Whispering Bluff fade into the rearview.

She needed to think, about everything, and she didn’t want to have to do it around any of the guys. Janet was sitting in the passenger seat, staring out the window, noshing on a Twizzler stick.

Flint shoved the last bite in her mouth.

“Seriously, y’all.” Rhi glared at her in the mirror. “Tension’s thick. This was supposed to be fun and I’m not having fun, so either say whatever it is you guys need to say or get out and I’ll go shopping by my own self.”

Blowing air through her tightened lips, Flint tapped her fingers on her thighs. “Janet, I’m sorry.”

“For?” she asked, but her voice dripped with sarcasm.

So it was going to be like this. Groaning, Flint dropped her shoulders. “You were the one who told me he was going to ask.”

Janet twisted in her seat, her brown eyes alive with anger. “That didn’t mean you were supposed to say yes.”

Flint threw up her hands in a placating gesture, scooting as far back into the seat as she possibly could.

“What are you doing?” Janet asked, her brows drawn tight with confusion.

“I’m sorry, okay, but you kind of freak me out when you get angry. I’ve seen what you guys can do. I’ll call him and tell him no if you want.”

“Oh em gee…” Rhi giggled.

Flint’s eyes were wide, not finding the funny in the situation.

“Bet you’re thinking we’re driving you out to the boonies to eat you,” she finished with a snort.

Okay, no… the thought hadn’t crossed her mind.

Before.

Janet’s lips twitched, and then finally she burst out laughing.

“Not funny,” Flint grumped.

Janet wiped tears from her eyes. Rhi on the other hand was still snickering.

“No, I guess it’s not. I wasn’t going to go demon on you, Flint. I can control myself.” She wiggled her wrists. The chime of her bracelets soothed Flint’s nerves better than her words did.

“Yeah, well… I’m trying to learn how to deal with you guys. Forgive me if I’m not quite there yet.”

“Why’d you say yes?” There was such hurt in her eyes that for a moment Flint really did want to fish the cell out of her pocket and call it off with Abel.

“Ja, you have to believe me, I really didn’t think you’d mind. Especially considering you have a date. After what Cain said in the car, I was angry and dumb. Abel asked and he’s my friend. I told him so too—he knows we’re only going as friends. I don’t have any other kind of feelings for him.”

“Really? You told him just as friends?”

“I did. I swear.”

Her lips quirked. “Fine, I guess you’ll live. But don’t kiss him.” She wagged her finger.

Flint really wasn’t sure that was a joke and didn’t want to ask. “We’re just friends, I promise.”

Just then her phone rang. More than a little relieved, she answered it, hoping for a second it would be Abel just so she could just call the whole thing off. After Tamara this morning, she wasn’t even sure she wanted to go anymore.

“Hey.”

It was Cain.

Just the sound of his voice made her lashes flutter.

“Must be Cain, she’s gone tomato again,” Rhi sniffed.

Glaring at her friend, Flint turned in her seat. “Hey,” she breathed. “How’d you get my number?”

“Janet gave it to me.”

Janet shifted down in her seat, pretending to play with her perfect bangs.

“Ah, of course.” She narrowed her eyes at the silent brunette who refused to turn around. “What’s up?”

A lengthy pause rang in her ear before he said, “I was thinking about what the bug said to you today.”

“Tamara,” she automatically corrected.

“Whatever.”

She could almost picture him waving it off as unimportant. She smiled, wishing he were here right now. Yeah, she’d pretty much told him off in the car earlier, but that didn’t mean a girl didn’t have the right to change her mind.

“I’m going to take you to homecoming.”

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Flint fought the temper threatening to climb up her throat at the fact that he just assumed she wouldn’t have a date by now, that he could just tell her what to do.

“Cain,” she said slowly, calmly, knowing she wasn’t there to soothe the beast should it stir. “I’ve already got a date.”

“What?” His voice was low, but she wasn’t fooled into thinking he wasn’t angry. In fact, his soft question unnerved her more. “Who?”

Great, first Janet, now Cain. She squeezed her eyes shut. “Your brother.”

Her body tensed as she got ready to defend her case. But Cain surprised her yet again.

He sighed loudly, and there was the sound of some shuffling on the end of the line. “I guess I deserve that.”

“What?”

“You’re too pretty not to have found a date. If it wasn’t my brother, I’d probably kick his balls though.”

Smiling, she bit her bottom lip. “Well, I don’t know… he’s been bulking up lately. I think he could take you.”

Cain snorted. “Princess, I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that. So when you’re dancing with him… are you going to be thinking about me?”

A hot shiver trekked through her body and she gulped.

“I love him, but if he lays a hand below your waist he’ll be lame for the rest of his life.” His playful words rumbled with a throaty growl and she sighed laughed.

He made her make the strangest sounds.

“So are you?” he breathed.

“Cain.” His name trembled on her tongue.

“Oh la la, is this like phone sex or something we’re listening to, Ja?” Rhi said in a stage whisper.

“Shut up,” Flint snarled at them.

Cain chuckled. “All right, I’ll let you keep your dignity. Even though we already know you’ll be wishing it was me pressing you tight to my body.”

“Who are you? And what did you do with the jerk I can’t stand?”

“Princess, I’ve set my eyes on you. Get used to me, because I’m not going anywhere now.”

Oh em gee was right. Covering her face with her hand, she tried to ignore the fact that she wasn’t alone and was being studied like a bug under Rhi’s microscope. But it was hard. Really hard, because right now, if she’d been alone, she would have been squealing like a little kid in a candy store.

“Be right there,” Cain called to someone. “I’ve got to go. The guys want to scout a warehouse we’ve seen the bugs hanging around before. Oh, and just so you know…” She heard more shuffling, like he was putting shoes on. “Adam’s posted a set of eyes on Katy’s trailer. Just in case.”

“Thanks, Cain.”

He grunted.

“Be safe, okay?” She gripped the phone until her knuckles turned white.

“Don’t worry about me. I’m the big bad wolf.”

She could just picture his cocky leer.

“And, princess—”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll see you tonight.”

That had sounded like a promise. She held the phone to her ear a while after he’d hung up.

Janet looked back at her. “Told you.”

~*~

“Yup.” Rhiannon’s blue eyes gleamed as she stared at Flint in the mirror. “That’s it. That’s your dress. You’re going to make Cain regret not asking you first.”

Flint’s knees trembled as she stared at herself in the floor-length mirror.

The dress was black, more of a cocktail dress with a heart-shaped bodice. It was strapless and sparkled as she turned and twirled. She tugged at the hem.

“Don’t you think it’s too short?”

Janet was standing next to her in a bright orange gown that gleamed with hints of gold as she moved. She looked really beautiful, and Flint could only hope that when Abel saw her he’d realize he’d been secretly in love with her the whole time.

“As much as I wish you’d look like an ugly hag that night…”

“Gee thanks.”

“Anytime.” She grinned. “But… you do look really hot and you’ve got great legs. Plus, I can’t wait to see Cain’s face.”

Flint barely recognized herself. Her cheeks were flushed, her skin pale and pearlescent. Grabbing her hair, she held it up and preened.

Rhiannon studied her long frost-blue nail polish. “Yup, I’m good. Now let’s go eat, I’m starving.”

The mere mention of food made Flint’s stomach growl. “Let’s eat!” Her words rang with more than just the need for sugar. She was happy, really happy.

~*~

Abel rolled over on his bed. The girls were gone and he was bored. He tapped his pencil on his open book. Sitting reclined on his bed, he stared at his door, wishing someone or something would knock and come hang out.

Taking a deep breath, he tossed the math book off his lap to the floor and, placing his fingers behind his head, lay back on the pillow. The low hum of his AC unit lulled him into a sleepy stupor.

Before he knew it, his eyes slammed shut.

Drifting into a fog of somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, images floated through his mind’s eye. The first day he’d met Flint. How she’d sometimes lean on him when she was making a joke. What color her dress would be. Maybe red. Or his favorite color. Orange. She’d look really good in orange. How hot she’d looked at the hole wearing nothing but short shorts and a green bra, her wild mane of red hair sliding across her pale shoulders like fire.

How she’d looked that day in the trailer, studying his mom’s science experiments. And then the screaming.

The sound of it still haunted him. There’d been panic and soul-sucking fear. He’d been on the ground, arm distorted and twisted, snapped in so many places he still couldn’t understand why he hadn’t needed physical therapy, why it was already nearly healed.

It took days to heal what should have taken weeks, maybe even months. His bone had been like sand. But to look at him now, you’d never know it. There was still a slight ache, but nothing worse. Physically anyway.

That woman… dressed in black, coming at him with death in her eyes. He’d not even been prepared. There’d been no ruse, she’d come at him with single-minded determination. A second before she’d touched him though, she’d called him a name that’d sent ice through his veins. Then she’d grabbed and snapped.

He’d howled, screamed like a coward.

His heart pounded as he remembered the bitter taste of fear and self-loathing that a woman had unmanned him like that.

She’d moved like shadow. A dancing swirl of death, and he knew he’d been lucky.

If she’d wanted to kill him, no one could have stopped it.

Sweat peppered his brows, coated his chest and back.

The eyes had been red. Like blood.

Breathing increasing harder and sharper with each inhalation, he twisted on his bed. Fiery tingles worked up through his toes, his legs, across his torso, increasing in intensity and making him clench his molars as the pain overwhelmed him.

Eyes snapping open, he sat up in bed, grabbing his skull as a vicious throbbing lanced through it. Arms and legs trembling, he fought the panic, the overwhelming fear clawing at his throat.

There wasn’t another second to wonder what was happening; it was like someone had poured battery acid into his brain. With the next blink, he passed out cold.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Lights blazed through the liquid blue night. A cool breeze sifted Flint’s hair as she exited the car with her dress draped over her arm, and anticipation rode her hard as she made her way through the busy circus. It still amazed her that a night circus did so well, especially during weekdays.

But it did. And it seemed to be busier than ever—maybe because Halloween wasn’t so far off and the strange, almost creepy vibe of the place was suited to the time of year. But Flint didn’t think that was really it.

It was the performers.

The nonhuman ones anyway.

They dripped some sort of animal magnetism that made humans weak in the knees and desperate for more.

And now that she knew the truth, she finally understood why she’d always felt the place was off. Her dad was one of the rare humans performing.

Laughing groups of people ran between tents. Some looked scared, others nervous but excited. Some even appeared angry and confused, ready to leave. Why?

Crazy, but the whole time her dad had been working here, Flint really hadn’t gotten to know much of the circus. Apart from the big top, she was clueless about what happened in the smaller tents. She’d always just assumed it would be like any circus, maybe a small tent for the “freaks.” The bearded lady and snake man, et cetera…

But what if that’s not what it was?

And as she was thinking this, a heavily bedazzled pair of performers tossed aside the flap opposite her and stepped out, one a girl, the other a guy. They wore matching stage makeup. The pale blue and purple paint cascading from the corners of their eyes down their cheeks almost seemed to glow from the reflection of the blazing lights all around them.

The guy ogled Flint with eyes the color of molten gold. The woman hissed, her glass-green eyes lighting up as she yanked his arm to her.

Easily one of the best-looking males she’d seen, which… around here, they were pretty much a dime a dozen. Dusky-skinned, with long black lashes that fanned his cheeks when he blinked. Wiry and not incredibly muscular, there was still the sense about him that he was powerful.

“She does not concern you, Icarus,” the girl said in a voice so rich and dulcet Flint felt herself strain forward to hear more.

Icarus patted her hand, his eyes never leaving Flint’s. “Human.” His hypnotic voice drew her to him as if someone had attached a string to her waist and was slowly pulling her in. “Do you want to know your future?”

Intense and frightening emotions swirled through her. Her fingers curled over the hanger in her hand, bending the soft metal in her grasp. She wanted to please him. Fall to her knees and beg him to tell her. To touch him. Hold him. Melt in the heat of his embrace. Take off her clothes. His.

“Y—”

“Icarus!” Janet slapped a hand over Flint’s eyes. “Back off!” she growled. “Not with this one.”

The moment Janet broke the man’s eye contact, Flint could reason, and a sick, churning bile worked its way up her throat. What had she been thinking? Getting ready to do?

Her body trembled, every muscle spasming as the reality of what she’d almost said, done… began to dawn on her.

When he’d spoken, she’d forgotten all about Cain. It’d been Icarus and it’d been all consuming.

A hot chuckle greeted her ears and made her shiver. Then Janet removed her hand and worried eyes peered at her.

“You okay?”

Rhiannon was patting Flint’s back. “Freaking Pride, they’re always doing crap like that. You good, babe?”

Blinking, Flint looked for him. “Where’d he go?”

“Away,” they said at the same time.

“What was that? What did he do to me?”

Rolling her eyes, Janet huffed. “He’s a Pride demon.”

“A what?”

Rhi popped a lollipop in her mouth. “Pride demon, those bastards. Dated one a couple hundred years ago. They’re like ubertoxic, even to my kind. They feed on your desire for them. The more they know you want them, the stronger their glamour becomes.”

“He made me…” Flint squeezed her eyes shut, unable to put into words what looking at him had done to her. She was a virgin, but for a wild second, she’d been ready to throw it all away for him. It made her sick.

“They do that to all of us. Don’t worry.” Janet patted her arm.

“Look, I’m gonna go put the dresses away.” Rhiannon slipped Flint’s dress from her hands, staring at the twisted hanger with a half-amused smirk. “Why don’t you go to Abel’s? We’ll be there in a sec.” She pointed to his silver-bullet trailer in the distance.

“Shouldn’t I go with you?”

Rhi laughed. “No one’s gonna hurt you. Just keep your eyes on the ground. We gotta go tell Adam we’re back and see if he’s got anything for us to do before we can properly veg.”

Not wanting to appear any more tragic than she already did, Flint turned on her heel, casting her eyes straight at the ground, ignoring the delicious scent of sizzling meat and fried breads, and winding her way toward Abel’s trailer.

“Princess.” The deep voice she loved listening to rumbled in her ear. Then his scent wrapped her in a fierce hug seconds before she was enveloped in Cain’s arms.

Still feeling raw, she clung to his waist and squeezed her eyes shut. A sense of right eased the strain from her muscles.

“Flint?” He kissed the top of her head. His eyes were worried. “What’s wrong?”

Rubbing her fingers along his lightly stubbled jaw, she shook her head. “Nothing, I just… I missed you.”

His smile was huge and she couldn’t help but return it.

“You’re done hunting?”

He nodded. “For now. Queen’s smart, she knows we’re looking. They’ve gone deep underground, at this point I’m thinking we’ll just have to wait for her to make the first move.”

It was really hard to concentrate when he kept strumming his fingers along the tiny sliver of exposed skin between her jeans and sweater. It made her feel hot and cold all at the same time.

“My dad,” she whispered, dreading stepping out of Cain’s arms but knowing she couldn’t afford to be caught with him like this. Not to mention the fact that the Order, whoever they were, forbade this sort of thing.

“Is busy,” he finished.

“But the Order? Janet told me we have to be careful.”

His look was thoughtful. “The Order won’t be a problem.” But he didn’t elaborate further. She shivered at the intensity of his heated stare. “Where you headed?” he finally asked.

Tongue swollen, it was hard to corral her thoughts. “I was umm”—she scratched the back of her head—“going to Abel’s trailer.”

“Come with me.” He knuckled her cheek softly.

“Where?”

“The hole.”

She laughed. “I’m not swimming, it’s freezing.”

“Hmm. That’s too bad. Was hoping to see that sexy green bra again.” He plucked at her top and she smacked his hand.

He laughed, stepping back. She hated being out of his arms, but when he wasn’t touching her she didn’t feel quite so light-headed.

“No, really.” He held up his hands and then stuffed them into his pockets. “No funny business. I just want to hang out away from all this.” He gestured at the thick crowd.

“I don’t know.” Not that she didn’t want to. Because she did, but being alone with Cain wasn’t a smart idea. It was getting harder and harder to remember why she was even a virgin anymore, not to mention that more than half the time Cain still pissed her off and she wasn’t sure she was ready to get in such a messy relationship. Sex only seemed to make things worse, not better. Her mom had told her a million times only do it with the right one and for the right reasons.

Was Cain the right one?

“Hey.” He cocked his head, tipping her chin up to stare deep into her eyes. “We don’t have to go. I don’t want to do anything you don’t want to do. If you’re not comfortable, then we can stay.”

Sigh. Sigh. Sigh.

It was on the tip of her tongue to say yes, when Janet’s loud shrill broke the mood.

“Cain. Flint. Hurry up, come quick!” Janet waved her hand.

Frowning, Cain turned and Flint looked up. Frantically waving, Janet stood inside Abel’s trailer.

Cain was turning and running, Flint not a second behind him. They reached the trailer in no time.

“He’s passed out and pale.” Ja’s voice quivered as she ushered them inside the cramped trailer. “I was going to look for Adam, but I saw you. Help him.”

Cain knelt beside his brother, cradling his upper body in his arms.

Abel was breathing very shallowly. Flint’s heart clenched as she sank to her knees beside them. His skin was clammy, his muscles like limp noodles as his head flopped against Cain’s chest.

Hefting his brother in his arms, Cain stood and then gingerly placed Abel in the center of the bed.

“Is he going to be all right?” Janet swallowed hard. “What’s happening to him?”

Deep grooves marred Cain’s forehead as he peered at his brother. He was holding on to Abel’s wrist and standing completely still as he seemed to listen to something Flint couldn’t hear.

“He’s going to be okay.” He sighed with relief.

A sob broke from Janet’s chest and she covered her mouth with her hands.

Cain turned and nodded. “He’ll be fine, Ja. It’s part of the process.”

Flint studied the pale face of her good friend. He didn’t look good. His skin was more than just pale… it had bluish tint to it. His mouth was lax and hanging partly open. The dimple that she loved so much was nowhere in sight. He barely looked like the same guy.

She sat on a corner of the bed, crossing her legs and holding one of his hands.

Janet bit her lip. “The Russian twins came down with a bad cold and Adam told Rhi and me we gotta cover that show. I stopped by just to say hi. Are you sure he’s going to be okay?”

“Yeah.” Cain nodded with a slight smile for her benefit. “He’s a rager. Takes a lot more than this to kill us. Go do your show—I’ll stay with him until you get back.”

“Me too.” Flint nodded.

Scrubbing a hand down her face, Janet walked over to Abel’s side, planted a quick kiss on his forehead, then turned and left with a hiccupped sob.

The second Flint knew she was out of earshot, she held Abel’s hand and said, “So this is how you guys transition?”

Cain’s look was hard. “No.”

“But, I thought you said…”

“She’s a kanlungan—when they bond it’s for life. Janet’s already showing the signs. I wasn’t going to tell her the truth. She’d have lost it.”

Fear slithered like a cold snake down her spine. “Is he dying?”

He shook his head, but worry marred the lines around his mouth. “I don’t know what this is.”

“Should I go get Adam? Or your mom?”

He grabbed her hand, running his thumb along the webbing of her fingers. “Adam’s working the ring. Better to just leave him alone. Mom’s in costume setting up the next act. I’ll get her soon as he wakes up.”

Flint looked back at Abel. His skin didn’t look so wet anymore, or so blue. “How long will that take?”

“I can already hear his pulse beating stronger.”

“You can hear that?”

His answer was a clipped nod.

Flint brushed her fingers across Abel’s face, gently repeating his name, hoping her voice might help him wake up.

“It was them,” Cain said after a while.

“Hive?” She whispered, glancing quickly at Abel. “How do you know?”

“I just do. We don’t get sick.”

“Ever?”

“Never.”

“You think he saw one of them?”

Cain shrugged a shoulder, a helpless look on his face as he gazed at his brother, who appeared to be sleeping.

“How much longer until he learns the truth?”

He touched her cheek, and for the first time Flint sensed vulnerability in him. It even felt to her as if his hand shook a little.

“We all transition differently. Mine took years. His seems to be progressing faster.”

Brushing an errant lock of hair out of Abel’s eyes, Flint pressed her lips tight.

“Something is wrong,” Cain said.

“What? Here? Now?” She looked around tensed and ready for anything. An attack maybe? She didn’t know.

“No.” He shook his head. “But this whole situation is strange. That day she attacked.”

“Yeah?”

“I didn’t give it much thought.” He rubbed his jaw. “But she went at Abel first.”

There’d been a scream, an ungodly, unholy sound full of pain. She’d not had much time to think about that because then the drone had been on her.

“At first I thought Abel had just gotten in the way and her objective was to reach you, for God only knows what.”

“So you think they’re not really after me then?”

“Oh no.” His blue eyes burned. “They’re definitely after you. I still haven’t forgotten what that bug did at school today. They want you. But…”

“What if they’re after Abel? Why? It doesn’t make sense. He’s not one of you guys yet, and me… I’m nothing.”

He rubbed his thumb along the inside of her wrist, as if to say she was definitely not nothing.

Abel took that moment to moan. Loudly. His fingers clenched in hers.

“Feel like crap.” He groaned and grabbed his head with his free hand. Working his mouth from side to side, he made as if to sit up. “Dizzy.”

Flint gently pushed back on his shoulder. “Think you should lie down for a while. Let the vertigo pass.”

Narrowing an eye, he glanced at Cain. “What happened, dude?”

He shrugged. “You tell me. Janet walked in on you passed out on the floor.”

“Really?” He rubbed his head. “What time is it?”

Flint smoothed his hair back. “Little past eight.”

Swallowing hard, he nodded. “Last thing I remember is lying down and then I started to daydream…” Here he paused and looked at Flint significantly.

Cain cleared his throat.

Shrugging, Abel finished. “Got a bad headache and then I don’t remember anything after that.”

“What was your body doing?”

“Huh?” Abel looked confused at Cain’s question.

“Rapid heartbeat? Sweating? Chills?”

Again he acted like he was going to sit up, and Flint pressed her palm on his chest. “Stay still, Abel. You didn’t look good.”

“Well, I must not have looked that bad or you would have called an ambulance. I’m fine. Just have a bad headache. Need an aspirin.”

Cain stood and zipped up his black hoodie. “I’ll get Mom—she’s the one with all the meds.” Lifting a brow, he looked toward Flint.

“I’ll stay with Abel.” She rubbed the back of his hand.

Nodding, he left.

“Abel, you scared me.”

Holding her hand tighter, he pressed it hard to the spot above his heart. “Scared myself. Kind of freaky to wake up and not remember anything.” Warm brown eyes searched hers. “But I do remember one thing. I didn’t want to say it in front of Cain.”

She could have heard a pin drop, it was so quiet.

“Yeah?”

“I was dreaming about you.”

She swallowed hard.

“And then I dreamt about her.”

Ice spread through her veins. “Who?”

Oh man, had he somehow heard her and Cain? She mentally scrolled through what they’d said, trying to remember if they’d said too much.

“Flint, that woman called me a name before she attacked me.”

“What did she say?”

“Rager.”

Chapter Thirty

“I think he knows.” Flint grabbed Cain’s hand after they dropped Abel off at Layla’s.

Layla had crooned over her son, smothering him in kisses, and then walked over to her massive medicine cabinet. Cain hadn’t been joking when he’d said she had all the meds. A large gray metal cabinet standing in the corner of her bedroom was full to bursting with labeled glass jars. Some of them were obvious. Like pills. But a lot of it was looked herbal.

Leaves, twigs, some yellowish-looking pustule thingies that burped a kind of dingy-brown fog when the canister was disturbed.

Abel had seemed resigned to his fate, staring hard at Flint as she turned to leave. As if he’d wanted to say more but didn’t dare do it in front of anyone.

But why did he want to talk with her about it? Why not Adam, Layla? Or heck, even Janet?

They got back to Abel’s trailer, and Janet and Rhi were back. They all hugged each other, Janet sniffling the whole time.

“He’s fine, Ja.” Cain patted her back.

“I know. It’s just… it scared me. You know how it is for us?”

Flint glanced at Cain, who only frowned and dipped his head.

She was tired. Bone tired. Like there was no more energy left in her body, her legs were like rubber, and her knees wobbly. Dropping onto the edge of the bed, she hugged her knees to her chest. Cain sat next to her.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine. He’s fine. It’s not like anything happened. I’m just really tired.”

Squinting his eyes, he studied her. “When was the last time you ate?”

Now that he’d mentioned it, at the mall. Close to two hours ago. She never went that long without eating anymore.

“Okay, you like hamburgers?”

She nodded.

And jeez that took so much energy just to bob her head. Grabbing her forehead, she leaned against the head of the bed as Cain walked out.

She began kneading her stomach as a low ache started to crawl through her gut.

Rhiannon crawled toward her. “Hey, girl, you don’t look so hot. You’re looking pale and…” She touched the back of her hand to Flint’s forehead. “Yeah, pale. No fever. But dude, you look like you’re gonna hurl or something.”

Closing her eyes for just a second, she tried to ignore the need for a bucket and worked at swallowing and not overthinking the strange onset of chills and aches inching through her bones. A cold hand touched her neck.

“Flint,” Janet whispered, “were you bitten by a bug?”

The moment she said it, Flint became suddenly aware of the hard knots under her skin. The same spot the guard had attacked her. They’d gone away before, but now they were back and throbbing worse than ever. She hissed when a hot flare of pain washed down her body like a lightning arc.

“How long have you been feeling like this?” Rhi asked.

She shook her head. “Just now.”

“Humans take Tylenol, right?” Flint heard Rhiannon rummaging around. “Abel’s got to have some around here somewhere.”

Teeth clacking, Flint shook her head. “His mom has all the medicine.”

“No.” Rhi shoved a drawer shut. “She’s only got the hard stuff. Monster consumption only. That crap would kill you.”

“This is not good,” Janet muttered under her breath and Flint couldn’t help but agree.

Something had happened to Abel and now it seemed to be happening to her. Was he contagious? Had she caught something?

But the thoughts were fuzzy around all the pain, and all she could do was close her eyes and pray to pass out the way Abel had.

Rhiannon’s footsteps came back from the hallway. “Nothing in the bathroom.”

Janet looked up. “Have you looked under the bed?”

“The bed?” Rhi asked Janet as if the question were dumb. “Why would he keep Tylenol under the bed?”

“Because he’s a boy and they always throw crap under the bed.”

“Fine, whatever.”

Moving the sheets, she peered. Every jostle of the mattress hurt like she was an exposed nerve, and the tiniest breath of air brushing against her made her want to scream.

“What’s this?” Rhiannon’s voice sounded strained.

“What?” Janet asked and Flint cracked an eye open.

It was a doll-shaped thing. Actually, it sort of reminded her of a voodoo doll. Made of burlap and stitched haphazardly along the sides. No larger than the size of Rhiannon’s palm.

“What is this?” Rhi prodded it with her finger.

Just then the door opened. It was Adam.

His large frame filled the door, unholy fury burning in his swirling blue eyes. Still dressed in his ringmaster clothes, the bright red and gold jacket flared behind his booted legs. He should have looked ridiculous, but he didn’t.

“Where’d you get that?” he snapped.

Rhiannon shook her head. “I found it. Under Abel’s bed. Flint’s getting sick too.”

Adam’s hard glare rolled across Flint’s face.

She pinched her nose and blew through her teeth, beginning to feel marginally better. The terrible ache in her skull at least was now little more than a tender throbbing, and she noticed something she hadn’t before.

The room smelled like sour milk.

Curling her nose, she wiggled up on her elbows. “It reeks in here. I’m pretty sure they’ve been in his room.”

Adam stepped inside and snatched the doll from Rhi’s hand, shaking it at Flint. “Of course they have. Filthy, murdering bastards.”

Cain walked in next. Without stopping to glance at anyone, he walked to Flint’s side and sat beside her, wrapping her in his arms. His eyes were hard when he looked at Adam.

“What is that, Adam?”

Layla walked in a moment later, her eyes wide and staring at the group.

The trailer suddenly made Flint feel claustrophobic. She clung to Cain’s shirt while he ran his hand up and down her back.

“Abel’s resting in my trailer. Please, Adam.” Layla grabbed his arm. “What’s going on?”

His jaw was a hard line when he said, “I know what’s happening to Abel.”

“What?” Janet and Cain asked at the same time.

Looking at the doll, Adam scrubbed his face. “This is a venin pouch. Just another one of the weapons in their nasty arsenal.”

Layla’s eyes were huge as she asked, “What does it do? Is he going to die?”

Janet bit her bottom lip.

“I don’t think so.” Adam’s nostrils flared. “It’s got all sorts of nasty in it, but it’s mostly designed to interfere with his pain receptors.”

“So it keeps him in a state of constant pain?” Cain asked.

“Among other things.”

“My poor baby.” Layla covered her mouth. “Is it permanent?”

“No. Now that the pouch is away from him, it’s harmless.”

Flint rubbed her head, understanding why the second Rhiannon had pulled it out from under the bed she’d felt better.

Grabbing Adam’s arm, Layla gave it a quick squeeze.

He patted her hand. “He’ll be fine. But I think I finally know where they’re planning to attack.”

Cain narrowed his eyes. “Where?”

“The dance.” Flint nodded with a twist of her lips.

Adam looked at her. “Yes. You’ve both been targeted. Cain told me about the one who’s contacted you.”

Layla whipped her head around. “You’ve been contacted?” She looked at Cain. “Did you kill it?”

His jaw worked from side to side. “I was too late; she disappeared.”

Closing her eyes, Layla squeezed her hands to her chest as if in prayer. “I’m going to go to Abel, give him some medicine to help him sleep. Adam, swear to me you’ll find these things and kill them.”

He touched her cheek. “My word.”

Swallowing hard, she turned and walked out.

Adam looked at Janet. “If you have dates, cancel them.”

Janet and Rhiannon nodded.

“They’re planning something. I don’t know what, but the fewer humans you have to worry about, the better. Abel and Flint will be the bait. We’re going to draw those effers out and finish this.”

“Wait,” Cain growled, “we can’t let them go. They’ll be in too much danger.”

“No, not with all of you there to guard them. Rhi and Ja will take Eli and Seth as their dates. Between the five of you, you should be able to keep Flint and Abel safe and find the hive.”

“No. I don’t like—”

It was so tempting to cower in a corner and pretend that none of this was happening. But that guard had nearly killed her. Might have if Cain hadn’t stopped it. They’d been spying on her, on Abel, making their lives a living nightmare. She needed to help.

“Cain, stop. I’ll do it. I’ll be fine. I trust you guys.” Her words were strong, but her body trembled.

Adam dipped his head.

Cain’s look was incredulous. “What if you’re not? What if—”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to have a babysitter for the rest of my life. Just don’t leave me alone. They won’t try anything with you guys right there.”

“No, they won’t.” Rhiannon twisted her lips. “Trust me, they can’t handle this.”

“I won’t let them hurt you, Flint.” Janet inclined her head.

“Good, then it’s settled. I want everything to appear normal.”

Cain clenched his jaw; his body went stiff behind her. She patted his knee, but he didn’t look at her.

“Flint, Abel will pick you up. I’ll let him think he stole my ATV again.”

“You knew about that?”

Adam’s face was droll.

“Ah.” Heat crept up her neck at all the times she’d thought they’d gotten away with it.

“Ja, you and Rhi will tail them to the dance. Once there, you’ll meet up with the guys.” Adam looked at Cain. “You three will get to the school early. Stay out of the way, watch, and learn. Make sure nothing is happening. Once the dance starts, rendezvous, and if nothing happens, nothing happens. But keep your guard up. Small footprint, guys. Remember. Don’t make a scene and don’t let them make a scene. Last thing we need is the Order breathing down our necks. They get involved”—he shook his head—“trust me, you don’t want that. Let’s just finish the mission we were tasked. Got it?”

Finally Cain looked back at her. She could see that he didn’t like any of it. His eyes pleaded with her to reconsider. She glanced at her lap.

“Got it.”

Chapter Thirty-One

“Wow,” Abel breathed when she walked out of her bedroom.

It’d taken her hours to get ready. Her hands had been so shaky she’d had to reapply her eyeliner seven times before getting it to go in a straight line. Two days ago the plan had seemed like a good one.

The right one.

But now… now she was just nervous.

Cain had hardly spoken to her and when he did, it was to beg her to reconsider. But her mind was made up. And it seemed like the perfect idea—use the bait the hive was after. Draw them out so that Cain could kill them, kill the queen, and all would be well.

At this point though, nothing was making much sense anymore. Cain had driven her to the school this morning, watching her as she’d hung the decorations up in the gymnasium. But his silence had been deafening.

She wanted to know things were going to be okay between them. He wasn’t mean or angry, but he was distant. Almost like he was hurt.

Which hurt her worse.

Flint smiled. “Really?”

His eyes bugged. “Are you seriously asking that? Did you look at yourself in the mirror?”

Rolling her eyes, she held out her hand as he slipped on the rose-bud corsage. It was pretty and delicate with baby’s breath sprayed around it. It looked really good against the black dress.

Her dad smiled. “Well, look at you. My baby’s all grown up.”

Snorting, Flint patted Abel’s vest, smoothing the edges down. “You look nice too.”

In fact, he did.

Crazy, but every day now it seemed he was filling out more and more. He wasn’t Cain size, but he was halfway there. And now that he was thicker, it was easier to see the resemblance between the two. His smile was so wide, and for a second she envied him.

Abel had no clue what was planned tonight.

She wished she didn’t either.

“Okay, well… don’t be too late.” Her dad nodded at them.

Katy came out the kitchen soon after and breathed a “wow.”

Nodding, grateful her father wasn’t a picture kind of guy, she made for the door. Abel helped her put her jacket on.

“You don’t want pictures, Frank?” Katy asked just as Flint put her hand on the door.

“No.” She shook her head. “We don’t do that.”

“Yeah, actually, I should, huh?” Her father finished as if she hadn’t said anything. “Just a sec.” He held up a finger and jogged to the back room.

Abel took that moment to lean in. He smelled really good. Like lemons and aftershave. “Love the heels, Red.”

“Red?” She eyed him hard. “Since when did you start calling me that?”

He waved a hand down her body. “Flint, seriously… My brother is stupid. He’ll regret it the second he sees you.”

Stomach writhing, she gave him a tight smile. He had no idea just how much Cain was regretting it at the moment. Placing her hand on his arm, she dipped her head, quickly brushing a fat red curl away from her eye. “I’m really glad you asked me, Abel. I’m not getting all mushy and stuff, but I’m really glad I bumped into you that first day at the locker.”

His grin was huge, his dimple bigger. “Me too.”

“By the way, I noticed you’re not wearing the sling. You all better now?” She squeezed his arm.

He frowned thoughtfully. “Like new.”

“Okay, say cheese.” Holding up a silver camera, her dad barely gave them enough time to smile before the lights snapped.

“Dad!” Flint rubbed her eyes. “Little warning.”

He chuckled. “One more.”

“No.” Giving him a sweet grin, she kissed his cheek instead. “I’ve got to hurry and make sure I check in with Mr. Wickham. Let him know I’m there if he needs anything tonight or whatever.”

Nodding, he hugged her back, then glared at Abel. “Be good. I mean it, young man. I know where you live and I know your mother.”

“Oh jeez.” Rolling her eyes, Flint yanked on Abel’s arm and snatched him out the front door before her dad could embarrass her further. “Sorry about that.”

“Nah, it’s cool. You should have seen my mom before I left, she was all like, ‘Bring Flint or else.’”

She laughed. “So are we going there first?”

They walked down the stairs, and she held his arm for support because she was terrified of breaking her neck while walking down the steps in such high heels. Thankfully, it was unseasonably warm for October. She probably hadn’t needed the jacket after all.

“No. I barely made it out the first time, no promises the second time.”

Laughing, she wasn’t aware of where they were headed until she noticed Adam’s ATV parked in the lot.

“Of course.” She pretended to be surprised.

Wiggling his brows, he handed her the helmet sitting on the passenger seat. “Hey, it was either this or bum a ride off Ja and Rhi, and that wasn’t happening. Ja’s been acting all weird with me lately.”

A frown tugged at the region of her heart, dampening her excitement a little. Staring at the helmet with no enthusiasm, she wondered what kind of helmet hair she’d get from this.

“Abel, you do realize I’m wearing a dress.”

“Mmhmm.” He nodded with a leering grin. “And it’s short. It’s sort of perfect, right?”

He strapped on his helmet and then sat, patting the seat behind him with an expectant look.

In heels, no less.

Laughing, she shrugged. “Yup, sort of perfect.”

Ignoring her inner diva, she strapped on the helmet. “Face to the front. I’m about to sit and might flash something.”

“That wouldn’t be such a bad thing.” He chuckled but turned around.

Popping him in the back of the head, she sat. And yeah, it was even more uncomfortable than she’d thought it would be. The heels were going to have to come off, at least for the ride.

“Hold on.” She slipped off her shoes, hugged them to her chest, and then slipped an arm around his waist. “Okay,  giddyup, Tonto.”

After starting the ignition, he headed toward the woods behind her complex. Leaning back, he yelled, “Taking the long way. Hang on tight.”

She squeezed his arm harder. “Surprised Adam let you take this.”

“Let me. Seriously, Flint? Have I taught you nothing?”

If he only knew. Casting a worried glance over her shoulder, she wondered where the girls were right now.

But then he started cracking jokes, and surprisingly, she started to have fun.

The night was ripe with the scents of the woods, the roar of their ride, and her laughter. It trailed behind her like a ribbon blowing in the breeze.

After all the drama and stress of the past few weeks, this was exactly what she’d needed.

Before she knew it, they were parking and suddenly the nerves were back.

Abel stood and, reaching over, pulled something out of her hair. Holding it front of her nose, he chuckled. “Dead leaf.”

Patting her head, she asked, “Do I look okay?”

He wiggled his brows.

Smoothing the wrinkles out of her dress, she twirled her finger, indicating that he should turn around so she could get off.

Satisfied, she got up and slipped on her heels.

“You look great, really great,” Abel finally said. “Can I turn around now?”

“Yeah.”

When he offered his arm, Flint took it and walked toward the school on legs that felt like rubber. Mr. Wickham stood by the door as they climbed the stairs. Dressed in a tweed jacket and slacks, he kept glancing repeatedly at his watch.

Finally spying her, he flung his hands up. “Ms. DeLuca, late as usual.”

Frowning, she shook her head. “Mr. Wickham, I was here all morning setting up.”

“Yes, yes…” He gestured distractedly, glancing over her shoulder. “Go inside, make sure the punch booth is set up, assist Tamara in any way she needs you to.”

Tamara?

Just the mention of the girl’s name had her skin washing over with goose bumps. Was it really a coincidence that Tamara was also working the dance and Flint hadn’t known about it until now? Looking back at the woods, she hoped everyone was where they were supposed to be.

“Weird much?” Abel whispered into her ear as they walked inside.

“I know, right? He seemed preoccupied, didn’t he?”

Pinching his fingers together, he nodded. “Little bit.”

When she walked inside the auditorium, a sense of pride overtook her. The place looked freaking good, even if she said so herself. She’d blown up over a hundred of the gold-dusted balloons. Right at ten, while everyone danced and swayed to the final slow song of the night, the balloon net would drop and gold dust would scatter everywhere.

Amazing how the sterile gymnasium could look so warm with just a few plants and silk splashes of color affixed to the walls. Thousands of silver stars dangled from the rafters.

“Snaaa…zzy.” Abel whistled. “You did all this?” His eyes beamed down at her.

“Well, no. But I did blow up so many balloons I almost fainted. World got all buzzy and funny for a second.”

He laughed, then coughed, and so did she.

Like she’d suddenly inhaled a bucket of powder. Wheezing, she waved her hand, trying to clear the air. Abel’s eyes teared up.

“The heck is that?”

Shaking her head, she looked for the source. It’d had felt like swallowing a massive amount of gnats. But there was nothing in the air. Then she smelled the sour milk.

“Why are you here?” Tamara’s terse tone broke Flint’s happy vibe.

“Because it’s a free world,” Abel snapped, shoving Flint behind his back and becoming a human shield. “Who are you?”

Whoa!

Had Abel just done that? Gone all postal? She was used to that with Cain, but not Abel. His neck was so rigid the muscles were raised, and there was definitely a vein throbbing at the base of it.

Patting his back, Flint stood up on tiptoe. “Abel, it’s fine. Come on.”

He didn’t turn.

Tugging on his hand, she said with more force, “Abel, come on.”

Tamara didn’t seem fazed. She just stared at Abel with that same eerie, buglike way of hers. Thank God she wasn’t blinking the clear membrane.

Then he shook his head, stumbling back, and like air escaping a balloon, he seemed to physically deflate in front of her.

Grabbing his head, he stumbled into her.

“Hey.” Grunting, she shoved against his back, trying to use her momentum to keep him on his feet.

Shaking his head, he looked at her with eyes grown wide with a flicker of panic. “I’m… I’m sorry… Don’t know what came over me.”

But she knew. She knew and she couldn’t tell him.

This sucked so bad. Knowing what he was becoming, knowing she couldn’t tell him a thing. Hugging his waist, she wrinkled her nose. “No bigs. But maybe…”

“No.” He cut his hand through the air. “Don’t even say it. I’m not going home.”

“Abel.” She dragged out his name with a sort of impatient huff. “You haven’t exactly been feeling so hot these last few days. Maybe this was too soon.”

His lips quirked. “Flintlock, I just got a little angry at that…” Glancing up, he scanned the room for Tamara, but she’d already walked off. “…girl.”

He really didn’t seem to want to go and honestly, he looked fine. If he was going through the change, she could handle him. Rhiannon had sworn that Layla managed to work all the crap out of his system. Whatever was happening now was purely berserker stuff, and she could handle that.

She handled Cain.

But no matter what, she’d keep an eye on him. At the slightest hint of crazy, they’d leave.

“I’m fine. Really.” That gorgeous dimple in deep profile decided her.

“Fine. But one more outburst from you, young man.” She wagged her finger.

He caught it in the air and kissed the tip.

A light kiss. It meant nothing.

But she stilled like a cornered rabbit, pulse beating rapid through her fingertip. “Abel, behave.”

His smile was wicked, a curving of lips and exposing of teeth. It made her shiver.

Brow furrowing, she opened her mouth.

“Flint.”

It was Wickham and he was marching toward them with purpose.

“Did you find Tamara?”

He was sweating, running a finger along his collar.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Fine.” His answer was curt, his mood intense. “Look, I don’t see her around. Place looks good, but run back to the cafeteria and make sure the final shipment of punch arrived on time, will you?”

The man was a wreck. If just making sure the punch arrived on time turned him into this, she’d hate to see him in a really stressful situation.

“Yeah, sure.”

She didn’t see Tamara back in the kitchen. Thankfully Abel had joined her, and along with another boy from her gym class (she thought his name might be Marcos), they were able to stock and count the last of the shipment.

Eyeing the ginormous stack dubiously, she muttered, “Who needs this much punch? There’s like a hundred cases of the stuff. They can’t possibly expect a couple of kids to drink so much.”

Marcos nodded, wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his black suit jacket. “I know, and making us stack it right before the dance, man. Wish I had known there was going to be so much manual labor. I would have waited to change until after.”

Holding out his arms for inspection, his face glowered and tiny lines scrawled across his brows. “Man, Amy’s not gonna want to dance with me if I’m all sweaty.”

Almost like they’d spoken it into existence, a booming, hollow noise thumped through the walls. The dance was starting.

Grabbing her hand, Abel waved at Marcos. “Come on, I want to show off my date.”

Again, the feeling of oddness settled over her, dampening her mood. Abel wasn’t doing anything particularly different tonight, but there was a sort of manic desperation about him.

“How are you feeling?”

Stopping so quickly she knocked into his chest, Abel clenched his jaw. “I’m not a piece of glass. Stop expecting me to shatter, Flint. I want to dance and forget. Can we do that, please?”

His face was rolling, the muscles moving beneath his skin, flexing and flaring, his breathing coming harder and harder through his nose.

Somehow she managed to squeak out, “Okay. Great.”

But he was sick. This wasn’t like Abel to act this way. Did the change really make them so different? Had Cain been more like this before?

Forcing a hard smile to her face, she made herself as loose as possible and slipped her arm through his, acting as if he hadn’t just looked at her like he wanted to rip her head off her neck, like his body hadn’t trembled and started to thicken.

She needed to find Cain.

Relaxing again, he smiled down at her and patted her cold hand. “See. No bigs, right? Let’s go dance.”

This time when they walked into the gym it was like they’d stepped into a different world. The lights were dimmed, the strobe lights flashing. The DJ’s booth, backlit with black light, swirled with a chaotic miasma of colors. Music thumped and blared through the large speakers.

Kids were filling the large room. Dresses shimmered in every color of the rainbow, looking like flowers in the sun.

The song was fast and pumping.

Guys were jumping up and down, forming a sort of mosh pit in the corner. Regardless of the rhythm, some couples were swaying, looking at each with a promise in their eyes.

Abel tugged on her hand.

She could do this, she could.

His hands slid down her waist.

Laughing nervously, she swatted his arm. “This is a fast song.”

“I know.” He waggled his brows. “Stop thinking, just dance.”

Still not seeing the girls or Cain, she knew she was in this alone for the time being. She didn’t want to make him angry again. Cain said so long as they weren’t antagonized, they’d be normal. So if she did what Abel wanted, she’d be fine and so would everyone else.

Feeling brave, she started to move. Slowly at first, trying to find the backbeat in the song. Her mother used to love dancing.

She’d crank up the music player in the living room, then take Flint’s hand, and they’d dance until they were breathless.

The music moved through her, in her, around her. It took her body and made her its slave. Before she knew it, she was completely caught up, spinning and laughing in Abel’s arms.

He was a good dancer, not clumsy or awkward the way she’d expected him to be. And in his arms, he was himself again. The light shining in his brown eyes, it was the Abel she knew and loved.

They swayed in unison, moving almost as one. She, the sun. He, the planet. Gravity at work. Lost in the liquid sound, they danced one song after another, getting hot and sweaty, but not caring.

“You move like fire.” Cain’s hot voice whispered in her ear, the long length of him pressing tight and warm to her back.

Panting, she turned, placing her palms on his chest. The smell of his black leather motorcycle jacket whispered under her nose.

“Cain,” she breathed as excitement flushed her cheeks.

He looked good with his jacket and jeans and slightly messy hair. She ran her fingers through his hair. “You’re here.”

Giving her a wolfish grin, he nodded. Warm hands clamped onto her back, sliding slowly down her spine. “You look amazing.”

But she didn’t get a chance to bask in the warmth. Rough hands yanked her out of Cain’s arms.

Abel glared at Cain, his fingers digging sharply into Flint’s arm. “You don’t get to touch.”

“Whoa!” Flint shook her head, trying to jerk her arm away. But he was too strong. “Abel, what’s wrong with you?”

Cain didn’t touch her, but his knuckles were bone white as he unlatched Abel’s hand from her. A rush of blood sizzled through her arm—it would definitely bruise.

Then Abel did the most amazing thing.

He punched Cain.

“Screw you, man! She’s my date. Mine.” His eyes were frantic, sweat dotted his upper lip, and he moved as if ready to snatch her back to his side.

Cain didn’t even rub at the red bloom on his cheek, acting as if the punch hadn’t fazed him. But she’d heard the sick thump of flesh striking flesh. Abel had swung hard.

Gently, Cain set her behind his back. “Touch her again and I’ll rip your hands off.”

Trembling, she rubbed her hands up and down his back. Suddenly Rhi and Ja were there. So were the twins. The girls surrounded Abel; the guys stood next to Cain.

Aware that they were being stared at, Flint tugged on Cain’s jacket. It was a miracle they hadn’t been caught fighting. In fact, looking around, there weren’t any teachers anywhere.

A growl emanated from deep in Abel’s chest, rumbling and vibrating like a beast. His eyes weren’t red, but he was trembling, holding his hands rigid by his side and balled into fists. There was so much sweat on him now that he looked like he’d just stepped out of a shower.

“Abel,” Cain said calmly, but with the threat of violence lingering like an echo behind the name.

They were having the stare-down to beat all stare-downs. Like two alpha dogs fighting over a kill.

Abel’s eye twitched, then he hissed and grabbed his skull.

“Abe?” Ja’s soft voice grew pregnant with fear.

Turning on his heel, Abel ran in the direction of the bathrooms.

Janet flew after him, her orange dress licking the ground behind her like rolling flame.

“Make sure he’s okay.” Cain glanced at the twins and Rhiannon. “Make sure she’s okay.”

All three nodded and took off after him.

They were making a huge scene, how was it that no one seemed to care? Where were the teachers?

Cain wrapped his arms around Flint. “You okay?”

He peered deep into her, like he was looking not at her face, but her soul. She wrapped her arms around his waist.

“Something’s wrong with him tonight. He was fine when he came to get me, but the second we got here, I don’t know what happened.”

“Why didn’t you call me?” Grabbing her hand, he peered at the faint purple mark that’d started to spread on her arm where Abel had grabbed her.

His thumb was warm and gentle as he traced the bruise’s shape. Warm lips pressed tight to her skin and the feel of it shot heat through her pores. Shivering, she inhaled his spicy scent.

“Be…because.” She cleared her throat and tried again. “He wouldn’t let me out of his sight. Is it the, you know what?” She looked around.

For the most part everyone ignored them, but a few still lingered and looked.

“No. When it happens we sleep. A lot. And eat. We don’t act like that.”

“What’s wrong with him, Cain?”

Wrapping her in his arms, he dropped his chin on her forehead. Closing her eyes, she relaxed into the steely warmth of his chest, moving against him subconsciously as she swayed back and forth.

“Could just be residual stuff from the other day. I’m sorry, princess, I thought you’d be safe. The guys and I were scouting the perimeter, setting some traps just in case one of them showed.”

“Tamara’s here.”

His eyes narrowed as he peered at her. “Where?”

“I don’t know.” She dug her fingers into his jacket, needing his warmth right now. “But that was the weird part, she was working the setup.”

Pushing her away, Cain’s entire demeanor suddenly changed. “Flint, listen to me—”

“Something’s wrong with him, Cain.” Janet was back and yanking on Cain, twisting him around to face her. Her eyes were large and gathering with tears. She was twisting a long length of dress between her hands.

“What is it?” He was holding on to Flint as if afraid to let go.

She shook her head. “I don’t know, but the guys told me to come get you.”

Clenching his jaw, he gave her a worried look. “I don’t like this. Janet, take Flint and get out of here.”

Swallowing hard, she nodded and was now rubbing her hand obsessively across her golden cuff.

“Cain? Wait.” Flint held on to his hand; she didn’t want to let it go. A sick feeling worked its way through her body.

Twisting his lips, he leaned in and gave her a rough kiss on the crown of her head. “Go. I’ll be fine.”

Then he was gone.

“Let’s go.” Janet grabbed her hand. “Something’s wrong here. Something—”

Boom!

Boom!

Boom!

A series of what sounded like explosions rocked the gym, shaking the ground and causing Flint to drop to her knees. Everybody screamed and then one cry cut above the rest.

“Bomb!”

That was it. Everyone scattered like ants running out of a mound that’d been lit on fire. Still on the ground, she was getting kicked and knocked around as terrified people ran for the doors. Every time she tried to get to her knees to stand, someone else would knock her down.

In all the chaos, she lost sight of Janet.

“Janet!” Flint choked out, chest heaving with fire as yet another foot landed in her gut.

But it was too loud and the surge was too thick.

Someone stepped on her hand and she howled, dropping to her elbow as she hugged it tight to her body, covering her head as best she could.

Then a pair of arms clamped onto her waist and for a split second she smiled. Until she smelled the rancid stench of soured milk.

Screaming, she twisted around.

Tamara was tiny, but her strength was immense. “You’re coming with me. Scream bomb over and over, get them out of here,” she said, gritting the words into Flint’s ears.

“Scream!” Tamara shook her.

Flint screamed. “Oh my God! Bomb! Get out, out!!”

People ran even faster, shoving others out of the way as they clawed to the top of the human pile to get to the doors.

Where was Cain? Janet? Abel?

Tamara dragged her. Flint dug in her heels, trying to stay put, to get out of her grasp. How many times had she told Cain she could handle herself, could run away? What a lie. Helpless and sick, she only slowed the process down.

“Cain! Where are you? I’m here!”

“He can’t hear you; he won’t save you.” Tamara’s tone was curt, sharp, and full of hatred.

“What’d you do to him?” She twisted, working around the fistful of dress Tamara still held.

Her pixie face was smooth, but her clear membranes were blinking like mad. A sure sign that she was anxious.

A girl yelled and ran into them, jarring Flint’s spine and making her jaw clamp down on her tongue. Tears sprang to her eyes.

“He’s where he needs to be. And you’re coming with me.”

Struggling, she kicked and screamed, raking her nails down Tamara’s arms. But the girl wouldn’t budge.

“Stop fighting.” Tamara shoved her forward so hard it snapped Flint’s head forward. The velocity of it was almost enough to give her whiplash. Pain sizzled down her back and radiated through her shoulders.

Two more hive came out of the crush, heading toward Tamara, and with them was Mr. Wickham. His skin looked pale; a purple bruise bloomed at his left temple.

“Just remember this, Flint,” Tamara whispered quickly, “I did what was right. Listen and learn, then tell them. Save…”

Flint didn’t even give herself a second to reason what that meant. The minute Wickham was within earshot, she screamed.

“Mr. Wickham—” It was on the tip of her tongue to plead with him to find Cain, to save himself, but his next words stopped her cold.

“Give us the girl, Tamara. You’ve got orders from the queen—you’re not supposed to be here.”

It was like taking a punch to the gut. All the air in her body squeezed out of her pores, leaving her deflated and unable to believe what she’d just heard.

Tamara’s breathing was hard and choppy. She held Flint in front of her like a shield. “I’ve done as the queen asked.”

They were headed toward a locker room now. Flint recognized it—it was the boy’s locker room.

She could hardly focus. A loud annoying buzz grew in her head, and trying to make out what anyone was saying was like trying to listen to conversation underwater.

“What are you doing with the girl?” the blond drone next to Wickham asked. His blue eyes were a shocking, vivid blue behind the membranes.

“I’ve strapped the bomb to myself.” Her breath fanned Flint’s cheek as she leaned in to whisper, “We’ve captured the boy.”

The boy?

Terror clamped steely fingers into her brain. Boy? What boy?

Who?

But a horrible sinking feeling flooded her limbs, made them feel full of concrete. “Abel,” she breathed.

Wickham jerked toward her and when he blinked, she screamed.

“You’re one of them! You’re… you’re…”

His grin was terrifying. Full of teeth and evil, and she knew she was never going to get out of here alive.

“I never smelled you.”

“Of course you didn’t. I was in too deep. The queen knew you could smell us. She knows all. She covered me in her dust. It’s why you’ve never smelled her, though she’s been under your nose for a very long time, Flint DeLuca.”

The trembling started then. It took hold of her feet, traveled up her legs, and then shoved through her arms. She couldn’t stop the spasming, and it was only because Tamara held the back of her dress that she was she still standing.

“It’s Katy. Isn’t it?”

A twinkle sparked in his eyes.

Tamara slapped Flint in the back of the head. “Focus!”

“On what?” She tried to twist around.

None of this was making sense, and the beeping was starting to grow louder. In fact, it was getting to a pitch that was nearly pain.

Wickham and the other drones clamped onto their ears. “Tamara, you know we must take her alive. Hold off on the bomb until we’ve secured the package. The queen will…”

She scoffed. “The queen will what? Kill me? I’m dead already, aren’t I, Jinx? You did it. You inserted the bomb in my thorax.”

The blond-haired drone’s nostrils flared, and his jaw clenched as his mouth turned down. It was a fleeting movement, but enough to show Flint the truth.

“Why, Jinx? Why did you betray me?”

His double eyes blinked. “She knew, Tamara. She knew, and you defied her too long.”

At that, Flint went absolutely still. There really was a bomb and it was inside Tamara. Holy crap. She needed to get out of here. She frantically searched for an escape, but the fear was a choking, sinking thing. Like quicksand, it kept her immobile. Unable to think. To move. To even formulate a plan of escape.

She was pathetic.

Useless.

Tamara took a step back. “Because you know I’m right. And what she does, it’s wrong. Honorable, but wrong.”

What was Tamara doing? It was almost as if she was dropping hints. The truth. She’d said to listen. Was this what she’d meant?

“Tamara.” Wickham’s tone rang with warning as he glanced down at Flint, his eyes narrowing into thin slits.

Tamara continued to move back until her back was pressed to the window and Flint still held tightly to the front of her.

“You know the Triad’s lying, Jinx, you know they are.”

Again, Jinx’s jaw flexed.

Triad? What the eff was the Triad?

Wickham and the girl standing next to Jinx looked at one another. Then Wickham nodded slightly. The girl stepped in closer to Jinx, whose entire focus was still on Tamara.

“That is why you cleared the room. You yelled bomb first,” Jinx whispered.

Flint felt Tamara nod.

“I would lay my life down for the queen, but the prophecy’s wrong. We can’t do—”

“Enough!” Wickham roared, and then faster than Flint could blink, the female drone slipped behind Jinx, and in the span of a heartbeat he lost his head.

Flint screamed, bile working up her throat as the headless body slumped to the ground.

“You’ll keep the queen’s business private, Tamara.” Mr. Wickham sounded for all the world as if he were merely scolding a child in the classroom. “Now, we’ve put down your greatest ally among us. Do as the queen commanded and give me the girl.”

He stepped up, and the clear membrane, it blinked twice. Color flooded his cheeks as he smiled down at Flint.

“You were always a pain.”

Tamara was trembling. Whoever Jinx had been to her, his death had cut her deeply. She didn’t utter a sound, but Flint felt the tremors working through her, the heaviness of her breath on the back of her head.

Black liquid oozed from the corpse, coating the tiles around them, inching straight toward Flint’s new heels.

Whimpering, she gripped Tamara’s arms, suddenly aware that Tamara was the only thing keeping her alive.

The buzzing in her head was growing louder.

The assassin girl was still wiping her hands on her black jeans, as if trying to wipe off the blood. She turned her head. “I hear movement. It’s hard and fast. A rager. Maybe two.”

Flint cried out. “Cain, I’m here.”

Wickham shook his head. “Give her to me!”

Then it was like time slowed. Flint became aware of each minute movement, Wickham reaching for her, murder in his eyes.

Tamara rolling around, now shielding Flint’s body with her own as she punched out the window. Glass shattered everywhere, flying in a spray at the girl’s face. She hissed as it pinged off her flesh. Warmth oozed down her cheeks and brows.

But then time snapped forward again. And it was moving so fast now she could hardly follow.

The door crashed open.

Cain entered.

But he wasn’t Cain. He was a monster, three times the size she’d ever seen him, his eyes a bloody red, his body thick and grotesque. “Let her go,” he thundered.

Black shadows danced behind him.

“Run away,” Tamara whispered. “Don’t stop, and don’t look back.”

Then she grabbed Flint and shoved her through the window.

Flint screamed with a throat gone raw.

It wasn’t a far drop, but she braced herself for impact. Landing on her side, legs sprawled out in front of her and the breath scissoring out of her lungs painfully, she grabbed her rib and felt sticky warmth.

There were roars and shrieks and Flint didn’t know what to do.

Bomb.

The word resonated in her mind like thunder. The bomb was inside Tamara. And that finally cut through the fog in her brain. Scrabbling to her feet, knowing her fingernails were breaking as she stood, she kicked off her heels and ran.

The buzzing was louder, wailing through the night. Sirens were coming.

Someone must have called the cops.

She was alone.

Cain would die.

Cain.

Halfway across the field, she stopped and grabbed her head. Whirling to stare at the school, she knew what she had to do.

She couldn’t fight, but she could calm him enough to make him listen. Make him leave so he wouldn’t get caught in the bomb.

Flint ran for him. Each beat of her heart was like a prayer in her soul.

Save him.

Save him.

Save him.

She was almost back when the world exploded in a burst of flame, a chunk of something slapped her in the head, and the lights went out.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Abel tried to sit up.

But he was strapped down to something hard, flat, and cold.

Blinking, he attempted to breathe through the panic, but he couldn’t even see. The room was dark.

“Abel.” A disembodied voice echoed through the dark room.

Kicking his feet, he roared as he flexed and bucked. He couldn’t get up.

“Who are you? Let me go! Please. Who are you?”

“Someone who cares.”

The voice was monotonous and flat, sounding neither male, nor female. Heart racing through his chest, he fought to control himself and think.

He’d been abducted in the bathroom. His stomach had twisted and he’d needed to vomit. The moment he’d gotten there, someone or something had hit him in the back of the head and he remembered nothing else.

Until now.

“Who are you?” He screamed again, jerking against his restraints. “How do you know me?”

“What if I told you we captured Flint?”

Something dark and twisted writhed like a pile of maggots through his soul. His blood and body began to burn and he roared.

“Ahh, so she is the one. For both you and Cain. Very interesting.”

Tears coursed down his cheeks. Violent tears. Angry tears. “Let me go.”

The voice laughed. “You’re not ready yet. But soon you will be.”

Then white lights flooded the room.

Abel winced, squeezing his eyes shut against the throbbing pain of finally seeing.

Dainty footsteps clacked against the tile as someone entered the room. Then a soothing hand brushed against his forehead. A familiar hand.

Snapping his eyes open, he blinked and then blinked again. “Mom?”

Her shriveled face stared down at him with so much love it was a bruising ache. “Mommy’s here, Abel, and I’m going to make this all better. I promise.”

Withdrawing a long silver needle from behind her back, she sighed. “This might hurt a little.”

Then, yanking his head forward, she inserted it into the base of his skull.

He screamed.

Screamed and screamed and screamed.

Until his throat bled.

~*~

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About Selene Charles

Selene Charles it the pen name for a NY Times and USA Today Bestselling Author who loves books that make you think, or feel something. Preferably both. And while she's a total girly girl and loves glitter and rainbows, she's just as happy when she's writing about the dark underbelly of society. Well, if things like zombies, and vampires, and werewolves, and mermaids existed. (Although she has it on good authority that mermaids do in fact exist, because the internet told her so.)

She's married to the love of her life. She lives in Hawaii, loves cooking, and occasionally has been known to crochet. She also really loves talking about herself in the third person.

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Selene Charles Books:

Tempted Series

Forbidden, Book 1

Reckless, Book 2 (Coming Soon)

All for a Rose

Jennifer Blackstream

A Man Becoming a Beast . . .

The naga lord Daman is trapped between forms, half man half wyvern. Once the savior of enslaved changelings all over the kingdom of Sanguenay, Daman is now a danger to everyone around him. The curse that holds him prisoner in his own skin and scales keeps him in a constant state of imbalance, his altruistic nature fighting with the quick and violent temper of his more bestial side. When his plan to capture the witch who cursed him fails and leaves him with a sweet and beautiful changeling, Daman finds himself with the perfect opportunity to prove to himself that he is more man than beast. But hope dies a little more every day, and with every passing sunset, Daman finds his temper growing more and more out of control…

A changeling searching for freedom . . .

Guilt is eating Gigi alive. Since her family lost their fortune and had to move out of their mansion to a poor farm, Gigi has never felt better--and her sister has never felt worse. It seems that every time Gigi digs her hands into the earth to work the farm, she feels stronger, and every time her sister even thinks about working the land, she grows weaker. Gigi’s existence is about easing her sister’s pain, and the guilt over wanting freedom from that responsibility is killing her. What does it say about her loyalty when she leaps at a chance to be the prisoner of a monster just to get away from being her sister’s keeper? And what does it say about her that this monster makes her feel more alive than she ever imagined?

A tale as old as time…

An enchanted rose. A witch’s curse. A beast’s temper. A maiden who can see the potential for good even beneath the scales of a monster. It’s amazing what can transpire…All for a Rose.

Chapter One

“Wait, that doesn’t make any sense.”

Maribel paused and swiped a hand across her sweat-dampened brow, leaving behind a thick trail of mud as the earth from her hands happily clung to her skin and the lock of brown hair that had pasted itself to her forehead. She squinted at the book propped up on a tomato plant in front of her, pointing to the faded words with her gardening spade.

“Mountain arnica… Paste made from its leaves eases bruising and muscle pain… Poisonous if it comes in contact with the skin.” Maribel tapped her knee with the spade, ignoring the clumps of dirt that flung themselves with wild abandon in every direction. “Well, which is it? Does rubbing it into bruised skin heal you or kill you?” She plucked a cherry tomato from the plant beside her, chewing savagely as she glared at the text.

One didn’t get this sort of ambiguity with cooking. A plant had a certain flavor and that flavor mixed with other flavors, lending its unique qualities to the overall experience of the dish. There was no question on whether or not something was poisonous, it either killed you or it didn’t. Maribel snared another cherry tomato, admiring the sleek, perfect red skin before popping it into her mouth. The frustrating herb lesson faded from her mind as her taste buds sang their praise of the sweet flavor that only came from sun-ripened fruit. Her gaze slid to the side, snagging on the thin beige shoots that stuck out of the ground in the garlic patch, letting her know the small bulbs were ready to harvest. Sliced tomato sprinkled with minced garlic and drizzled with olive oil. A dash of salt and pepper, perhaps some finely grated cheese…

“Good morning!”

Maribel coughed, seeds from the tomato she’d been enjoying threatening to fly up her throat and out her nose. That voice. Warm, but firm, ringing clear and strong through the air. A shrieking laugh immediately followed and Maribel closed her eyes, slowly counting to ten before pinning a smile on her face and rising to greet her visitor.

“Good morning, Madame Balestra.” Her gaze fell to the two-year-old boy barreling ahead of her approaching neighbor like a warning shot from the cannon of an unfriendly ship. “Pierre, how lovely to see you again.”

The toddler ignored her and fell like a plague on her cherry tomato plants. Grubby hands flew through the air like windmills, snagging her precious fruits by the fistful and shoving them into his mouth. Pierre’s cheeks bulged like a greedy chipmunk’s and he fell to sit beside a particularly heavy plant, eyes locked firmly on the cherry tomatoes he planned to consume next.

“Pierre, please, you must ask Maribel before you help yourself to her tomatoes.”

Maribel’s skin ached as she forced it to maintain an expression of welcome despite her fervent desire to chase after Pierre while banging on a pot—the same method she used when crows landed in her cornfield. His mother’s voice was anything but disapproving. Madame Balestra had been the one to give Maribel her first cherry tomato plants, had been the one to show Maribel how to tie them to supports so the fruit didn’t drag on the ground. Had Maribel known that the price for the plants and advice would be letting her neighbor’s spawn eat his fill whenever he happened by, she might have elected to get her starter plants from someone else—perhaps someone who would take money for them instead of taking the fruits of her labor from her family’s mouths.

“Oh, no, please, he can help himself.” She stroked a nearby tomato plant, as if she could offer it the comfort she herself needed in the face of the ravenous child. Her gaze slid to the interloper with the bottomless stomach. “The little darling.” Enjoy the diaper rash, you tomato thief.

“On my oath, that child could eat his weight in fruit,” Madame Balestra muttered, shaking her head. She prodded at one of the ruby-skinned fruits, touching at least five of them before finding one that seemed to meet her standards. Juice trickled from the corner of her mouth as she chewed and she dabbed daintily at it with a faded, but clean white handkerchief she pulled from her apron. “I’m so pleased the plants I gave you are flourishing so.”

“I don’t know how I can ever thank you enough,” Maribel said sweetly. Because apparently, it is never enough. She cleared her throat and knelt beside the tomato plant closest to her. She opened her skirt and gathered cherry tomatoes as slowly as her annoyance would allow. “I was about to take some inside myself. If Corrine enjoys them half as much as our young Pierre, it might be just the thing to put a smile on her face.”

“Ah, yes, where is your sister?”

Maribel tensed as Madame Balestra put on a show of searching the garden.

“I don’t see her,” Madame Balestra continued. “I would think that on a lovely day like today, she would be only too excited to be out working in the sunshine.”

“She’s tidying up inside.” But not in the corners, because there could be spiders there. “You know how dusty a house can get out here.”

“Oh, yes. I only wish I too could limit my duties to tidying up the house.” Piercing green eyes met Maribel’s. “But that is not the life of one who works the land to survive, is it? One must push oneself to care for not only the house, but the land. It is a great deal of work—especially when left for only two people such as yourself and your dear father.”

“Corrine’s not feeling well,” Maribel said tightly. She yanked a cherry tomato off the plant hard enough to rock the stick it was tied to.

“Still?” Madame Balestra plucked another tomato and held it in front of her face, though her attention was obviously on Maribel. “I’m so sorry to hear that. It must be so difficult for you to always have her work to do out here on top of your own. I can’t recall the last time I saw your older sibling tending the land.”

“I’m sure she would love to be out here working with us,” Maribel forced out through clenched teeth, her pleasant expression becoming brittle on her lips. “I often think of how horrible it must be for her to be housebound even on gorgeous days such as the one the gods have blessed us with today.”

“Such a shame nothing can be done to help the poor child,” Madame Balestra continued, her monologue unimpeded by Maribel’s interruption. “And so unusual. My niece was touched with the Evil Fire as a child, had horrible convulsions and delusions—used to scream that she could see her auntie who had passed away. But she outgrew it in a few months. I’ve never known anyone to suffer with it so far into adulthood. The demons’ grip must be strong on your sister, bless her soul.”

The cherry tomato in Maribel’s grip died a gruesome death as Maribel clenched her hand into a fist. Seeds and sticky red juice trickled from between her fingers.

“Maribel? Maribel!”

Maribel closed her eyes and cursed under her breath. Not now, Corrine!

“Ah, here comes the poor dear now.” Madame Balestra threw the cherry tomato to the ground as she focused her full attention on Corrine. Her tone dripped with the false sincerity that struck so many of the villagers around Maribel’s family. “Such a lovely dress.”

The older woman twisted the knife in Maribel’s back with practiced ease, and Maribel surrendered. Her shoulders slumped as she faced the direction of her sister’s musical voice. Corrine’s tone was slightly breathless, something that could mean she was feeling particularly unwell today, or that she’d been calling Maribel’s name for some time and Maribel had been too preoccupied to hear her. Maribel half-wished it was the former. Perhaps if Corrine came stumbling up the hill with the pallor of a fresh corpse, Madame Balestra would stop harping on her absence in the fields.

“If you ever decide to come to one of our town’s social events, Maribel, perhaps your sister would let you wear one of her dresses.”

Madame Balestra was in rare form today. Maribel fought not to react as she brushed as much of the dirt from her skirts as she could. The blue material had faded from a brilliant sapphire to a muted robin’s egg, dragged even further from its former glory by the layer of dirt that spoke of the garment’s reassignment as gardening wear. It was hard to believe the gown had once been a beacon of class at society balls, a sign of Maribel’s family’s wealth and status. The condition it was in now, it was more believable that the dress had been sewn together from worn bedskirts and discarded scraps—old scraps, not even fit to be saved for rags. Still, neither Maribel nor her dress missed those days.

The same could not be said for her sister Corrine.

Maribel peered over the tomato plants, casting her gaze down the hill at her family’s small farmhouse. Corrine was trudging up the slope, her slender body so pale that she stood out like a ghost amidst the gleaming colors of the garden. Her silk and velvet gown rustled audibly even from this distance as she fought her way up the slight incline, the reflection of the sun off the fine silk nearly blinding Maribel.

“If I’m perfectly honest,” Madame Balestra mused, “I’ve never quite understood your sister’s dedication to fashion. Even if she doesn’t intend to work the field with you and your father, that sort of attire is hardly appropriate for wearing around the house, or in bed.”

“She doesn’t stay in bed all day.” Maribel offered the protest, but it was half-hearted. Corrine only made things more difficult for herself, stubbornly wearing her precious gowns even while traipsing around the outdoors. It would have been one thing if she were as indifferent about her wardrobe as Maribel was of hers, but Corrine valued every stitch of her clothing as one might treasure a child. It was one more way Corrine clung to the past, fighting tooth and nail against her family’s new and humble circumstances

“It’s a wonder she can breathe coming up the hill in that corset,” Madame Balestra observed.

Corrine arrived at the summit of the gentle hill with a gasp, one hand clutched to her chest. She heaved in breaths as deep as her gown would allow, her brown eyes locked on Maribel with a physical intensity, as if holding her in place until she could regain her breath.

“Maribel,” she gasped finally. “We need to go see Mother Briar.”

Instant irritation ate at Maribel’s nerves like an army of fire ants. “We saw her yesterday.” She gestured around the garden at the weeds that were trying to strangle her tomato plants. “I have to do something about these weeds or I won’t have enough— Are you going to faint?”

The spade fell from Maribel’s hand to land with its sharp side buried in the moist earth as she rushed to her sister’s side. Corrine swayed on her feet, the back of one trembling hand pressed to her forehead and her eyes fluttering. The sent of copper tickled Maribel’s nose and she noticed that Corrine was cradling her other hand against her stomach.

Madame Balestra sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh, my.”

Maribel’s stomach rolled as she got a good look at Corrine’s hand. The flesh of her palm was red and raw, blackened ends curling in places to reveal skin wet with blood and other fluids. The mess leeched into Corrine’s gown as she clutched the injured limb to the trunk of her body. The fact that her sister gave no attention to her gown’s state of ruin frightened Maribel nearly as much as the wound itself.

“Corrine, what happened?” Maribel put one hand on Corrine’s shoulder to steady her as she peered at the wound. “Is that a burn?”

Corrine swallowed hard, her face growing even paler. “I had…another episode. I was trying to pick up the rug in front of the fireplace so I could drag it outside for dusting. By the time I came out of it, I was lying on the floor, and my hand was against the hearth.”

“You shouldn’t have come up the hill,” Maribel chastised her gently. “And you’re in no condition to go traipsing through the woods to visit Mother Briar. Come back to the house and I’ll tend your burn.”

Corrine jerked away from Maribel, nearly sending herself tumbling to the ground. She stumbled to get her feet under her, glaring at Maribel all the while. “No! I need to see Mother Briar.”

“Your sister is right, dear,” Madame Balestra spoke up. “You should get that tended to as soon as possible, here and now if you can. The trek to Mother Briar’s will only give it time to get worse.”

Corrine snapped her head to the side as if she hadn’t noticed Madame Balestra until now. “Wasn’t that your son I saw rampaging through my sister’s snow peas next to the house?”

Madame Balestra swiveled her head around like an owl who’d lost the mouse that was to be his dinner. “Pierre? Pierre!”

Maribel had to give the woman credit. Most parents would have showed some sign of embarrassment or muttered a bit of self-deprecating slander against themselves if their child had wandered over a hundred yards away without them noticing—to plunder a neighbor’s food-stores no less. Madame Balestra stalked off down the hill as if Maribel’s family had lured her poor child to their home with promises of candy and then forced him to sit in the garden and eat until he ruined his supper.

“I hate that woman.” Corrine kicked the abandoned garden spade, sending it to thunk against one of the tomato plants so the beady red fruit trembled and threatened to fall. “She was talking about me again, wasn’t she?”

A stab of guilt lanced Maribel’s stomach as she remembered her earlier thoughts, how she’d hoped Corrine appeared worse for wear so the nosy neighbor would be shamed.

“Corrine,” Maribel said over the sound of her own thoughts, “your hand is badly burned. It’ll be a miracle if it doesn’t get infected from rubbing against your gown. You need to let me treat it.”

The mention of her gown’s demise should have distracted Corrine, but her sister’s gaze zeroed in on Maribel with the same intensity as earlier.

“Mother Briar will treat it.”

Irritation took the edge off Maribel’s guilt like sandpaper over roughly hewn wood. She fought to keep her gaze on her sister’s face instead of staring around at the garden and all the work waiting to be done. “The sooner we take care of it, the sooner it can start healing.”

“Is it really such a burden to take me to Mother Briar’s? It’s not even a mile away, Maribel, surely that’s worth having someone who actually knows what she’s doing tend to me?”

Maribel’s lips parted, shock momentarily stealing her voice. She opened and closed her mouth as a hundred words fought for space on her tongue.

I work my tail off all day to support you.

I was defending you!

I’m sorry you’re hurt.

Why are you so mad at me when I should be the one who’s mad at you?

“Corrine…”

Corrine’s brown eyes sparkled with unshed tears, reminiscent of the puddles that pooled in the garden after a hard rain. She hunched her shoulders over her injured limb. “It must be such an inconvenience for you to have a sick sister. So much time wasted trying to keep me alive in this cursed place.”

“That’s not fair. I have never complained about taking care of you!” The words flew from Maribel’s mouth, determined to be free regardless of how desperately she wanted to keep them in. She squared her shoulders, trying not to let her gaze wander to her sister’s wound lest it leech away some of the righteous indignation protecting her from her sister’s venom. She jabbed a finger at the book leaning against the tomato plant. “I have been studying all day—and doing my chores—all so I can help you. I want to help you get better, Corrine, and I’m doing my best.”

“If I hadn’t come up here and found you chatting with that horrid woman from across the fields, I might believe you.” Corrine’s face tightened, sparks in her eyes burning away her tears. “Did you agree with her when she went on about how lazy and worthless I am because I can’t do as much work as you do?”

“I never said that!”

“Not to me,” Corrine countered evenly.

The denial faltered on Maribel’s lips, her brain working furiously to comb through her memories of every conversation she’d had where she’d mentioned her sister. Yes, sometimes she thought Corrine could help more than she did, but she’d never said that out loud to anyone. She hadn’t—

Too late, Maribel realized her hesitation had betrayed her. Corrine’s gaze dropped to a tomato plant and she ripped one of its leaves off, crushing it in her fingers until the scent of ruined greenery filled the air between them.

“You could work more if you wanted to.” The words were sour on her tongue and they left an unpleasant taste in Maribel’s mouth, but it was too late to pretend now. As much as she pitied her sister and the illness that had plagued her since childhood, there were times she thought she and her father had coddled Corrine too much. Perhaps a little tough love was in order.

Corrine fell back as though Maribel had struck her. She must have tightened her hand into a fist or something, because she cried out, eyes squeezing shut and her face twisting in pain. What little blood she’d had left in her cheeks drained away and sweat broke out in a fine sheen on her forehead. The fingers of her burned hand curled into claws and she sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth. Maribel lunged in an instinctive move to support her, but Corrine bared her teeth at her and hunched over her hand like a wounded animal.

“I wish I could be more like you,” she choked out. “Out here digging in the dirt, snacking on the fruits of my labors and dreaming of all the wonderful things I’m going to cook for dinner.” She stepped back, the movement uneven as she fought not to fall over the churned earth. “But I can’t. I don’t know when my limbs will freeze, when my mind will go spinning off into…”

She pressed her lips together until pale white swallowed the pink. A glint of something hard flashed through her eyes and she dropped her gaze to her hand. “I don’t want to cut my flesh open on a gardening tool during a spell, or fall onto the stove because I thought it was a bed. I don’t want to put my hand into a boiling cauldron because in my mind it was a wash basin, or be caught talking to a cat as though it were a human being because I thought it had spoken to me first.” Her voice wavered and she raised her good hand to point at Maribel. The wind tousled her brown hair and for a moment she appeared wild, untamed. “If you think for one second that I wouldn’t trade places with you if I could, then you don’t know me at all.”

Maribel tried to push away the images Corrine’s words raised. Her sister wasn’t wrong, wasn’t lying or exaggerating. Her…episodes, had put her life in danger more than once. She couldn’t be around fire at all—apparently even fetching the rug from near the fireplace was too close. Maribel’s gaze was pulled unwillingly back to Corrine’s burned hand.

“I’m sorry, Corrine.” She ran a hand over her face and then shoved it back through her hair. “I know you would help if you could, really I do. I just get frustrated sometimes, and—”

Corrine stomped a few steps away, leaving deep footprints in the soft soil of Maribel’s garden. “Are you going to walk me to Mother Briar’s or not?”

Maribel’s gaze fell on the tomato plants around her, their ripe red flesh beckoning to her, their leaves reaching for her as if begging her to save them from the weeds trying to choke the life from their fruit. She had so much work to do…her share and Corrine’s.

She returned her gaze to Corrine, ready to offer one more protest. Corrine’s face had faded from the color of warm eggs to the sickly pallor of a discarded caul. The burned mess of her hand was starting to smell, scalded flesh, blood, and pus poisoning the fresh spring air between them. Maribel swallowed her objections.

“All right, let’s go.” A sharp ache in her spine reminded her of how much time she’d spent that morning bent over the plants she was now abandoning. “But I can’t stay long. I need to get back here and finish my chores.”

Corrine’s shoulders sagged. “Good. Good. Thank you.”

Maribel stayed close enough to Corrine that she’d be able to catch her sister if she fell, but not so close as to risk bumping into her injured limb. They trudged slowly down the rolling hill and crossed over the well-tended pasture to the edge of the woods. Trees towered over them like sentinels, filling the air with the sweet smell of new blossoms and the singing of baby birds. Despite her stress and the weight of the chores waiting for her, something inside Maribel loosened, eased as though a fist had been closed around her gut and was only now letting go. Nature was twirling around her with open arms, and despite everything, she couldn’t feel anything but blessed to be in the midst of it all.

“If only I could be more like you.”

Maribel stumbled and almost fell over a coil of wild vines. After a head-spinning moment of wind-milling her arms, she managed to keep her balance. Her sister’s gaze was fixed solidly ahead of her, her footsteps slow, but determined. Maribel’s heart softened and she put a sympathetic hand on Corrine’s shoulder.

“Corrine, you can’t help being sick. I’m sorry I—”

“I’m not talking about being sick.” Corrine halted abruptly, tearing herself free of Maribel’s offered comfort. Putting a little more distance between them, she resumed her pace, staring resolutely ahead.

Maribel gave her sister some space even as she tried to see past the mask Corrine had schooled her features into. She tried to remember the Corrine she’d known when they’d lived in the center of the kingdom, been in the midst of the bustling activity and the thriving social scene. A time when the lines around her sister’s eyes had been laugh lines, her tears few and far between. Corrine had always had episodes, always struggled now and then, but it was nothing like it was now out here on the outskirts where they had to work to survive. They’d been milder, manageable.

Maribel trailed a hand down the bark of a tree as she passed. Loose dirt coated the pads of her fingers and she rubbed them together. “Other than your illness, what difference is there to envy?” She offered a tentative smile. “It’s my recipes, isn’t it? You’re jealous of my buttermints.”

The corner of Corrine’s mouth twitched, but the humor didn’t reach her eyes. “Yes, Maribel, I envy you your buttermints.” She paused and frowned. “Great, now I’m craving sugar.”

“I knew it!” Maribel smiled, but the joke pittered out, dying all too soon. She bit the inside of her cheek. “I’m sorry, I guess I really don’t understand.”

“No, I guess not.” Corrine stroked her gown with her uninjured hand, dancing her fingers lightly over the intricate embroidery done in shades of silver that glittered in the sun. A roughened edge on the side of her fingernail snagged the material. Corrine stumbled as all her attention shifted to her dress, her breath catching in her throat the way it might if she’d suddenly dropped an infant.

Maribel kept her gaze ahead, but studied Corrine out of her peripheral vision. Her sister held her breath as she eased her finger away from the skirt, carefully examining the material for damage. Her fire-ravaged hand was all but forgotten in her concern for the garment, and Maribel was once again struck with the sense that there was more going on with her sister than she realized.

“Corrine, please talk to me.”

Apparently satisfied that her gown was fine, Corrine slanted a glance at Maribel. “About what?”

“Anything—everything. I want you to be happy.”

“Ha,” Corrine barked. “Happy, you say.” She snorted, shaking her head. “You might be thriving out here in the middle of nowhere surrounded by plants and animals instead of people, but I liked the life we used to have, I belonged there. Out here…” A muscle in her jaw clenched as she swallowed. “I feel worse with every second that passes. Every day it’s harder to remember a time I was comfortable, that I was happy.” She surveyed her dress. Her brown eyes lost their shine, despair dragging her shoulders down. “Every day the things I have left fade a little more.”

“Oh, Corrine.” Maribel tried to embrace her sister, but Corrine pivoted out of the way, putting more space between them. Maribel bit her lip. Suddenly Corrine’s obsession with her gowns didn’t seem quite so frivolous as before. “I’m so sorry. I know this has been hard on you. You had so many more friends than I did, and—”

“Friends,” Corrine spat, kicking a pile of leaves. The scent of wet earth filled the air along with the faintest hint of frost left over from winter. “Friends wouldn’t have shunned me when I needed them. Friends wouldn’t have shut their doors in my face and talked about me behind my back after I lost everything. Where were they after all of Father’s ships were lost to pirates? Where were they after we lost our house, our land?” Her features hardened, giving her the appearance of a fierce marble statue. “I have no friends.”

The hair on Maribel’s arms stood up. There was a certain…promise in Corrine’s words. A seed of desired action in the lament that made it more than blowing off steam. Perhaps I should be paying more attention to the magic Corrine is learning from Mother Briar.

Old stories of madwomen driven to magic out of a thirst for revenge filled Maribel’s mind with macabre images and she shoved them away, not wanting to see Corrine’s twisted by such dark intent.

“You know, Corrine, I was thinking,” she said lightly. “I know that Mother Briar said my talents lay with plants and medicine and such, but perhaps she wouldn’t mind if I sat in on one of your magic lessons? After all, we are sisters. Who’s to say I don’t share some of the same potential she sees in you? You didn’t know you had the potential for magic until—”

“No.”

Corrine stopped so suddenly that Maribel nearly crashed into her. She pinwheeled her arms, trying to keep from falling into her sister’s injured hand. The uneven ground offered no help, but she managed to regain her footing in time. Breathing faster, she blinked at Corrine. “What?”

Immediately, the sharp lines that had spread out from the corners of Corrine’s eyes a moment ago vanished. Corrine smiled, though the expression was strained to the point of being a grimace.

“You know what Mother Briar said. Magic can’t be taught to someone who doesn’t have a natural affinity for it. She read your aura, and she saw that you have a kinship with nature and that’s why she limits your studies to botany and medicine. And if you want to learn about plants, the best thing to do is surround yourself with them. The best thing for me is to have a quiet space alone with Mother Briar to practice what little magic I’m capable of learning.”

Maribel shifted on her feet, trying to ignore the roll of unease sliding over her stomach. Her annoyance at constantly being left outside to “study” while Corrine and Mother Briar retreated into the witch’s cottage was now shifting into unease. Corrine didn’t want her seeing her lessons with Mother Briar. Why?

Corrine hesitated, good hand twitching against the fold of her gown, then pulled Maribel to her side. She tucked her arm into hers, holding it too tight. “Thank you for trying so hard, Maribel. I know you’re only studying plants with Mother Briar so you can make medicines to help me.” She nudged Maribel with her shoulder. “I know you’d rather drop those herbs and flowers into some sort of stew.”

Maribel ducked her head at her sister’s teasing tone. “If this is about the raspberries last week—”

“Raspberries were obviously meant to be eaten, not brewed into medicinal teas,” Corrine interrupted smoothly. “I don’t resent you for eating them and Mother Briar was wrong to make you feel guilty about that.” She laid her head on Maribel’s shoulder, her dark brown hair brushing against Maribel’s arms like a braid of silk. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I don’t help more, and I’m sorry I took out my pain and frustration on you. You didn’t deserve that, and I know you aren’t like that awful Madame Balestra. I want you to know that I don’t know what I’d do without you. I wish there was some way I could repay you for all you’ve done for me.”

The knot in Maribel’s chest loosened and she rested her cheek briefly on top of her sister’s head. Corrine’s dark hair held on to the sunlight until it practically burned against her cheek. “I study plants because I want to. You know I like playing in the dirt.” She lifted her head and nudged her sister until Corrine met her eyes. “And don’t talk about yourself like you’re not great with magic. I’ve seen the twinkle in Mother Briar’s eyes when she looks at you. She’s as proud of you as if you were her own daughter.”

“Don’t sound too excited.” Corrine toyed with a loose thread in the embroidery on her gown. “It’s not like I can spin straw into gold or anything. At this point I’m not even sure if what I’m doing works. Maybe the old witch only came up with this ‘absorbing energy from the air’ thing to make me shut up about how wretched I feel.”

“What exactly is it you want to be able to do with magic?” Maribel ducked under a low hanging branch, the air filling with the crunch of dry sticks as she and Corrine tromped together over a fallen limb.

“I want security,” Corrine answered immediately. She let go of Maribel to fist her skirts and step over the remains of a rotted tree trunk. “I want to be surrounded with people, like we were at home, our real home, not alone in the middle of nowhere where we could die and it would be months until anyone noticed.” She kicked at a pine cone, sending it skittering over the half-frozen ground. “I want to get dressed up and go to parties. I want to enjoy sweets if I feel like it, and go dancing. I want enough money to make sure no one ever has a reason to snicker behind my back, enough money to make sure I never have to worry about starving again.”

Maribel gripped Corrine’s arm. “You will never go hungry again, Corrine, I swear it.”

For a moment they were both silent, lost in the same memory. Those first days after their father had lost everything, after every one of his ships had been taken, leaving him with no cargo and no means to transport more. They’d always been so wealthy, one would have thought it would take more time for it all to vanish, but vanish it had in the blink of an eye.

Debtors had showed up  from all four corners of the kingdom, friends had turned their backs. They’d had barely enough money to purchase the small farm, far from the main village, and in the most undesirable territory in all of Sanguenay. Winter had fallen on them like a hungry wolf, chewing their bones and rattling the old farmhouse with its howling winds. They’d nearly starved, surviving only because the old witch in the forest, Mother Briar, had taken pity on them and taught them to forage for edible wild plants. She’d even shared some of her own personal stores to get them through.

It had been a poor substitute for the feasts they’d been used to, and none of them had felt it so acutely as Corrine. Her delicate sister with the sweet laugh had died that winter, replaced by a pale, brittle woman with hard eyes and a haunted expression that never truly left her. It had been Corrine’s idea to seek out Mother Briar after that winter and beg to be taught more than just how to forage for food.

“Hello, girls.”

Mother’s Briar’s raspy voice broke into Maribel’s reflections and she nearly jumped out of her skin as she realized they’d arrived at their destination. Her hand flew to her chest as her gaze darted around the trees, finally landing on the old woman standing amidst a tangle of flowing ivy, the long green vines spilling over the roof of her modest cottage to tickle the sides of the stone on the way to the ground. They writhed like the tentacles of a living beast as the witch disentangled herself and stepped to meet her visitors.

Ebony eyes gleamed as she brushed her graying hair out of her face and dusted off the simple brown dress she wore under her green cloak. Between her garments and the ivy covering her house, both the witch and her cottage were practically invisible.

“I’m sorry we’re late, Mother Briar,” Corrine said immediately.

Maribel frowned and glanced at her sister. Late? This visit was planned?

“No sense waffling on about it now.” The witch gave Corrine’s burned hand a disapproving glance. “You were near a fire today. Another episode, I suppose?”

Sweat beaded on Corrine’s brow and patchy redness crept up her neck like a sickening sunrise. Corrine’s brave front wavered, the pain revealed in her moment of weakness. Maribel took an instinctive step closer, but Corrine stepped away, nearer the witch.

“Yes.”

If Mother Briar noticed how unsteady Corrine was, she didn’t show it. “We’ll need to step up your lessons. From now on, you’ll see me every day.” She glanced at Maribel and produced a book from somewhere under her cloak. She handed it off to Maribel and pointed at a circle of thick green bushes bedecked with broad-petaled purple flowers. “Maribel, take the book and go study those plants there. When I come out, I want you to tell me what kind of plant that is and be able to give me three ways to use them in healing.”

Maribel bristled at Mother Briar’s dismissive order. She parted her lips, ready to give the witch a piece of her mind—starting with what she could do with her book. The words halted on the tip her tongue as Corrine tensed, her eyes flashing too much white and a stricken look seizing her features. Maribel pressed her lips into a thin line and swallowed her irritation like a bitter potion.

“Actually, Mother Briar,” she started tightly, “I had a question first.” Maribel brushed away the tickle of unease as the witch focused her intense stare on her and squared her shoulders. “I was reading the book you gave me the other day, and I don’t understand Mountain Arnica. It says it can heal bruised skin, but it also says contact with skin can be poisonous.”

“Well?” Mother Briar prompted impatiently.

“Well? Which is it?” Maribel tried to keep the frustration out of her voice for Corrine’s sake, but she really wasn’t in the mood for Mother Briar’s mystique today. Especially not now that she had the distinct and growing impression she was being kept in the dark about something. Something involving her sister’s magic lessons.

“Depends on who you are. Mountain Arnica is also called Holy Herb. It’s used by humans and the bright creatures beyond the veil for healing. In other places, it’s called Demon’s Bane, and it is quite poisonous to those creatures closer to the other side of the grave. I wouldn’t recommend it for demons, vampires, and the like, but for humans, sidhe, and that sort of creature, it can be quite helpful.”

“The book could have said that outright,” Maribel muttered.

“This is why it’s important to study with someone who knows what they’re talking about instead of relying solely on books.”

A book you gave me and told me to study. Maribel bit back her retort, giving in to the plea in Corrine’s eyes. She graciously accepted the new book the witch offered her, gripping it tightly to keep from giving in to the urge to whack the old biddy with it. Corrine practically ran inside the cottage without so much as a backward glance at Maribel and the witch shuffled after her. For a heart-stopping moment, Maribel thought Corrine was going to crash into the doorframe, but she managed to twist at the last moment and stumble safely into the house.

Again Mother Briar appeared unperturbed by Corrine’s worsening state. She strode into the house with the meandering gate of someone who hadn’t a care in the world, leaving Maribel to glare at her back. Her ire went unnoticed as Mother Briar shut the door behind her.

Alone again, Maribel let out a breath of resignation and trudged with her book over to the plants the witch had indicated. It didn’t take long to identify the plants as blue elderberry and she plucked some of the flowering tops to prepare a tea later. The book said such a tea would ward off a cold, and though Corrine didn’t have a cold, Maribel guessed it wouldn’t be long until she or her father caught one. It was one of those things that came from working outdoors all day—something Corrine didn’t have to worry about.

Smothering the nip of guilt that bit her at that last uncharitable thought, Maribel was about to close the book when she spotted a particularly beautiful bloom filling a page in her peripheral vision. She opened the book and flipped through the pages until she found the flower that had caught her eye.

“Rose of the Mist,” she read aloud. “A rare and beautiful bloom that shines gold in the sunlight. One of the rarest flowers known to man, the Rose of the Mist is said to endow those who consume a tea steeped from its petals with the radiance-absorbing qualities of the rose itself.”

A flare of excitement burned fast and bright, briefly stealing her voice. She quickly scanned the rest of the page, her hopes rising higher and higher with every paragraph. A Rose of the Mist had been found in a part of the forest between here and the main village of Sanguenay less than ten years ago. If there’d been one then, perhaps there were more.

If I could make Corrine a tea from that rose, all she’d have to do is sit outside in the sun and she’d never feel weak and exhausted again!

Slamming the book closed, Maribel slumped back against a resilient young sapling. Nervous energy twitched over her skin like creeping vines and she fidgeted in her makeshift seat of tender leaves. There was no way she could go on a journey today. She had to get back home and start preparing dinner so her father had something to eat after he came in from the fields. And then there were all the chores she’d been forced to abandon so she could accompany Corrine here. There wasn’t time to go wandering around the woods searching for the rose.

“Tomorrow,” she promised herself. “I can find it tomorrow.”

Waiting for Corrine to finish with the witch was pure agony. The usual pleasure Maribel found in these spare moments, searching for herbs to cook with that had nothing to do with eating and everything to do with flavor, failed her. All she could think about was that rose, the difference it would make for Corrine.

“I’ll need to fix some food that will last a day or so, something that won’t spoil while I’m gone.” She plucked a raspberry from a nearby bush and chewed as she thought. “I don’t have time to dry any meat. Bread would be all right, and there’s always vegetables—”

The door to the witch’s cottage opened and Maribel’s thoughts ground to a halt. Corrine and Mother Briar were talking as they left the cottage, their voices hushed, too low for Maribel to make out the words. Maribel tucked the book against her body and dashed over to Corrine.

“Corrine! Come on, we have to go. Mother Briar, may I borrow this book?”

Corrine stared at Maribel as if she’d grown a second head and Mother Briar’s stern features pinched in confusion.

“Yes, take the book,” she said finally. “Study it and return it when next we meet.”

“Thank you!”

Maribel barely remembered her sister’s injured hand in time to keep from grabbing it and dragging her sister off. She glanced down at Corrine’s palm, impressed to find it covered in shiny pink skin, all traces of blood and blackened flesh gone. The fingers of the hand were curled into a half-claw, but the improvement was undeniable. She snatched up Corrine’s good hand and hauled her sister off Mother Briar’s front porch.

“Come on!”

“Maribel, slow down,” Corrine wheezed, yanking her arm from Maribel’s grip. She stopped with her hands on her hips, her chest heaving as she fought to regain her breathing. Her dark hair fell in wild disarray around her shoulders, the natural curl doing its best to survive against the tugging fingers of the wind. “Why are you in such a hurry? Is missing one afternoon of chores really such a setback?”

Maribel bit off the urge to point out that she was, in fact, doing the chores of two people and that an afternoon made an incredible difference. Just get the rose. Everything will be fine if you can get the rose. “I don’t want Father to worry about us,” she said instead. She waited for Corrine to catch her breath, shifting from foot to foot as her nerves urged her to run ahead. The picture of the rose hung in her mind, whispering promises of how much better life could be if she found it.

“Father will be in the field until dark,” Corrine pointed out. She waved at the sky, still gloriously bright. “We have plenty of time.”

“But I left that book in the field, the tomatoes still haven’t been weeded, and I need to get dinner started if it’s going to be ready to eat by the time Father comes in.”

“If you keep running like this, we’re going to relive your little trip down from the well when you were eight. Remember that?”

Maribel winced, slowing down to wait for Corrine. “How could I forget? That stupid duke’s son, what was his name? Jack? I never should have let him goad me into that race down the hill.”

Corrine grinned. “You did win.”

“Technically, neither of us won since neither of us had any water left in our buckets after the tumble down the hill. Though I suppose since Jack ended up with his scalp split open and I just had a few bruises, I did come out better off.”

“Maybe someday I’ll race down a hill. On purpose, I mean, not falling down because I had an episode on a steep slope.”

There was a wistfulness in Corrine’s voice that tugged at Maribel’s heart. She opened her mouth to respond, though she had no idea what to say. It hadn’t really occurred to her that Corrine wanted to do those sorts of things. Corrine hated to run.

Awkwardness swelled between them and Corrine put on a burst of speed, as if the pressure was too much. Her gait was uneven, hindered as she tried to run with her injured arm still cradled against her stomach, but though she tilted a bit, she didn’t fall.

As they rounded the top of the hill that marked the northern boundary of their land, both girls came to a sudden halt. A strange man was riding away from the farmhouse, his stern features and plain clothes unfamiliar. Their father stood on the path to their front door, rooted to the spot, his graying brown hair tousled by the wind and his gaze locked on a crisp parchment he held open in front of him. If he hadn’t blinked, Maribel would have worried he was suffering one of Corrine’s episodes. It was eerily similar to Corrine’s posture when her sickness held her prisoner in its grasp.

“Father, what is it?” Corrine scurried the rest of the way to their father’s side, injured hand scrabbling at her skirts to try and hold them up as she went. Her eyes widened as she abandoned the skirt to point at the official port master’s seal on the message. “Father?”

Their father slowly raised his cloudy blue eyes, the hand holding the letter beginning to tremble. “A ship. It… One of my ships…survived. It…came into port.”

Corrine twitched and a small sound halfway between a gasp and a squeak escaped her throat. Maribel snared an arm around her waist in time to keep her from sliding to the ground, grunting as she took her sister’s full weight. Corrine’s eyelids fluttered as she clumsily tried to get her legs under her. It took her two tries to speak.

“What… What does this mean?”

“It could mean nothing, it could mean everything.” Their father rolled up the parchment, his eyes avoiding the paper as if the mere sight of it raised his hopes so high it hurt. “I must go to the harbor. I need to see for myself if this is truly my ship, if its cargo is safe. If it is…” Tears glistened in his eyes. “My daughters, we may be able to get back what was lost to us.”

Corrine burst into tears and threw herself into her father’s arms. He gripped her tightly, mouth moving in a silent prayer. He gestured for Maribel to join them, lips pressed together as if too emotional to speak. Maribel offered a feeble smile as she allowed her father to gather her into the shared embrace. There was a strength in her father’s body that hadn’t been there the last time he’d hugged her, as though the thought of going back to their old life had revitalized him. Meanwhile, Maribel’s stomach had fallen out and suddenly the last thing she wanted to think about was dinner.

He’ll sell the farm.

Images paraded through Maribel’s mind. They would be back to high society, back to the endless social functions and false niceties, back to having servants to do all the work Maribel had only recently realized she loved doing. She would be back in tight-laced gowns, restricted from activities that might damage her fine clothes. There would be parties full of people—people who had shown their true faces in the wake of her family’s misfortune, but who Maribel would be forced to socialize with nonetheless if they returned.

The thought of facing all those people again, the ones who had abandoned Maribel’s family in their time of need but who would welcome them all too willingly once they were once again rich enough to deserve respect… It turned her stomach.

Selfish wretch. Maribel buried her face against her father’s shoulder, the rough material scratching at her wind stung cheek. This is exactly what Corrine needs, what she’s prayed for. How dare you begrudge her this moment?

“All right, all right.” Their father pulled back, his eyes shining with excitement. “I will bring you both something wonderful. Tell me what you want, anything!”

“A new dress,” Corrine answered breathlessly. “My old ones are so worn, and they don’t fit me properly since we’ve been starving out here. I want something with silk and lace, something that will let me remember what life used to be like when we were happy.”

Her sister’s words stung. Maribel had worked hard to learn to cook, had slaved over a hot fire for months trying to perfect her recipes, digging in the forest for herbs that would bring rich flavors to the food she cooked for her father and sister. Yes, there’d been that first winter, but Corrine certainly hadn’t “starved” since then. Maribel had actually dared to hope that her culinary skills had gotten quite good, perhaps enough to appreciate. Only compared with starving, apparently, she thought bitterly.

“And, my Maribel, tell me what I can get for you? Would you like a new dress too? Jewelry perhaps?”

“I don’t need anything, Father,” Maribel said meekly. “Really, I don’t.”

Corrine’s face twisted like she’d swallowed a live toad. “You think I’m selfish for asking for a nice dress. You think I should be grateful for what we have here, that I’m a spoiled child for wanting pretty things when there’s no reason to have them out here.”

“No,” Maribel protested quickly, hoping she sounded more sincere than she felt. “No, that isn’t it at all.”

“Then you would like a dress as well?” her father prompted.

Maribel tightened her hands into fists, trying to smother her frustration. A dress. What on earth could she want with a new dress? Another uncomfortable entrapment to hinder her in her chores, a reminder of the wretched life waiting for her with the nobility, a life she’d escaped and was now doomed to go back to? She didn’t want a dress. She didn’t want anything, damn it!

Her grip closed around the book she still held and inspiration struck. “No! No, it’s just, there’s something else I want more.” She hefted the book up and flipped to the page with the rare rose. She held it up for her father and pointed at the picture. “If you can find this in one of the florist shops or perhaps at an apothecary, then it will be as expensive as ten gowns.” She bit her lip. “I’m afraid I’m the one who’s asking for too much. But they grow wild as well, perhaps you will see one during your travels?”

Her father examined the picture. “A dress for my Corrine and a rose for my Maribel. I will do my very best.”

He handed the book back to Maribel and headed back to the farmhouse. “I must prepare for the journey now, I want to leave immediately. That ship is sitting in the harbor, I don’t want to leave it there for one second more than is necessary!”

Corrine threw her arms around Maribel and hung there like a sticky cobweb. “Oh, Maribel, it’s almost over. I can feel it, everything is going to be better now.”

Maribel hugged her sister back as guilt ate her alive from the inside out.

Chapter Two

Something is burning.

Daman wrinkled his nose at the thick, woodsy scent of smoke slowly filling the air around him. For a moment, he wavered, torn between holding on to his meditation and finding out where the scent of smoke was emanating from. It had taken him hours to work this far into the meditation, hours to feel anything even resembling calm. He was very nearly at the end, the most difficult part, the part where he always failed. That moment where he would have to call up an image of the witch who had stolen his life and hold her in his mind without feeling anger or hatred, or the uncontrollable urge to destroy—

A memory erupted like an iron spike through the bedrock of his concentration, shattering the calm, meditative state he’d fought so hard for. His temper burst forth like hot lava exploding from the earth and he hissed, blood heating with his fury. It was like coming out of the water after a long swim, taking a deep breath after holding it for far too long. His eyes flew open, his clawed hands flexing as he scanned the room with quick, sharp glances, searching for the intruder who had so easily shattered his efforts and left him wallowing in the suspended fury that had been his permanent state of mind for the last year.

At first he saw nothing. He examined the crimson pillar candle nestled in a gold plate on the stone floor in front of the rug he’d curled up on to meditate. The flame wavered as if something had stirred the air, but remained smooth, resting calmly on its wick. No black smoke danced above the flame.

Daman swiveled in place, muscles protesting as they were forced out of the position he’d been holding for the last two hours. He rolled his aching shoulders, the thick lines of scales trailing down his neck and over his shoulders tugging as he tilted his head from side to side. As he worked the tension from his taxed muscles, he followed the scent of smoke. Someone had invaded his home, his privacy. When he found them, they would find out why all living creatures had fled his property, why he was the only being left on this entire damned estate. His claws ached, sharp white crescents itching to bury themselves in the intruder. The fangs folded against the roof of his mouth tingled, ready to drop into position.

A small spout of flame caught his peripheral vision and he focused on the large fireplace on his left. Thin tendrils of black smoke twined through the air above the remains of the last fire he’d lit in the hearth during the final days of winter. The brownies that crept in to clean his house in the wee hours of the night didn’t dare to enter this room, and he certainly didn’t care enough to do it himself. A flash of silver disturbed the shadows, something metallic reflecting the dim light of Daman’s candle. Another tiny spout of flame bathed the logs, licking at their sides, coaxing them to glow with a faint orange radiance.

“Who’ss there?” Daman twisted to fully face the fireplace, the scales coating the coils of his lower body silently sliding against the thick rug underneath him. He flexed the muscles of his tail, drawing himself up higher and leaning until he formed a large ‘S’ as he peered at the fireplace from his new vantage point.

A tiny rounded head poked up from behind the logs. The meager light provided by Daman’s candle was more than enough for his sharp eyesight to make out that the creature was reptilian—a snake? The beast blinked beady black eyes, pink tongue flicking out like a sliver of pale pink ribbon.

“I wasss trying to light a fire. It’sss freezing in here.”

“It’s warm enough.” Daman tilted his head, eyeing the small creature peering unfazed at him from the hearth. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

The creature slithered out from its nest of logs, its thin body sliding over the glowing embers as if the searing heat meant nothing. The scent of burning oak rose from its path as it loosened bits of the logs, sending tiny showers of sparks into the air behind it. It paused on the stone hearth then twisted its head around, sending another blast of flame at the logs. Finally, they caught, the small but steady glow of embers catching into cheery flames that formed a nest for the smoking logs. The snake nodded its satisfaction and continued to glide over the floor toward Daman. Something glittered on either side of its body, a faint iridescence.

Wings.

“You’re a cuelebre.” Daman didn’t bother to keep the surprise out of his voice, though his annoyance kept his tone sharp. “What are you doing in Sanguenay? Shouldn’t you be in Meropis?”

“Yesss. At leassst in Meropisss, they know that firesss are not jussst for winter. Ssspring isss not ssso far along that the night’sss chill doesssn’t lassst far into the day.”

“I’m not cold.” Daman’s tail lashed behind him, striking something metallic. The sound of metal hitting the wall clanged against Daman’s nerves. Another sound that suspiciously resembled hard wax being crushed ratcheted his frustration up even more. So much for the meditation candle. “It’s my home, so I don’t heat it unless I feel there is a need. I certainly don’t keep it going for the comfort of guests I don’t have—or want.”

The cuelebre slithered around Daman, the tip of its tail flicking back and forth behind it as he inspected Daman’s form. Daman bristled as the shining black eyes took in his mostly human torso and followed it down to his waist where thick scales cascaded down the muscled coil that constituted the lower half of his body. The cuelebre tilted its head.

“You are a dragon,” it observed. “A wyvern, to be precise, yes?”

“Descended from wyverns,” Daman corrected stiffly. “I’m a naga.”

“Nagasss have human formsss asss well asss ssserpent and half-ssserpent. Do you alwaysss ssspend your time in half human-half ssserpent form?”

Daman clenched his hands into fists, ignoring the sharp points of pain as his claws dug into his palms. He sucked in deep breaths of blood-scented air through his nose, trying to remember the meditations he’d been performing in an attempt to hold on to his rapidly fraying temper. This was his first interaction with another flesh and blood being in nearly a year, perhaps the gods were offering him a test.

Remember your humanity. More man than beast. Humanity cannot be taken away, it can only be given up.

“Did she send you here to torment me?” he bit out. “Have you come to remind me of what she did, perhaps offer to lift the curse if I meet her demands?” Daman lashed against the floor with his tail, twining his body in a sharp circle that brought him around the cuelebre faster than the creature could follow. He snatched its tiny body from the floor and clutched it in his fist, closing his fingers until he could feel bones beneath scales and muscle.

“Ssshe?” the cuelebre gasped. “Who isss ssshe?” A strangled sound escaped its throat and its tail thrashed wildly as it struggled in Daman’s grip. “Let go!”

“Unlessss you want me to crussh you, you will tell me what you are doing here.” The sibilance coming from his own lips further reminded Daman of how far she’d pushed him. She sent me a cuelebre—a serpent to remind me of all she’s taken from me. Cold-hearted witch.

“I’m here to help you with your guessst.” The cuelebre writhed in his fist, tiny face stabbing up into the air as it tried to slip from his grasp.

“I have no guesst. I haven’t had a guesst ssincce sshe curssed me.” The sibilance of his voice grew thicker, his forked tongue flicking out of his mouth to taste the air. The cuelebre wasn’t afraid, the sickly sweet flavor of fear was absent. Daman closed his eyes for a moment, trying to rein himself in, but it was like clutching a boulder in the center of a raging river.

“Open your eyesss. Look outssside. You have a guessst.”

Without releasing the cuelebre, Daman threw the heavy coils of his lower body over the ground, powerful muscles propelling him to the window. His silver scales grated on the stone floor. The sound echoed in the air around him, adding to the cuelebre’s presence and fueling memories of the woman who’d cursed him to remain in this form. The reason he had to meditate every day, the reason he’d had to send away everyone he’d ever cared about.

The cuelebre gagged and Daman relaxed his grip as he realized he’d nearly crushed the delicate creature. The cuelebre took advantage of his moment of distraction, shooting out of his grip and zipping across the room like a horizontal bolt of lightning.

A noise outside caught Daman’s attention and he gaped, disbelieving, down at the path leading up to his front door. A figure stumbled toward the manor, body hunched against the frigid early morning spring air. The kiss of winter was still fresh in nature’s memory, the wind still smelling of ice and melting snow despite the green grass and blossoming trees. The ragged garments the man wore would give him next to no protection against the bite of such a morning. It was barely past first light, too early for the man to have come from any inns nearby. Leaves and small twigs clung to the creases in his clothing and the wisps of graying brown hair sticking out from underneath his hat. Dirt coated half of his body like some sort of mangled pelt.

He must have slept in the woods.

“Who is that?” Daman demanded, keeping his eyes on the approaching figure even as he spoke to the cuelebre.

“I don’t know.”

Daman slammed a hand down on the windowsill, rattling the glass in its pane. “What do you mean you don’t know? You’re the one who told me I had a visitor, you said you’re here to help me with him.”

A visitor. Human by all appearances. A delicate human. Here.

The air around Daman grew thicker, harder to breathe. His lungs ached and his vision tunneled. He examined his hands, the white claws curving out from his fingertips like bleached sickles. An image of the old man helpless and terrified in his grip flew into Daman’s head. He winced, closing his hands into fists.

“He can’t be here. It isn’t safe.”

“I am here to help,” the cuelebre reminded him.

“What good are you?” Daman pressed the tight knuckles of one fist to the window frame. “What good will you be to him if—”

The knock at the front door should have been muffled from this distance, but the sound thudded in Daman’s ears like a manic heartbeat. A visitor. He didn’t have visitors, couldn’t have visitors. He couldn’t even have servants.

“Anssswer the door.”

“No.” Daman backed away from the window. He gritted his teeth. “No, he can’t stay here.”

“Isss your control ssso poor? Isss that why you sssent everyone away?”

Daman’s fingers tingled with the urge to catch the cuelebre again and puncture its skinny body with his claws. “Who are you?”

“If you ever want them to come back, then you mussst ssstart sssomewhere. Let the old man in, let your human ssside have a sssay.”

Daman shot forward, his face burning as his blood boiled and he grabbed for the cuelebre. This time, though, the serpent was ready for him and with a flick of its wings, it zipped along the ceiling, careful to stay beyond Daman’s grasp.

“Who ssent you here?” Daman choked out, blinking past the red haze growing in front of his eyes.

“He isss cold and hungry,” the serpent pressed. “Will you truly turn him away?”

“You would rather I go down and frighten him to death?” Daman rose up to his full height, stretching the muscles of his serpentine lower body until his human half rose to the next best thing to eight feet tall. His wide, plated scales glowed dully in the firelight, pale blues and greens, like a glittering stream flowing from a snow-covered mountain peak.

The human flesh of his upper body was too pale to be fully human, the same blue-green hue of his scales tinting his skin until he nearly glowed in the dim light. Thick scaled ridges crept down his forehead on each side, falling from his hairline, coiling along his brow ridge and curling to the side of either eye. The sides of his neck were pinched into scaled ridges as well, tracing down over his shoulders. The scales bled out from the ridges, fading so they barely marked the flesh of his throat. His upper body was human enough, but his draconic heritage left no doubt that he was anything but. And if the dragon ancestry made apparent by the scales didn’t scare the beggar to death, Daman suspected his curved serpentine canines and slitted reptilian eyes would finish the job.

“You are not ssscary during the timesss your temper isss not controlling you.” The cuelebre settled on a wall sconce, settling in as though his life weren’t in jeopardy. “You can be a graciousss hossst. Many of your friendsss would have ssstayed if you’d let them.”

Daman pushed away the images the intruder’s words threatened to drag to the forefront of his mind. He didn’t want to think about the friends that had once surrounded him, didn’t have to remember how he’d sent them away. There’d been no choice, not after what had been done to him. Better they left than remained behind with him and his pathetic control.

Groping for anything to distract him from his own miserable past, Daman allowed an image of the beggar sitting down to a decent meal to fill his head. His heart warmed, chasing away some of the fear, making it a little easier to breathe. It had been a long time since he’d had the satisfaction of helping someone in need, feeling that warm sensation that came from aiding another. Perhaps this was a sign from the gods, a way for him to reconnect with his humanity—to remember who he’d once been.

This could be a gift.

Slowly, he smoothed a hand over his scales, claws dancing over the shimmering surface. “Very well. I will help him.” He fixed the cuelebre with a hard stare. “But I will remain unseen. Go open the door for him. Lead him around the manor to give me time to set out a meal.”

He rushed from the room without giving the tiny serpent an opportunity to offer its opinion, having no doubt that the cuelebre had an opinion about everything. It took no time at all to arrive at the kitchen, and since there were no servants in the manor, Daman was free to fix a meal as he usually did for himself. Though he would have liked to offer the man a hot meal, it would take too long to cook anything, and his skills with food were limited. If only Moira were still here. Moira with her warm smile and her gods-given gift of making the most sumptuous meals any mortal being could ever hope to enjoy.

Bittersweet memories threatened to pour over him and he shoved them away, concentrating on the meal he was preparing for his guest. The brownies that cleaned his home often left him food, but mostly they provided ingredients and left the actual preparations for Daman to do himself. A loaf of hard-crusted bread and a generous helping of fresh butter, a small bowl of ripe strawberries, and a plate of cold beef. The meat was somewhat undercooked, and haphazardly seasoned, but it would fill an empty belly well enough.

He put a pot of black tea to boil and set out a cup along with a bowl of sugar and a small dish of lemons. It was perhaps not the grand feast of roast duck and glazed potatoes Moira might have managed, but surely for a man half-frozen and fresh from a night on the forest floor, it would be a blessing?

“You’re thinking of Moira, aren’t you, master?”

Daman didn’t bother looking at the speaker. The talking teapot had stopped seeming strange long ago.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Your mouth is watering,” the faded crockery pointed out. It swung a bit on the hook where it hung over the dark embers of the last kitchen fire, the flames casting a glow over its cloudy white surface with chipped blue flowers. “A bit early for lunch, isn’t it?”

“This isn’t for me.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Daman regretted them. The teapot stilled immediately, and if it’d had a face, Daman was sure its mouth and eyes would both be wide open.

“Master, this is… This is wonderful.”

“Silence yourself.” Daman spoke through clenched teeth, trying to hold on to the warm feeling he’d had while preparing the food. “It is nothing.”

“How can you say that?” The teapot swung gently as if in deep contemplation. “Is it Jacque? I hope it’s Jacque. He was so hurt when you sent him away.”

Daman gripped the tabletop, claws digging into the wood. “Be. Silent.”

“I know he tried to hide it, and goodness knows the man had a face like stone at the best of times. Apropos for a captain of the guard, I suppose.”

“Do not speak of Jacque.” Wood creaked and groaned as Daman’s grip on the table tightened.

“He cared for you like a brother. And I agreed with him, you know, you could easily have continued your noble duties even after what the witch did. I know you don’t think so, but you’re really not that scary.”

A split second later, Daman had snatched the teapot from the hook, and stood blinking at it through a red haze.

“Another word,” he said hoarsely, “and I will shatter you into dust.”

The teapot was silent, completely still. As always, Daman had a moment where reality wavered, where he wondered if he’d gone insane. Perhaps the teapot hadn’t been talking. Perhaps it had never talked. Perhaps his mind had grown addled in his isolation and talking crockery was merely a symptom of his growing madness.

Footsteps echoed on the stairs leading down to the kitchen. Daman hastily put the teapot down on the table and rushed to hide in the hallway beyond the small eating area. His temper died as he held his breath, waiting for the first glimpse he’d have of another person in over a year.

From his shadowed position behind the partial wall, he watched as the beggar wandered in, led by a flicker of light that must have been the cuelebre moving too quickly for his eyes to follow. The man’s knitted brows parted as he spotted the meal, his pupils dilating and an audible rumble coming from his stomach. A small prayer of thanks fell from his lips as he practically collapsed into the chair at the table.

A pleasant warmth spread over Daman as the man consumed the meager feast with the gusto of someone who hadn’t eaten in days. It had been a long time since he’d brought happiness to someone else, and he allowed himself to cherish the feeling, holding the moment to him so he could use it in meditations later.

“I don’t know who set this meal out,” the man said aloud after he’d finally slowed down. He pulled his tattered hat from his head. “If truth be told, I can’t even be certain it was for me. But whoever you are, wherever you are, please know that I am grateful.”

Daman leaned against the wall, allowing himself a flare of pride. Hope rose like a rare bird inside of him, delicate, but welcome.

Perhaps…

“Go out and ssspeak with him.”

Daman snatched the cuelebre from the air beside him and held him solidly against his chest, using his other hand to cover its mouth. Given the disparity in their sizes, his hand practically encased the cuelebre’s entire head and he held the miserable creature still, holding his own breath as he waited to see if the old man had heard.

Blessedly unaware that he wasn’t alone, the beggar stood from the table and wandered out of the kitchen. Shoulders sagging in relief, Daman followed at a safe distance, keeping the squirming cuelebre firmly in his grip. Every once in a while the man would call out, asking if anyone was home, and the cuelebre would renew his struggles, but Daman remained silent. It was a strange feeling, having someone in his home again. A living thing that wasn’t…well, a thing.

“All right,” the man finally called out. “Whoever you are, it seems you prefer to remain anonymous. Please know that you will forever have my gratitude.”

Something in Daman’s chest eased, and he took a deeper breath than he had in a long time. The cuelebre renewed its struggle in his grip and Daman glanced down. The cuelebre stared hard at him and Daman could feel the creature willing him to talk to his visitor. Daman hesitated, but shook his head. He would rather keep the pleasant memory he had than risk poisoning it with the man’s fear should he see exactly who—or what—he was thanking.

Remaining silent, Daman stayed with him as the man meandered through the garden. He trailed a hand over some of the new buds, green leaves barely parting to reveal the brilliant pinks, yellows, and blues that would soon light up the garden. The air was already perfumed with the promise of new life and Daman couldn’t help but draw in the spring air, filling his lungs. He’d been spending so much time inside, so much time meditating, trying to slow the progress of the curse, that he hadn’t appreciated nature’s fresh bounty. He sketched a mental note to start practicing his meditation outdoors.

“Hello!” a voice called out.

The man shouted, one hand flying to his chest as if to stop his heart from escaping. Daman winced in sympathy. He’d had a similar reaction the first time he’d wandered through this garden after the witch’s curse. The amount of raw magic the foolish magic user had poured over the land had not only affected things like crockery. It had also seeped into the soil of the garden—with similarly odd results.

“Who… Who’s there?” the old man gasped finally. He swiveled his head in all directions, gaze scanning his surroundings.

It won’t help to look, Daman mused. You’ll never guess.

“I’m here!” came the same voice.

“What…?”

Daman waited for the man’s eyes to follow the voice down. A small purple bloom bounced its petals, tiny green leaves along its stem waving merrily in greeting.

“Hi!” it said excitedly.

The old man blinked. Daman settled closer to the ground, his amusement tempered by sympathy. It was hard to stay confident in one’s sanity when first confronted by a talking plant.

“You… You’re a talking…flower?”

“Yes!”

Daman rolled his eyes. Of course it would be the violet. The seedling was always shouting.

“But…how?”

“I don’t know!” The plant tilted its head, its leaves stilling for a moment. “Are you going to stay here? Are there others?”

“No, I… It’s only me.” The old man paused. “Is there anyone else here?”

The flower swiveled its petals in a complete circle, slowly surveying the garden. “No.”

Daman snorted. The stranger should have asked the petal if anyone lived here. The loud weed wasn’t the brightest color in the garden, and it tended to take questions rather literally.

“Oh.”

The violet fell silent and for a few long moments, it and the old man just stared at one another. Suddenly the old man brightened.

“Hey, perhaps you could help me.”

“I’d love to!”

The old man’s face creased in amusement as he hunkered down next to the plant, old leather boots creaking with the movement. “I’m searching for a certain flower. A rose.”

“The roses are closer to the manor, on the trellis,” the violet supplied graciously.

The man glanced back at the house. “No, I’m talking about a special rose. A Rose of the Mist.”

Daman’s muscles seized, shock singing through his body in crackling waves, followed by a hot flood of rage as realization dawned. Fool! Idiot! He threw the cuelebre through the air, the need for secrecy forgotten as he shot over the stone path. He slammed into the intruder, knocking him to the ground with enough force to make the beggar’s body bounce off the cobblestones of the path.

The beggar choked on a scream, the sound heavily laced with pain. He rolled to a stop and groaned, raising a hand to the bloody gash on his head where it had struck the stones. Swaying slightly, he pushed himself to his hands and knees, struggling to roll over. A violent trembling seized him as his gaze fell on Daman.

“How dare you!” Daman bellowed. “I let you into my home, I fed you, and thiss iss how you repay me?”

“I-I-I-I-I d-didn’t m-mean any h-harm!” the beggar stuttered. “I-I-I only—”

“You thought to ssteal the Rosse of the Misst?” Sibilance drew out his syllables. “My hosspitality issn’t enough for you, you would ssteal from me to increasse your own power?” He stared at the man’s poor clothing, seeing it now for the disguise it was. I’ve been fooled again! His tongue flicked out as he struggled to keep from rending the man to bloody shreds. A familiar taste was in the air. Something sweet, smoky…

The witch. Daman went deathly still. His tongue flicked into the air, tasting it again, needing to be absolutely sure. Straw, aged wood, smoke, and old silk. The man smelled of the witch.

Tender human flesh gave easily under Daman’s claws as he gripped the terrified man by the neck and hauled him upward until his feet left the ground. Wet gasping sounds came from the intruder’s throat and his hands scrabbled at Daman’s fingers as he struggled not to be strangled by the unforgiving hold. Eyes bulging like soap bubbles about to burst, face painted a dangerous shade of red, the man floundered in Daman’s grasp like a fish in its death throes.

It was so hard not to squeeze, so hard not to give in to that urge to end the miserable thief’s life. He could send his body back to the witch as a warning.

“If you want to sspare your life,” Daman said softly, struggling to get the words out past the burn of his own anger, “you will tell me why the witch needss the rosse. What is sshe planning now?”

The man gurgled, eyes bulging from his skull. Daman gritted his teeth and relaxed his grip enough so the man could speak.

“I-I d-don’t know w-what y-you’re talking about!” the miserable creature rasped, his words grating past his damaged throat. “I-it is only a r-rose!”

“It iss not a mere rosse, as well I ssuspect you know.” He tightened his grip again in small increments, the blood under the man’s skin turning his flesh purple. “You will tell me what your mistress is planning. Or you will die here in great agony.” He released the pathetic intruder, letting him crash to the stones. Part of him wanted the man to try and run, wanted the thrill of the chase he hadn’t experienced in far too long, a release for his perpetual rage.

“I didn’t know it was magic!” the man gasped, body curling in on itself in pain. “I swear! I have no mistress! I know no witch!” Tears streamed down the false beggar’s face and he scrambled to kneel at the base of Daman’s body, his entire frame trembling as his knees left a smear of blood on the stone through his thin clothing. “My daughter asked for the rose, she showed me a picture. I only wanted to bring this gift back to her—she asked for so little.”

His voice was hoarse, every other word nearly lost as it was forced past the bruising of his throat, but he continued to ramble. He pressed his forehead to the ground, abasing himself in front of Daman. “I thought my fortune had returned and even though she said she needed nothing, I demanded that she ask for something—anything. I’ve been such a failure, I only wanted to prove that I could still give her the life she deserves.”

“She has given you a pathetic story that will seal your fate if you do not abandon it.” Daman slid back a few paces, giving the man some space to collect himself. His story was a bald-faced lie—the Rose of the Mist was as well-known among magic users as it was rare. The potential in its delicate blossom was enough to make even the most moral of witches salivate and think thieving thoughts.

He cursed himself. He should have known something was amiss after the man had left through the back door to leave through the gardens instead of leaving out the way he’d come. He should have scented the witch on him sooner. He should have known she would try something again. His temper rose higher, choking him until it was all he could do not to crush the thief where he lay.

“I thought one of my ships had escaped the misfortune of the others—that perhaps the pirates hadn’t taken everything from me,” the man rambled. “We lost our house, our home. I was such a wealthy man, a provider. Now I am too poor to buy nice dresses for my daughters, to offer a proper dowry. I’ve failed at so much.” He sobbed. “It was only a rose.”

Every word out of the man’s mouth confirmed Daman’s suspicions and he leaned over the man, claws tingling. He’d heard that story before, listened to a woman give him that same sorry recounting of her fate. He eyed the old man. Yes…now he remembered. This fool was the witch’s father. He’d seen him when he’d gone to investigate her tale of woe, the day he’d discovered her lies.

His tail lashed from side to side and he pushed himself higher into the air, towering over the simpering beggar. His forked tongue flicked out of his mouth.

What color the man had left drained from his face and left him white as a ghost. A tiny voice of doubt whispered through his mind. Perhaps… Perhaps the fool truly hadn’t known about the rose. Considering who his daughter was, the poor man could be an innocent patsy, someone to take the fall for the theft if caught. His fear was real enough.

Daman clenched his clawed hands into fists, concentrating on the bite of his own talons as they dug into his flesh. He didn’t want her father. He wanted the witch. For the thousandth time, he wished he could go after her himself. If only he could take his human form one more time, just long enough to pass through the town without frightening innocent villagers. He wanted to see her face before he stained his hands with her blood.

But she would never come back here, never risk his wrath. Daman paused, gaze sliding to the man groveling on the ground. Unless…

Daman coiled his lower body tighter, bringing his chest closer to the ground so he didn’t tower quite so high about the terrified man.  “You tried to steal something very valuable from me after I was kind enough to offer you hospitality. I would be within my rights to keep you here as my prisoner to punish you for your crime.” He took a deep breath, holding on to his temper as best he could. “But I am willing to make you a deal.”

“A d-deal?” the terrified man stammered.

“Yes. A deal.” Daman gripped the stones beneath him, trying to keep his voice calm. “Go home. Tell your daughter what has transpired. If she will agree to return here with you—and stay here for as long as I so desire—I will reward you with riches and allow you to go home and begin rebuilding all that you lost.”

Daman remembered the witch, remembered how badly she’d wanted money, wanted the life she’d lost after her father’s money had been taken. “Understand me, I will make you a rich man. Rich enough to climb even higher in society than you were. Tell your daughter that and tell her that her time here will not be forever and no harm will come to her.”

Those last words tasted foul on his tongue, but he forced them out. More than the witch’s death, he wanted her to lift the curse. If she would agree to do so, he would spare her life. “Make it clear to her that if she refuses my offer, then you must come back here alone and remain here as my prisoner.”

The trembling of the old man’s body grew worse, until it was a wonder the flesh didn’t fly from his very bones. “What do you want with my daughter?”

She doesn’t deserve your protection. Daman tried to keep his voice level. “That is my concern.”

“I… I understand.” The old man half-collapsed on the ground, his head apparently having grown too heavy to hold up anymore.

“Good.”

Excitement swirled in Daman’s veins, anticipation of finally having the leverage to force the witch to break her curse filling him with hope. A deep satisfaction curled inside of him. She’d once begged to stay here, claimed she wanted to be with him more than anything. Well, she would get her wish.

She would stay here all right—but it would not be in the lap of luxury that she’d wanted so badly. She would lift her curse on him or he would make her suffer. There were things far worse than death—especially for witches who pined for the finer things in life. “Go to the front of the house and wait there. I’ll send a horse and carriage to take you home.”

Without waiting for a response, Daman shot down the path through the garden, riding a wave of adrenaline, feeling light enough to fly. Birds flew screaming into the air, and dirt scattered in all directions from the savage thrusting of his tail as he hurtled over the field in the direction of the stable.

He’d had no need for horses in some time, but he’d never been able to part with the last one. The ebony stallion had been the jewel of his stable, completely fearless—an attribute that had never been more clear than when it had been the only animal in his stable not to shriek in terror the day Daman had come to release them after the curse had taken his legs. Even now, with his heart pounding and what he knew must be a wild light in his eyes, the beast blinked at him, not bothering to stop chewing its hay as Daman entered its stall. Its velvety nose quivered as it snorted at Daman—unimpressed.

The equine was reluctant to leave his lunch, but he amiably allowed Daman to lead it out of the stall and over to a carriage covered in a year’s worth of dust. An undeniable feeling of indignation radiated from the beast as Daman hitched it to the carriage without cleaning it off first, but after a few tosses of its head, it snorted in resignation.

It took mere minutes for Daman to drag the heavy carriage from the confines of its dusty shelter and get the straps fastened snugly around the mild-mannered beast. He had to be particularly careful in his work, determined not to injure his noble companion with the sickle-shaped claws curling from his fingertips. When the final strap was secure, Daman breathed a little easier, patting the animal on the rump.

Cool scales slid over Daman’s shoulder, followed by the flicker of a slim pink tongue.

“That wasssn’t very niccce.”

The horse’s ears pressed flat against its head, but that was the only indication it gave that it registered the cuelebre’s presence. Daman gave it a swat on its silky hindquarters. The stallion shook out its mane and rolled one eye at the cuelebre as it trotted off down the path. The beast was well-trained, it would go to the front of the main house where it had once waited for Daman in his human form on those occasions he’d seen fit to go into town. The carriage, while unused for some time, was solidly built and barely swayed as it was jostled down the path.

“You know nothing of this situation. I have reasons for what I’ve done.”

“You want the witch.”

Daman faced the cuelebre with renewed interest, flexing his hands until his claws clicked against one another. “What do you know of it?”

“I know what a naga isss. You aren’t in thisss form by choiccce.”

The door to the stable creaked in protest as Daman’s hand tightened on the handle. He inhaled slowly, closing his eyes and counting to ten before closing the door with as much restraint as he could manage. “What is your purpose here?”

“I am here to help.” The cuelebre tapped its chin with the tip of its tail, contemplating Daman for several long seconds. “You have a plan,” it said finally.

Daman waited, but the cuelebre said no more. Its black eyes were reflective black pearls, offering Daman no hint of its thoughts, only shining his own image back at him. “I do have a plan. But I will not require your help.”

The cuelebre bobbed its head. “That’sss how it goesss. The bessst laid plansss…”

Chapter Three

“Everything is about to get better. I can’t believe this nightmare is almost over.”

Maribel remained silent as she stood stirring the pot over the fire, adding a dash of dried spices now and then. The aroma of salty chicken broth, fragrant onion, and tender carrots and celery fresh from the garden wafted up to envelope her in a pleasant, steamy embrace. Chicken soup was one of her father’s favorites, a simple, but comforting recipe. It would be exactly what he needed after his long journey, especially if he’d had to travel at night. Nothing chased the chill from one’s bones like a good soup.

“We’ll have a real roof over our heads, not this miserable patchwork,” Corrine continued. “There will be people all around us all the time. We’ll have true friends this time, not people who will abandon us at the first sign of shifting fortune. Our clothes will fit properly and we’ll never be hungry again.”

Maribel forced herself to relax her death grip on the wooden spoon she held before she snapped it into useless twigs. She doesn’t mean to be insulting. She’s just used to a certain lifestyle. She needs a different lifestyle to feel secure. It’s no reflection on how hard Father and I work to make her comfortable.

Squaring her shoulders, Maribel forced a smile to her face as she glanced over to where Corrine sat huddled under a thick quilt beside the fire. The chair had been pushed farther back, a testament to caution after Corrine’s last episode. “If you’re hungry, I can fix you a bowl of soup? It’s already done, I’m just letting it cook longer to make the flavor richer.”

“Do you remember our first winter here? How cold it was, how fast our food ran out?” Corrine rubbed the corner of the quilt against her cheek, the way she’d cuddled her coverlet when she was a child. Tendrils of fraying threads stuck out from the corners, betraying the blanket for the second-hand charity it was. Nothing like the silks and furs Corrine and Maribel had snuggled into when they were kids. She tugged at it, pulling it tighter around her, the damaged skin of her injured hand stretching with each movement.

“I remember.” Maribel stopped stirring, lost in the dancing flames of her cooking fire. Cold touched her back, the memory of that winter still fresh in her mind despite the cozy atmosphere in the cottage.

“Strange that the winters never seemed quite so cold before. Back at home there was always a roaring fire, plenty of hot tea and warm meals. I remember we used to sit at the windowsill wrapped up in furs and blankets, holding hot chocolate and watching the snow fall. It was always so beautiful, and those are some of my best memories. But here…”

Corrine pulled the quilt up over her head until she peered out of it through an opening the size of her palm, her voice muffled by the worn fabric when she spoke. “I thought I was going to die, Maribel. The wind came through a thousand cracks in this miserable shack and each one was a knife cutting into my skin. For a moment I was the same pathetic creature I was as a child. At Death’s door. Not strong enough to live.”

“A lot different then now, isn’t it?” Maribel broke in, trying to snap Corrine out of her depressing reverie. She winced at her tone and focused on the soup, stirring faster as if her body was trying to keep up with her racing thoughts. She hadn’t meant for her voice to be so sharp, but she’d heard Corrine say the same words so many times. Her sister was forever trapped in the memory of that one winter, a victim no matter how good her life became. Corrine, I love you, but, demons take it, things aren’t that bad!

Corrine’s silence was so thick and sudden that it sucked the ambient noise right out of the room. Maribel yanked the spoon from the soup and rapped it violently on the edge of the pot. The loud clanging made her nerves spasm, the sound like a voice in her head shouting at her that she was losing her temper and she’d regret it.

Get a hold of yourself, Maribel.

Slowly, she put the spoon on the table beside her, careful to lay it down gently. She concentrated on the warmth sizzling against her face, the almost-burn that came from standing this close to the fire. The steam from the soup wafted over her, chasing back the memories Corrine was trying so hard to drag out of her.

“Do you ever see the faces?”

“Faces?” The hairs on the back of Maribel’s neck stood up, something in Corrine’s voice sending a chill up her spine despite the fire’s heat. “What faces?”

Corrine didn’t answer. Her brown eyes held a reflection of the hearth, glittering where they gazed out from the hood of her quilt. The shadows on her face flickered and jumped, seeming almost alive…

“Corrine?” Maribel’s voice came out louder than she’d intended, startling her more than Corrine. She cleared her throat. “Corrine, what faces?”

“Faces everywhere. Watching. Waiting.” Corrine startled, body twitching as though coming out of a daze. She blinked owlishly at Maribel, then suddenly she seemed to realize what she’d said and busied herself with pushing the quilt off her head and smoothing it around her again. “Or maybe it’s only the episodes putting strange images in my head.”

Maribel let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Oh. Yes.” She groped beside her for some peppercorns, her mind picking over Corrine’s words.

“Faces everywhere. Watching. Waiting.”

Something sour churned in Maribel’s stomach, a sense of unease. Against her will, whispers she’d heard in the past breathed through her mind.

“There goes the farmer’s daughter. I heard she was possessed by the Evil Fire.”

“Aye, touched by demons that one is. Studies with the old crone in the woods.”

“Mother Briar is helping you with those episodes, isn’t she?” Maribel dropped the peppercorns into the mortar, wrapping her hand around the base as she lifted the pestle to begin grinding them to powder.

Corrine lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “I suppose. But what I really need is to get away from here.” She leaned her cheek against the edge of the chair. “I want to go home.”

And we’re back. One of the peppercorns shot out of the mortar like a tiny black cannonball as Maribel smashed the pestle down on it with unnecessary force. “Corrine, do you really hate our life here so much?”

“Yes,” Corrine said without a moment’s hesitation. “I know you like being close to the land, combing through the dirt with your fingers.” She finally tore her gaze away from the fire to meet Maribel’s eyes. “But, Maribel, don’t you ever lie awake at night wondering how long it will be until our crops fail, or the hunting turns sour? How long it will be until we have another winter like that first one?”

“No, I don’t.” Maribel tapped the pestle against the mortar to loosen the clinging bits of pepper then placed it on the table beside her. Wiping her hands off on her apron, she went over and knelt by Corrine, taking her hands in hers. “We aren’t the same people we were back then, Corrine. We came here knowing nothing about how to fend for ourselves, spoiled by always having the money to pay someone else to take care of us. We know better now.” She brushed a curl of sleek brown hair behind Corrine’s ear. “I promise, I will never let you starve.”

Corrine opened her mouth like she wanted to argue, but suddenly horse hooves clattering on the stones outside the house drew both girls’ attention. Corrine scrambled free of the blankets like a rabbit desperately escaping a net, arms and legs akimbo as she fought free. In seconds she was out of her chair and through the door. A muscle ticked in Maribel’s jaw.

She can find the energy to half-fly out to greet a present-bearing father, but she can’t rouse herself to even try to help with the farming.

Shaking off the bitterness that pressed her lips into a thin line, Maribel gave herself a moment to regain her composure. She brushed her hair back from her face and settled her apron into smooth lines. Composed once again, she rose to leave the house.

She hadn’t even made it to the door when her father stumbled inside. His clothes were covered in dirt and clumps of drying mud, his hair was in wild disarray around his face, and his skin was red from the frosty air. Maribel went still as she noticed her father’s eyes were swollen…as if he’d been crying. Corrine trailed behind him, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Maribel swallowed her questions as she clasped her father’s arm and helped him to the table. He fell into the chair more than sat and she set about getting him settled in, all the while fighting down a rising sense of dread. She retrieved one of the blankets Corrine had been using and wrapped it around her father, rubbing his shoulders and arms until the friction warmed the blanket. Corrine collapsed into another seat at the table, staring forlornly at the worn wood, appearing for all the world as though the light had been sucked from her life. Maribel poured a cup of tea from the pot keeping warm by the fire and set it down in front of her father.

“What happened?” she asked quietly, taking a seat.

Her father’s face folded like an ancient parchment, tears glistening in his eyes. “Everything’s gone. Claimed as payment for old debts.” He pressed his lips together and swallowed hard. “There is nothing left.”

Maribel firmly tamped down on the part of her that rejoiced at the news, the part that wanted more than anything to stay on this farm, to live this new life. Instead, she concentrated on her father, letting her sympathy for his loss show on her face. “Father, it’s all right. We’ll be fine here. We have each other, that’s all that matters.”

A sob escaped her father’s throat and Maribel stared as tears spilled over and slid down his face. She’d expected him to be disappointed, even sad, but this… For the first time, Maribel noticed the deep purple bruising on her father’s neck. Her lips parted in shock and her stomach dropped.

“Father, what’s wrong?” she asked carefully.

“I was only trying to bring you your rose,” her father sobbed. “And now I’ve doomed us all over again.”

“What?” Corrine’s face drained of all color and she swayed in her seat. “You… You’ve lost the farm?”

Their father wrapped his hands around his teacup as if it were the only thing holding him to this world. “No. No, you will keep the farm, both of you. But you will have to keep it…without me.”

“What?” Maribel gasped.

“It’s the only way.” Their father didn’t lift his gaze from his teacup. “I was on my way back from town. I heard wolves in the forest and I tried to take a new path, one that led farther away from the beasts. It shouldn’t have taken me out of the way, but my mind…” He lowered his voice. “I wasn’t paying attention. I got lost and before I knew it, I had arrived at the abandoned manor near the lake at the bottom of the mountain.”

Corrine inhaled sharply, but Maribel kept her eyes on their father. “There are stories about that manor. I’ve heard rumors that the lord that ruled that house still lives there, but that he was cursed by a witch. They say he’s—”

“A beast!” her father choked.

He met Maribel’s gaze and her chest tightened at the wild light in his eyes.

“At first I was afraid, but there seemed to be no one there. I… I went inside—to get out of the wind. There was a meal laid out, fresh, with tea still hot. I called out, but no one answered, so I sat down to eat.” His head drooped. “I thought perhaps there was someone there looking out for me.” He raised a trembling hand to his face, dragging it over his jaw. “I was almost right.”

He spread his fingers out on the table, pressing his palms to the worn surface as if gathering himself to finish the story. “I left the manor through the garden. And on my way, I…” He stopped, barked out a laugh. “I can hardly even say it. It’s not possible.”

“What?” Maribel prodded, her heart in her throat. A garden. Surely the bruises… No. Who would attack a man over a flower?

“There was a talking flower.”

Maribel’s eyebrows met her hairline. Beside her, Corrine went deathly still.

“A… Father, are you sure?”

Her father nodded, not meeting the eyes of either of his daughters. “I asked it about your rose, Maribel.”

The anxiety that had laid like a weight in Maribel’s stomach writhed, growing thicker and heavier. She held her breath, not wanting to hear the rest of the story, but needing to know. “The rose. What happened?”

“He showed up.” A shiver ran through his frame, hard enough he tilted in his chair. “A more frightening sight I’ve never seen. Half man-half dragon, he had the upper body of a mortal man, but his skin, his eyes… They were a color no human ever possessed. He had no legs, only a tail… There’s dragon blood there, I’d bet my life on it.”

His voice broke and he swallowed twice. “He was furious with me for seeking that rose. I thought he would kill me there, and I’m ashamed to say I babbled like a fool. I tried to explain why I needed the rose, tried to beg his forgiveness. But I only succeeded in prompting a worse fate. He told me I had to either come back to him and be his prisoner forever, or give him one of my daughters.” He let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “As if any man would make such a sacrifice.”

Maribel’s heart sank deeper in her chest, her guts wrenching tighter. Her mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. All she could do was gape at her father, her heart twisted by the way his hands shook so badly that most of the tea in his mug sloshed onto the rough wood of their table. My fault.

“He was truly frightening to behold, and ferocious in his anger, but up until I took the rose, he was kind enough to feed me. I don’t believe he will harm me as his prisoner. I will be all right.” He choked on a sob. “I only wish I could stay here and care for you. I don’t want to leave you to fend for yourselves, not when I’ve already been responsible for you losing so much.”

“This is all because of me.” Maribel’s voice sounded hollow even to her own ears.

“Father, there must be another way. You can’t mean to leave us. Perhaps we could compensate this lord in some way.” Corrine’s voice was higher than usual, her eyes showing too much white. She swallowed hard, fidgeting with the skirt of her dress. Then suddenly she stiffened, visibly shaking off her panic. She whirled to face Maribel. “What rose did you ask for?”

“A… A Rose of the Mist. It was in one of Mother Briar’s books.” She groped for Corrine’s hand, needing to see understanding in her sister’s eyes. “I thought it would help you. The Rose of the Mist has magical abilities… It would have made you stronger.”

“You asked Father to retrieve a magical plant?” Corrine held her hand back from Maribel’s questing fingers, disbelief in her brown eyes.

“The book didn’t say anything about it being guarded! I had no reason to think any harm would come from asking. I thought he might find it at an herbalist’s or the apothecary’s.” The words sounded ridiculous now that she said them out loud. A rose that rare with that much power… She’d been a fool.

“It is not your fault, Maribel.” Her father snatched Maribel’s hand from the table, clutching it fervently to his chest. The dirt from his own hand and clothes was irrelevant in light of the soil permanently embedded under Maribel’s fingernails. “I am the one who has failed you both. If I had been more careful with my business… I lost all those ships to pirates, and now the last one has been claimed to repay debts. There is nothing left.”

Exhaustion weighed his head down and his shoulders slumped. “And then to enter a strange manor—no matter how abandoned it appeared to be. I should have been suspicious, should have known something was not right.” He cleared his throat, a fresh well of tears glistening in his eyes. “I will stay long enough to teach you both the work you will need to do in my absence.”

“No.” Maribel raised her other hand and brought it down to cup her father’s between the two of hers. “No, I will go.”

“Maribel!” Corrine grabbed Maribel’s shoulder, spinning her to face her. “Maribel, you can’t go!”

“It’s all right.” Maribel patted her hand. “Father said the lord promised I wouldn’t be harmed. Perhaps all he wants is a servant.” She glanced back at her father. “You said there were no servants, but that the manor was very large. Perhaps he intends to have me clean and cook for him.”

“You have no idea what he wants!” Corrine knitted her eyebrows together, her grip tightening on Maribel’s shoulder. “He could mean you harm, no matter what he says. And even if he didn’t mean to hurt you, would you really go and be servant to a monster?”

“Hard work doesn’t bother me.”

Corrine flinched and Maribel winced. “Corrine, I didn’t mean—”

“I know what you meant,” Corrine said stiffly. “You do all the work around here anyway, so being the servant of a monster wouldn’t be any different, is that it?”

“I didn’t mean it that way.” Maribel’s voice hitched, stirred by a traitorous thought stabbing into her consciousness. If she were to go away, then she would still work hard, yes, but perhaps she could find some joy in the work. Perhaps she could find some peace, could enjoy her toils if she didn’t have Corrine looking over her shoulder, making her feel guilty for any stolen moment of happiness when her sister was so miserable…

I am a wretched, horrible human being. Maribel blinked away tears, furious with herself for thinking of her own sister as a burden. It’s not her fault she is the way she is.

“If you truly don’t want to leave, then don’t.” Corrine’s voice was a plea. “Maribel, I need you here. You know how much I need you.”

I need me too. Through the guilt, an insidious hope took firm root, taunting her with images of gardening at the grand manor, feeling the soil in her hands and the sun on her back. Enjoying working with nature without pretending to miss the life they’d had. Maribel stood and retook her place in front of the cooking fire, not trusting her face not to betray her thoughts.

“Corrine, I can’t let our father take responsibility for my foolishness.” She picked up the abandoned mortar and tilted it until powdered peppercorns drifted down into the soup. “It is only right that I should go.”

“Maribel, that is not the truth of the matter,” her father broke in. “It is not your foolishness, it is mine. I lost our fortune, I entered a strange mansion. I have brought this on us. It is not for you to fix this. I’m an old man, Maribel, I’ve lived a good life. Let me serve out the rest of my days with this lord, I will gladly be his prisoner if it means you two can stay here together.”

“We can’t work this farm by ourselves!” Corrine protested, her voice rising until it took on an edge of hysteria. She shot to her feet and stomped over to Maribel. Ignoring her sister’s protest, she yanked the spoon from her hand, flinging hot soup in an arc through the room as she flung it to the table. “Come on. We’ll go see Mother Briar. Perhaps she knows something about this beast, something that will help us escape him.”

“Yes!” Their father sat up in his chair, red-rimmed eyes brightening with sudden hope. He pointed at Corrine. “Yes, go and see Mother Briar. Ask her if she can help us avoid this horrible choice.” He met Maribel’s eyes. “But if she can’t, then, Maribel, I will go.”

“No.” Maribel pulled against Corrine, digging her heels into the floor as her sister tried to drag her out of the house. Her heart pounded wildly, a dizzying whirlwind of emotions rushing around inside her mind. She settled a firm gaze on her father, a man who up until now had always been vaguely disapproving of Mother Briar and the magic she wanted to teach his daughters. “Father, it’s all right, just let me go.”

Maribel’s words fell on deaf ears as Corrine dragged her across the floor with more strength than she’d shown since they’d arrived at their new home.

“Come on, Maribel. If there’s anyone who can help us, it’s Mother Briar. We’re not going to let you go without a fight!”

Every word out of their mouths meant to comfort her and reassure her of how much they wanted to keep her with them only fed the flame burning steadily inside Maribel. The flame of hope, of anticipation. She was more certain with every passing second that she wanted to go, that perhaps there was more freedom to be had as a servant of this lord than there was here with her own family.

As Corrine kept a firm grip on her hand, pulling her forcibly through the door and into the woods, Maribel imagined that every branch that slapped at her shoulders, every bristle that caught her skirt, and every root that stuck up from the ground to catch her feet were all trying to warn her not to seek Mother Briar’s help. In her mind, she was already packed and on her way to the beast’s manor.

It was strange to proceed all the way up the stone pathway to Mother Briar’s door. Usually the old woman met them outside, and Maribel was usually left to work outdoors amongst the plants while Corrine and Mother Briar retired inside to practice other magical skills. This time, though, Corrine tugged Maribel right along behind her until she arrived at the door. She banged on the thick wood with gusto that Maribel bitterly reflected would have been better used pulling weeds. Indeed, Maribel couldn’t help but notice that Corrine hadn’t staggered at all on the way to Mother Briar’s…

The door swung open after only a few moments and Mother Briar peered out at them, grey eyebrows arched.

“Hello, girls. What a surprise, I didn’t expect you for another—”

“We have an emergency.” Corrine pulled Maribel to stand closer to her, infusing her voice with an intriguing mixture of desperation and authority.

“Indeed?”

“Our father has run afoul of the monster who lives in the abandoned manor. The beast is demanding that Maribel come to him to take our father’s place as his prisoner. We need your help.”

“Father said himself that the lord showed him kindness,” Maribel insisted meekly. “I’m certain he will not harm me.”

Mother Briar’s eyes sharpened and she leaned closer to Maribel with an intensity that had her taking a step back. A strange scent drifted from the old woman’s clothes, something metallic and musty. Blood and feathers?

“The lord of the abandoned manor… What did he look like?”

“Father said he looked like a dragon.” Maribel bit her lip. “He said that he was half man, half serpent.”

For a brief second, Maribel could have sworn a message passed between Mother Briar and Corrine, a conversation without words. Mother Briar shuffled back and opened the door wider. “Come inside.”

Though she’d been inside once or twice in the past, stepping inside the witch’s house was like stepping into a whole new world. Plants and herbs hung from strings all over the walls, filling the space with the dust of yellowed leaves and the cloying scent of dying blooms. The skeletons of small creatures were scattered about flat surfaces, some of them with bits of flesh still clinging feebly to the blood-stained bone. Sharp blades glinted from the shadows, polished but somehow still managing to hint at their gory tasks, as though the blood hung on the steel like a shadow. A thick black cauldron hung in the fireplace, a liquid bubbling inside that didn’t smell like any soup Maribel had ever come in contact with.

After they were all seated at the small table in the witch’s kitchen, Mother Briar focused her full attention on Maribel. “Now, tell me exactly what happened.”

Maribel resigned herself to the situation and leaned heavily on the table. “Father received a message saying one of his ships had come in, and he asked Corrine and me what we wanted. I tried to tell him I didn’t want anything, but he insisted. Finally, I remembered a rose I’d seen in one of your books. A Rose of the Mist. I told him I wanted the rose and showed him the picture. I thought he could get it at a florist or an apothecary, or maybe even from the woods—the book said the rose had been found in these forests near here before.” She closed her eyes, her stomach rolling as she forced herself to think of all that her father had been through—because of her.

“This lord has a Rose of the Mist?” Mother Briar breathed.

A gleam came into her eyes, a shine that emphasized the darkness of her irises rather than lightened them. Maribel had to fight not to rub her arms to rid herself of the sudden crawling sensation over her flesh.

“A Rose of the Mist is very valuable,” Mother Briar mused, half to herself. A flash of disapproval lit her eyes. “And if you’d read the book in its entirety, you would know that it does not occur naturally. The Rose of the Mist is created from an ordinary rose that has been subjected to intense magical forces—wild, uncontrolled magic. They cannot be created on purpose, only by accident. That is what makes them so rare.”

Again the old crone’s gaze slid to Corrine as if trying to convey something important. Corrine’s brown eyes remained ice cold, her face set in sharp lines. Maribel opened her mouth, ready to ask what was going on, what the two women weren’t telling her.

“I’ve heard stories of this lord,” Corrine said tightly. “Mother Briar, I’m sure you’ll be able to confirm them. I’ve heard that this lord was cursed into a bestial form because he turned away a weary old woman who begged shelter during a wicked storm. She wanted to teach him a lesson, but the lord was too cruel and selfish to learn. I heard that he killed everyone in his manor—down to the last servant.”

Mother Briar held Corrine’s look for a moment longer then faced Maribel. “I’ve heard those rumors as well. And indeed, we must not dismiss them too easily.” She paused. “However…”

Corrine choked, but Mother Briar ignored her.

“If your father says that this lord fed and sheltered him, then perhaps he has learned from his past mistakes. In fact, I had heard that in order to break the curse upon him, he must learn to love and trust another, and earn their love and trust in return. Perhaps that is why he has sent for you, suggested this trade. It is possible that he wants an opportunity to break his curse, and he simply feels that his appearance is too frightening for him to get the chance any other way.”

Maribel’s lips parted. “You mean… You think he wants me to stay with him so that he can…woo me?”

Corrine’s fingers gripped the wooden table so hard her nails drew furrows in the surface. Mother Briar continued to ignore her, her unwavering gaze locked firmly on Maribel.

“I think he wants a chance to prove that he’s changed, that he is not the beast inside that he is on the outside,” the witch confirmed. “Do you think you could see beyond his appearance and give him that chance?”

Maribel blinked, shifting uncomfortably in her seat at the witch’s lack of subtlety. She folded her hands, urging herself to get a grip. The witch was probably toying with her, filling her head with ridiculous fantasies so she’d embarrass herself in front of this lord. Mother Briar had never liked Maribel. “I’m sure we’ll get along fine,” she told Mother Briar, her will to remain polite strained to the point of discomfort. “Thank you for the advice.”

“No!”

Corrine’s shout drew the attention of Maribel and Mother Briar simultaneously. Veins pulsed in her sister’s temples, straining against her skin. The hair on Maribel’s arms rose as some sort of ghostly wind flowed from her sister. The brown tendrils of Corrine’s hair danced as though stirred by a breeze, and there was a disconcerting vibration rolling off her body. Maribel held her breath as she realized that for the first time, she was getting a taste of Corrine’s magic.

“Mother Briar,” Corrine ground out, “surely there is some information you can give us that would let Maribel escape the lord’s grasp? We need her on the farm.”

Mother Briar gave an exaggerated sigh. “I’m afraid I can think of nothing. In my mind, the best thing for your sister to do is to go to this lord, save her father, and perhaps see if she can’t get to know the man within the monster.”

Corrine looked like she’d swallowed a live toad and Maribel shifted uneasily in her seat. The vibration from her sister grew stronger, and the sensation on Maribel’s skin was…unpleasant. Not for the first time, she wondered exactly what happened in this cottage while she was outside among the plants. “Corrine,” she said gently. “Please. Everything will be all right, you’ll see.”

Corrine shot out of her seat and practically flew through the door. Maribel raised her hands to cover her face, suddenly wanting nothing more than to be alone with her thoughts.

“She will be all right,” Mother Briar assured her. “There comes a time in everyone’s life where they must travel their path alone.”

“I suppose so,” Maribel mumbled.

“Your sister relies on you, Maribel, but she is stronger than even she thinks. Go to this lord, save your father—save the beast. Do not worry about Corrine.” The witch’s voice shifted, taking on a tone somewhere between a promise and a threat. “I will take care of your sister.”

Suddenly Maribel had to get out of the witch’s cottage. She offered Mother Briar a half-hearted wave goodbye and, without making eye contact, followed the path Corrine had taken. For the first time in Maribel’s life, she ran to catch up with her sister.

Chapter Four

The vase exploded against the wall, shattering into a thousand pieces and littering the rug with glistening dust and jagged fragments of broken ceramic. The nerve-scratching sound of the crash did nothing to appease Daman or the tempest raging inside him. His blood still boiled in his veins, a red haze hanging in front of his eyes and clouding his vision. His chest rose and fell rapidly with his heavy breathing as he faced the window again, watching the new arrivals emerge from the carriage and start up the path.

“That iss not the witch,” he seethed. “The old man hass played me for a fool.”

“You didn’t know the witch had a sssissster?”

“Of coursse I knew!” Daman ground his teeth, the increasing sibilance in his voice grating on his nerves, taunting him with his loss of control. “It made ssensse that the witch would be the one to want the Rosse of the Misst.” He tried to keep his voice level, his tone even. “I vissited her home a year ago—I ssaw no ssign that her ssisster practicced the craft.”

“How long did you obssserve her?”

Daman drummed his fingers along the windowsill, sharp white claws clicking against the stone in a sharp staccato pattern. “No longer than I obsserved the home of anyone who came to me sseeking ssanctuary. It didn’t take long to esstablish that the witch wass not being abussed, wass not misstreated by her family. Sshe didn’t sseek my help becausse her life wass in danger, sshe merely wanted an eassier life and sshe thought I would give that to her.”

The rest of that particular memory tried to creep into Daman’s consciousness, but he shoved it away. He couldn’t afford to lose his temper completely. Not now that there were people here, people who could bleed, could be injured.

He stewed silently. The old man was a wreck. Even though he wore clean clothes now and had obviously eaten and slept much better than the last time Daman had seen him, his hair was sticking out in tufts where he’d probably shoved his hands through it. His face was lined with worry and his eyes were red from tears. He held his daughter to him as he trudged up the path, lips moving the whole time. No doubt whispering words of comfort.

Or perhaps trying to convince her to leave.

The woman for the most part appeared determined. Her jaw was set in a stubborn line, though her eyes flicked nervously, taking in her surroundings with the caution of a cat approaching a rustling bush. Daman’s eyes lingered on her, taking note of her fair skin, her beautiful chocolate brown hair. Her body was thin, but the curve of her hips suggested that her slender state had more to do with a peasant’s diet than any decree of the gods. She would probably have luscious curves if fed properly, the kind of curves a man could cup in his palms…

The scrape of claws against hard stone grated on his ears, drawing Daman out of his burgeoning fantasy and back into stark reality. He stared down at his hand, his skin spotted with bluish green scales, fingers tipped with sharp white claws. Not the hands one held a woman close with. Pain washed over him, followed quickly by a welcome rush of hot anger. Yet one more thing the witch had stolen from him then.

“I have to ssend her away.” He flowed for the door like a churning tide, his scales scratching over the stone floor. Even with his back to the window, he could still see the woman’s brown hair with deep red highlights glistening in the sun. An image from a year ago, the same woman kneeling in the dirt, face smudged with soil, humming happily as she tried to coax a tomato plant to lean properly against the stick she was trying to tie it to, brushed across his mind. He’d thought her beautiful then too. He’d had his human form then, he could have spoken up, introduced himself…

Frustration pulled his skin tight and threatened to urge his temper to stone-shattering depths. Daman sucked in air through his nose, letting it out of his mouth silently as he dashed through the hallways down to the lower level. All of that was done, in the past. He couldn’t change it now, and a fleeting attraction to the woman didn’t change anything. She couldn’t stay here.

Why couldn’t it have been the witch? It should have been her.

His head throbbed, a loud buzzing in both his ears making him clench his teeth. He needed to meditate, needed to get a handle on the rage building inside him. He’d thought of the witch too often these past few days, had allowed memories of her to feed his fury for too long. He had to get rid of his unwanted guests so he could retreat to his sanctuary, his loneliness. It was the way it had to be.

His hand closed over the doorknob, claws scratching at the polished metal, and he ripped it open, muscles already propelling him to meet his guests. Shock broke over him as he realized they’d progressed farther than he’d anticipated and were directly in front of him, standing on the doorstep.

His serpentine reflexes were the only thing that kept him from colliding with the man and his daughter, his lower body constricting and pushing upward so that his momentum was redistributed into rising up higher as his tail uncoiled more than usual and lifted him instead of shoving him into his new arrivals.

The end result was that he filled the doorway, looming over his visitors from nearly eight feet in height. The old man cried out and curled himself around his daughter, putting his back between her and Daman. The girl sucked in a startled breath and squeezed her eyes closed, cowering into her father’s arms.

Fear me, of course you fear me. Their reaction broke something inside Daman, the last of his tenuous control. He roared, a loud, bellowing sound that rattled the windows on either side of the door. The girl whimpered, eyes still tightly closed, and her father gritted his teeth, clutching her tighter.

“What gamess are you playing, old man?” Daman demanded, heart pounding wildly in the flood of adrenaline pouring through him. His tongue flicked out with every sibilant syllable—a fact that only fed his rage.

“Y-you said—”

“You were to bring me the daughter that assked for the rosse!”

The girl peered over her father’s shoulder while still huddling in his protective embrace. Her blue eyes revealed far too much white.

“I,” she started, her voice hoarse and broken. She cleared her throat. “I am the one who asked for the rose.”

Daman gripped the doorway, digging his claws into the wood until it groaned, threatened to splinter. The girl flinched, but kept her eyes on his.

“You?” His tongue stabbed the air, tasting it. He growled. “You are no witch. You—”

Daman went perfectly still, the taste of the girl’s scent on the air fully registering. Instinct seized control of his muscles, sliding him closer to the woman, his tongue slipping out again to confirm what his senses were telling him. He ignored the old man’s shudder, focusing on the woman.

She is a changeling. How did I miss that before?

He studied her for a moment, his gaze flicking from her to her father. The old man cared for her, that much was obvious. It was impossible to tell if he knew the woman in his arms was not of his own blood or if he, like so many others, continued to believe the lie of the new babe in the cradle.

Rage still bubbled inside of him like a pot left too long over the fire. It wasn’t until his brain registered the trembling of the changeling on his doorstep that Daman realized exactly how close to the edge of the cliff he was standing. She was a changeling, a member of the people he had given his oath to protect—a child left by fey parents in exchange for their human babe. That she saw him as a threat was the greatest blow to his honor he had ever born.

Exerting his will over his temper was never easy, but those blue eyes gave him the strength he needed to reach deep inside himself, to search for the elusive thread of humanity wavering in the wind of his temper. He snatched it up and held it close to him, sucking in long, deep, slow breaths. He pictured his rage like a fire burning inside of him, and he kept breathing in a controlled, even fashion as he pictured the flames dying down until the image became his meditation candle. One small flame.

Something of his new calm must have shown on his face, because the old man gathered his bravery enough to face him with unblinking eyes. “Please reconsider. Let me take my daughter home.”

Daman opened his mouth, fully intending to grant the old man’s request. “A deal is a deal. The woman will stay, and you may go.” The words came from a part of him not controlled by his brain, catching him off guard. He blinked then moved quickly out of the doorway, back into the house so he could gesture for his guests to enter while simultaneously hiding the bewildered expression he knew must be on his face. “Go up the stairs and into the first room on your right. There is a trunk inside. You may load the trunk with as much treasure from the room as you like.”

“Keep your treasure and let me keep my daughter,” the old man begged.

“Father, please. It’s all right.”

Daman glanced back. The man hadn’t moved from the doorstep and was still standing there clutching his daughter. The woman’s voice was soft, but confident, not a trace of the uncertainty screaming from her posture huddled in her father’s arms. She didn’t look at Daman, but edged away from her father, easing out of his protective embrace. She stepped over the threshold and marched for the stairs.

“Don’t ignore his generosity, Father. Please, take the treasure and use it to hire help. Corrine will need someone to take care of her.”

Corrine. The name sent a shiver down Daman’s spine, caressing his temper and urging it to rekindle. He averted his eyes, not wanting to frighten the woman with the scowl he could feel tightening the lines of his face. Gods knew he’d already scared her enough, especially if he expected her to stay with him. If he didn’t want her to run away screaming, he had to get a tighter grip on his emotions—no matter what topic arose.

“Load the trunks,” he said, his voice only slightly hoarse and mercifully free of sibilance. “I will bring it down to the carriage after you’re done.”

Without another word, Daman left the room, moving as fast as his scales would carry him. He kept going until he was safe in the sanctity of his own chambers. Light poured in through his large, arched windows, casting a golden glow on his bed, revealing the nest of torn blankets and shredded sheets—a telltale sign that this was another room the brownies did not dare to enter. Their absence was felt keenly in the shattered statues, shredded paintings, and broken glass that desecrated every surface, every wall. A shrine to the madness threatening the lord of the manor.

Thoughts and memories swirled faster and faster inside Daman’s head and he slammed the heavy door behind him. The sound of the solid wood crashing against the doorframe thundered through the room, a satisfying, but empty sound.

Corrine.

The name echoed in his head like ripples in a pond, growing larger and more powerful as they spread. Corrine. Corrine. Corrine. More ceramic shattered against the wall as Daman heaved a statue of a dragon across the room. The heavy sculpture shattered into large chunks, filling the air with fine white dust. It coated Daman’s nostrils as he sucked in ragged breaths, flailing around for something else to throw. His hand closed around a brass bookend carved to resemble twined serpents and he cast it outward. It hit the window, shattering the glass and then sailing out into empty air.

What have I done? What was I thinking, demanding she stay? His gaze flew wildly around the room, his breathing ragged. The witch’s sister—her sister!

Every scale on his body grew heavier, reminders of what he was, what he would be as long as the curse held him trapped in this form. Neither man nor beast. Unfit for human company. The meditations were already pathetically ineffective at managing his temper. With that woman here—reminding him…

“You’re upssset.”

Daman whirled to find the cuelebre peering up at him from the floor, tiny from Daman’s vantage point. It flicked its tail from side to side, like a dog greeting its master.

“What are you doing here?” Daman snarled.

The cuelebre snaked its tongue out and blinked. “I told you. I’m here to help you with your visssitorsss.”

“You are in my private chamberss.” Daman slashed at the cuelebre with the heavy coil of his lower body, cracking it against his diminutive intruder. The cuelebre sputtered as it was sent skittering over the floor.

“It iss the wrong daughter.” Daman shoved a hand through his hair, not caring that his claws drew ragged, bloody furrows across his scalp. The pain was lost in a flood of adrenaline, a mere drop in the ocean raging with gale force inside of him. “He wass ssuppossed to bring me the witch.”

“Did you tell him to bring the witch?” the cuelebre asked. It stared intently at him from a cave created by a large and mostly undamaged section of down comforter. Only its pink tongue slithering out as it spoke gave away its position.

Daman flexed his fingers as he imagined squeezing the miserable pest in his fist. “No. But sshe iss the one who had reasson to want the rosse. It sshould have been her.”

“Well, sssend thisss one back and sssee if you can exchange her for her sssissster.”

“Do not mock me!” Daman thrust against the stone floor, sending his body hurtling to the bed faster than mere mortal eyes could track. There was a startled burst of flame and the comforter caught fire as the cuelebre shot into the air, wings beating furiously.

“Don’t be mad at me.” The cuelebre sailed across the room and wrapped itself around a wall sconce, clinging stubbornly as if daring Daman to try and remove it. “It’sss not my fault that your heart ssspoke for you.”

Daman trembled with the urge to strike out again, to give free rein to the fury burning him alive. He tried to clear the haze from his eyes so he could focus on the cuelebre. “What iss that ssupossed to mean?”

The cuelebre snorted. “I heard you. You sssaid you were going to sssend her away, but when it came time to do it, you forccced her to ssstay. You want her to ssstay.” The serpent stabbed the tip of its tail in Daman’s direction. “It wasss not your head that made that decisssion.”

“It wass a mistake.” Daman rolled his shoulders, tilting his head from side to side to ease the muscles in his neck. “A sslip of the tongue.”

“Ssso you intend to go back to her father and tell him he can take hisss daughter home?”

Daman looked away, focusing on the dark, empty fireplace. His gaze slid across the room to the shattered statue, the gleaming shards of the broken window. For a moment, the temper receded, leaving him unspeakably tired. His shoulders sagged. “I am better than this.”

Scales sliding against metal signaled movement on the cuelebre’s part, but the serpent said nothing.

“The girl is a changeling.”

“Ah. Ssshe remindsss you of your passst purpossse.”

Daman slid his gaze to the cuelebre, the skin around his eyes twitching. “Not passt. It iss sstill my purposse, however incapable I may be of fulfilling it at the moment. And what do you know of it?”

The cuelebre scrunched up his body, pressing a coil to the side of his head in a serpent’s version of a shrug. “I know what a naga isss. Your people are protectorsss, guardiansss. If I remember correctly, upon maturity, a naga choosesss a protectorate, a people he will dedicate hisss life to. You were well known in thisss land for being a sssavior of changelingsss. I have heard of them praying to you to deliver them from cruel parentsss.” The cuelebre paused. “You’re ssstill well known, of courssse. Only now, people fear you asss a monssster.” It tapped its chin with the tip of its tail. “Though I think there are ssstill prayersss—”

“Sstop.” Daman clenched his hands into fists, sucking in deep breaths as he battled his temper back down. An image of the girl waiting in the treasure room filled his mind. He could see her face pale as she peered at him from the questionable safety of her father’s arms. Even as terrified as she was, she’d spoken with calm confidence to ease her father’s worries, to assure him that she would be all right. The knowledge that he’d frightened her, that a creature that beautiful and kind-hearted had seen him not as a savior, but as a threat…

“Do they only know me as a monster now?” He had to wrench the words from his vocal cords, dreading the answer.

The cuelebre inched closer, tiny scales glittering with the movement. “No. They know who you truly are. They remember.” He tapped his tail against the floor. “They wait.”

The blood drying on his scalp itched and Daman examined his claws. Brittle flakes of blood drifted down from the sharp points as he flexed his fingers, falling to the ground like macabre snowflakes. He silently moved to the dresser beside his bed and the wash basin with its chipped pitcher sitting next to it.

The cuelebre’s gaze was a tickle between his shoulder blades, a tangible weight. He moved mechanically through washing his hands, pouring the water from the pitcher, trailing his claws through the water. The liquid turned pink as the blood released its grip on his skin and scales, flowing through the bowl like eerie fog. When his hands were clean, he dried them on a scrap of linen that had once been part of a bedsheet.

“I can be that man again. I can be the knight instead of the dragon in the eyes of those who need my protection.”

The words lacked conviction, but hope flickered inside of Daman, meager though the flame was. If he stared hard enough at his hands, he could see the human limbs they had once been. He could remember.

“Isss it your intention to sssave the changeling girl?” the cuelebre asked curiously.

Daman pressed his lips together in a fine line. He slowly slid his hand down his armor, feeling the supple chainmail and strips of heavy, worn leather. It had been part of the armor he’d worn in human form, one of the few pieces that he could wear even in this stage of his transformation. It settled him, reminded him of honor, his discipline. “The day the witch came to me a year ago, she pretended to be a changeling, pretended to be the victim of an abusive host family. She had blood on her arm—the blood of a changeling.”

Daman replayed the memory in his head. The beautiful girl crying in his foyer, holding out her bloody arm as she pled for sanctuary. He could still remember the passionate urge to protect that had swarmed over him, the rush of tenderness he’d experienced as he’d comforted her. There had been no attraction, only the passion of his cause, the satisfaction of knowing he was doing exactly as he was meant to do. The zealousness of the righteous.

“She fooled me until I sent her to get cleaned up. She didn’t realize that I would visit her home, that I would go to see for myself what circumstances she was escaping from. It didn’t take long to learn that she’d lied. Her bedroom was the nicest room in the house, full of beautiful dresses and thick, comfortable blankets. Her father and sister did not have the look about them that comes with cruelty to others.”

“What doesss thisss have to do with the sssissster?”

Daman picked up scraps of bedsheets from the floor, gathering them in his arms. “Corrine had bandaged her arms by the time I arrived back at the manor, but I already knew the wounds were fake. The scent of changeling no longer hovered about her.” He straightened with his arms full of ruined fabric, his gaze sliding to the door as he pictured the changeling who was in his home now. “She must have gotten that blood from her sister. I heard the woman tell her father to take the treasure I offered him and use it to hire people to care for Corrine.”

“Ssso?”

“So, there is nothing wrong with the witch.” Daman’s grip tightened for a moment, crushing the fabric to his chest until he could feel the pounding of his heart through the thick material. He inhaled deeply and let it out slowly, imagining his meditation candle, picturing the gentle flame. His posture relaxed and he dropped the load of cloth into a pile near the wall. “She’s obviously taking advantage of her sister’s good nature, probably working her like a slave.”

“You can’t know that,” the cuelebre pointed out.

“You didn’t meet Corrine.” Daman gathered the largest pieces of shattered ceramic and splintered wood. Every bit of debris he removed from the floor calmed him, order returning to his mind as it returned to his environment. “When she first came to me and the taste of the blood on her arm led me to believe she was a true changeling, I told her I would relocate her, find her a loving family. She insisted that she wanted to stay here, with me.” He snorted. “Tried to seduce me. She didn’t want safety, she wanted wealth. One look at her hands and it was clear she’d never worked a day in her life.”

“That doesssn’t mean ssshe isss cruel to her sssissster.”

“Her sister is sidhe.”

The cuelebre stilled, its beady eyes growing wider. “Sidhe?”

“The sidhe exchange children with humans to keep their bloodlines strong, to bring in new blood. But they don’t abandon their true children. I’ve never known a sidhe family that didn’t check up on their child after leaving them, to make sure they weren’t being mistreated. This changeling tastes of sidhe, but she does not have the same aura. It is muted, weakened. Someone is trying to hide her from her true family. What reason could they have to do that if they aren’t afraid of what her family would do if they found her, discovered her circumstances?”

“Perhapsss the humansss are trying to hide her from her family becaussse they believe her family will hurt her?”

“Perhaps.” Daman dumped what he’d gathered in the same pile as the shredded bedsheets. “But until I am sure, I will keep her here.”

“Isssn’t that dangerousss?” The cuelebre curled around the wall sconce. “You sssent away your ssservantsss, your warriorsss, all becaussse you believed they would be in peril if they remained here with you. Do you not think that you are a threat to the girl asss well?”

Daman focused hard on the stone floor. “It is my purpose to protect changelings. I stopped helping them because I can no longer take my human form and when I tried to continue on in this body, I frightened them too much. But this girl is already here.” He squared his shoulders, though he still didn’t look at the cuelebre. “Perhaps this is a sign, a chance to remember how I once was.”

Daman nodded at the improvement in his room. It was still a disaster, a few moments of clearing debris wouldn’t change that, but the act of cleaning had been symbolic. If the gods were giving him another chance, then he needed to show he could change. It was time to stop living like a demented hermit, a monster too destructive to be trusted in human company. He was a man. He needed to act like it.

Before the cuelebre could say anything to change his mind, Daman swept out of the room to join his visitors, nervous energy singing against his skin. He entered the room slowly, head held high and posture as formal as though he had strode in on two legs. He ignored the way his visitors cowered as he approached, offering them a slight bow of greeting.

The old man groped behind him for his daughter, an instinctive need to protect his offspring, but the girl appeared to notice the change in his manner. She tilted her head slightly, watching him steadily with only the slightest hesitation in her body language.

Encouraged, Daman gave her what he hoped was a pleasant smile, grateful that his fangs remained snugly retracted against the roof of his mouth so his expression was human rather than draconic. The girl returned the smile, albeit shyly.

They’d filled the chest with riches, as he’d instructed them. The enchanted wardrobe had been as kind to them as he’d expected and the chest not only contained gold coins and jewels, but gowns of fine silk and lace. It was enough to please even the greediest witch…

His temper leapt up at him like a leviathan coming up for air, the full weight of his rage all too ready to reappear as an image of the witch roared into his mind. Copper burst on his tongue and Daman tamped down on a fresh wave of irritation as he realized he’d bitten his tongue grinding his teeth. It was fortunate his fangs were retracted against the roof of his mouth, else he likely would have ended up with a second fork in his tongue.

He offered his guests a small bow while he got his facial expressions under control. The man clung to his daughter as though desperate to protect her from Daman. They stood silently as Daman lifted the heavy chest with ease and carried it out to the waiting carriage. It took more effort than he wanted to admit to ignore the tears shining in the woman’s eyes as her father climbed into the carriage and drove away.

She stood there, hands worrying the folds of her worn blue skirt. In all the years he’d been rescuing changelings, Daman had seen many of them cry—but never because of him. He had never once forced a changeling to leave their home, it had always been their choice.

It was still her choice, Daman reminded himself. A small voice in his head scoffed at him.

He cleared his throat. “What is your name?”

“Maribel.” She didn’t take her eyes from the horizon where the carriage had disappeared. “And yours?”

“Daman.”

Slowly he turned back to the manor, gesturing for her to walk with him. She tore her attention from the horizon and locked it firmly on the ground as she followed obediently. At first he thought she was lost in her own wondering. He wouldn’t blame her if she were thinking of the life she’d left behind, perhaps wondering if staying had been the right choice. But something about the brittle set to her body, the utter stiffness in her neck… Realization dawned. She was trying not to gawk at him.

He stiffened. “If you want to stare, then just do it and get it over with.”

She flinched and closed her eyes for a moment. Her hand drifted to a pocket in the apron she wore over her dress and she withdrew something too small for Daman to make out. Her hand rose to her mouth and she popped something small and red onto her tongue. As she chewed, she opened her eyes, attention fixed firmly ahead.

She said nothing.

A cherry tomato? She brought food? Daman swallowed a growl. She’d probably expected him to starve her, to be some sort of monstrous beast that would relish her suffering and inflict torment on her at every opportunity.

So, show her she’s wrong. Barking at her certainly won’t disavow her of such dismal notions. Stewing in a broth of his own temper and frustration, he took a breath to muster an apology for his harsh tone. Before he could speak, Maribel came to an abrupt halt, her back stiff as a board. Daman reared back slightly as she whirled to face him. With a defiant flash in her eyes, she proceeded to look him over from head to toe.

For a moment, Daman didn’t know what to do, so he stood there, letting her look her fill. Maribel’s gaze took in every minute detail, starting from the ridges of his face and following every glittering scale down his neck and over his chest. She hesitated at his waist and Daman had an odd flash of gratitude that he’d thought to put on his armor. He had no real need for clothing in this form, especially since there was no one around to dress for. He’d only put the armor on today because he’d known he’d have visitors. And he’d expected one of them to be an enemy.

As she examined the thick coil of his tail, Daman clenched his hands into fists. Already his mind tortured him with images of the disgust that would pinch Maribel’s face at any moment, the terror that would send her running from him in tears. Like the others.

“Can I… Can I ask what you are?”

He crossed his arms, realized he looked defensive, and dropped his arms to his sides. “I’m a naga.”

“Oh. I’ve never heard of a…naga.” Maribel bit her lip, her gaze sliding down the length of his serpent-like lower half, taking in the bluish-green scales as thick and large as dinner plates. “Are you from Sanguenay?”

“I am from Barzakh, an island far off the shores of Dacia.”

“Oh.”

An awkward silence fell between them, their pitiful attempt at conversation gasping its dying breath. Agitation teased the skin between his shoulder blades and he fought to shrug it off. He wanted to say something more, wanted her to say something more, but it appeared neither of them knew how to keep the conversation going.

Frustrated, he surged in the direction of the manor, leaving her to follow him into the mansion and up the stairs to a long hallway that led to her room. The space was mostly bare, the curtains having been shredded and the busts of old generals smashed long ago during the worst of Daman’s rampages. The brownies had cleared away the debris, but had never attempted to replace them.

Daman kept waiting for her to say something else, ask him more questions, but she remained silent. He tried to think of something to say, anything that would break the wretched silence, but nothing would come to him. He bit back a growl. There’d been a time when conversing had been easy for him. He’d dealt with timid changelings, earned their trust, put them at ease. But apparently it had been too long. The skill had withered away.

“This will be your room,” he said finally, having given up thinking of any other conversation.

He gestured for Maribel to enter, an annoying case of nerves making his heart beat erratically as he waited to hear what she thought. The room he’d chosen for her was pristine, untouched by him or his temper. The bed was draped with thick down comforters with the winter furs folded at the foot for nights that still dreamed of winter. The wall sconces were polished until they shone even without the sunlight. Thick curtains hung on either side of the broad windows, framing the gauzy material that muted the daylight until the heavier material was drawn.

He wasn’t sure what he wanted, a gush of praise over the room’s elegance, delight at not being held in a dungeon like a prisoner. Anything would be better than the silence that left him with only his own thoughts for company. After a few moments, she offered him a timid smile.

“It’s lovely, thank you.”

Despite her words, she didn’t meet his eyes.

“What is it?” he demanded. “Would you prefer a different room?” He flung a hand out, gesturing down the hall. “It is only you and I here, you may have your pick of any room that pleases you if this isn’t good enough.”

“Oh, no, the room is wonderful. I just…” She shoved her hand into the apron pocket again and popped another cherry tomato into her mouth. Her jaw worked as she chewed furiously, perhaps buying herself time to think. Finally she faced him. “I was just wondering why you want me here? I mean, what is it you want me to do while I’m here? Cook? Clean?”

Daman opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. “I— No. That is, I didn’t bring you here to be my servant. Brownies clean the house. I usually cook for myself.” The words fell out of his mouth of their own accord and his temper flared at how foolish he sounded. He crossed his arms and tried not to look confused.

“Brownies?”

Her voice rose with the question. Daman narrowed his eyes. She was sidhe, he knew she was sidhe. How could she not know what brownies were?

“Brownies. The fey folk?”

She blinked, another cherry tomato hovering in front of her lips. “Fey folk? You mean like fairies?”

Daman eyed the ruby-skinned fruit. Nervous eater? He settled down on his coils, trying to get closer to eye level with Maribel to read her face better. “Sort of. Brownies are a type of fey. They’re small, mostly harmless creatures. They love to clean and they take great pride in their work. I…did a favor for a family of them once, and they repay me by cleaning the manor.”

“Where do they stay?”

He waved a hand. “They don’t live here, and they won’t come while anyone is awake in the house. You won’t see them. They don’t like to be acknowledged for their help.” He paused. “You don’t know about the fey folk?”

Maribel shrugged. “Not really. I mean, I know to be careful where I throw out the bathwater, and I try to leave cream and honey out now and again if things are going particularly well.” She bit the inside of her cheek. “Of course I know about the vampires that rule Dacia. I guess…” She shrugged again. “I suppose I’ve never run into any creatures from beyond the veil.” She stopped abruptly, eyes flicking about as if she’d said something embarrassing.

Daman slid his tail around, deliberately scraping it over the floor so that Maribel had to strain not to look down or move away. “Until me, you mean.”

She cleared her throat, still not meeting his eyes.

The way she avoided eye contact grated on his nerves, as though he were some wild animal that would attack her if she challenged him, however inadvertently. “You don’t need to be so skittish. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Now he had eye contact.

“So you’ll just continue to shout at me, is that it?”

“I’m not shouting,” he said, forcing the words through gritted teeth.

“You’ve been yelling at me since I got here,” Maribel corrected him, her voice holding nearly as much frost as the air outside. “And I don’t appreciate it. This hasn’t been a great day for me either so the least you could do is keep a civil tongue.”

A red blush sprang to her cheeks as her last word seemed to register, but she didn’t take her eyes from his. Daman relished her discomfort, flicking his forked tongue out of his mouth just for spite. Served her right for being cross with him.

“My father said that you were very kind to him, that you fed him. I had hoped that you and I might get along.”

Daman’s amusement abruptly died at the gentle tone in her voice. Fighting with her had been easier than trying to put her at ease, a fact he didn’t want to dwell on. Resigned to the impending challenge of social niceties he hadn’t bothered with for over a year, he pulled his tail back behind him and tucked his forked tongue out of sight.

“I was the one who asked him for the rose,” Maribel continued, fingers toying with the ends of her hair. “He didn’t know anything about it. He was only trying to make me happy.”

Daman shifted uncomfortably. He wasn’t quite ready to believe that the request for the magic plant had been entirely innocent. Even if Maribel didn’t intend to use it, there was no way for him to know if Corrine had manipulated her sibling into getting her the flower. Still, Maribel was his guest, and she was a changeling. Treating her poorly wouldn’t serve anyone.

“What did you want the rose for?” he asked instead.

Maribel dropped her arms to her sides. “My sister. Her health is very poor and moving from the village to a farm was hard on her. I read about the Rose of the Mist and it just seemed like the answer to everything. If I could have brewed her a potion from those petals—”

“You intended to give the Rosse of the Misst to the witch?”

Daman fisted his hands at his sides, struggling not to throw anything, destroy anything. So this had been the witch’s doing. Not only had she protected herself by sending her father for the rose, she’d managed to get her changeling sister to make the request. How neatly she’d managed to shelter herself from the consequences, from him.

Maribel took a trembling step back. “How did you know my sister was a…” Her eyes narrowed and she planted her feet firmly on the floor, her chin jutting out in defiance. “My sister practices some witchcraft—so do I. We aren’t evil, whatever the villagers might tell you.”

Aren’t evil. Daman’s hands opened and closed as he struggled to grab the fraying ends of his temper. He’d taken on changelings as his people, his duty was to protect them. Not to mention this was the first time in a long time he’d allowed himself to be around another person, his chance to prove to himself that he could control his temper. He pictured his meditation flame, the candle swaying gently in a breeze. “I know you aren’t evil.”

Something flared in Maribel’s eyes, a heated spark of her own fury. “Are you insinuating that my sister is?”

Daman fought to hold the sneer from his face, to keep back the words that so readily sprang to his tongue. “Perhaps. What sort of magic does she practice?”

Maribel hesitated, her defiance dimming slightly. “I don’t know. My studies are separate from hers. I study plants and how they can be used to heal. I’m not sure—”

“So you don’t know if your sister is practicing black magic or not?” Daman sneered. “And yet you would give her a Rose of the Mist, increase her power?”

“She’s my sister!”

“A sister who is too ill to help on the farm,” Daman guessed. “Tell me, does she sit inside while you work all day? Does she get worse when there’s chores to be done, show strength when she wants something? Is she content to let you care for her while she lies in bed all day?”

The tic in Maribel’s jaw told Daman he’d hit his mark. Perhaps it was unsporting to use information Maribel didn’t know he had, information he’d gathered by spying on her home a year ago. But the fact remained, the witch was faking her fragile constitution, using it to make her sister treat her like a queen. He’d been right to send her away.

“What do you care? You got what you wanted. You scared an old man half to death, made him feel like a common thief for a simple mistake. He’s given up one of his own daughters out of fear of you and now my sister will have no one to care for her while he’s out in the field. The spoiled witch will have to do the work herself, perhaps end up with another hand burned beyond recognition, or another scar on her head from a nasty fall. Are you satisfied?”

Daman opened his mouth to point out that he had, in fact, given her father more than enough money to hire help to take care of the spoiled witch, but then the rest of Maribel’s words registered. Badly burned? Scarred from a nasty fall? He’d seen no such marks on the witch. Then again, he hadn’t looked too hard once he’d discovered she was lying. Did I miss something?

“You said this is to be my room while I’m your prisoner, is that right?”

Daman opened his mouth, ready to object to her reference to herself as his prisoner, but then thought better of it. He nodded instead.

“Good.” She turned her back on him, crossing her arms over her chest. “Then get out.”

“Get…” Daman’s mouth hung open and he gaped in disbelief. One clawed hand rose into the air, fingers flexing, yearning to grab the changeling and shake her until she understood he wasn’t the enemy, that it was her sister who deserved her disdain.

When he didn’t move, she pivoted back to him, arching one delicate eyebrow and looking pointedly from him to the empty hallway. She didn’t spare so much as a glance to the hand raised against her, the wicked points gleaming in the dim light.

Frustrated anger boiled in Daman’s veins, painting a red haze before him. He lowered his hand, skimming it close to her body, watching her face for some flicker of fear, some sign that he frightened her.

The warmth of her skin teased him through her clothes, the body heat of another person an alien sensation after his year of isolation. He closed off the part of himself that wanted more, that wanted to shake her hand, hug her, do all the little things people took for granted. Then again, her expression suggested such gestures would not be welcome even if he were so inclined to try. If not for the pulse straining the delicate skin of her throat, the icy façade she’d painted on her face would have fooled him into thinking she didn’t even notice how close his claws were to her vulnerable flesh.

Leave. Walk away. Don’t be a child.

Daman gritted his teeth and closed his hand around the pocket of her apron. He made a fist and was rewarded with the sticky juice of crushed cherry tomatoes soaking through the worn material. Maribel’s jaw dropped.

One flick of his tail against the floor sent him hurtling down the hallway, the sound of Maribel sputtering in disbelief following him all the way.

Chapter Five

“Oh, dear.”

The shopkeeper’s voice buzzed against Corrine’s skin like an annoying insect. Reluctantly tearing her gaze from a row of fresh pastries, she shot the squat bald man an irritated glare and drew her new silk-lined fur cloak more firmly around her.

“Look at the hem of your fine garments,” the man continued, pointing at the floor with a finger the size and shape of a malformed sausage.

His voice didn’t quite match his words, the frosty tone suggesting it was her cloak and not the floor he found distasteful. Corrine tensed and quickly formed her expression into as blank a mask as she could manage. “It’s fine,” she assured him coolly.

“Oh, no, Corrine.” The shopkeeper’s muddy brown eyes held more ice than a Dacian winter, and more poison than an adder’s spit. “My shop simply isn’t fit for the likes of you.”

“Indeed it isn’t. But since it is half a day’s journey to the next grocer, I’ll have to make do.” Corrine resumed her assessment of the man’s wares, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her flinch. Her stomach growled and she bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to draw blood as she was forced to admit none of the delicacies she was seeing would be coming home with her.

“I’m afraid I must insist.”

A grubby hand landed on her arm and Corrine hissed and clutched the pendant hanging around her neck in her left hand. The scarred skin creaked in protest as she closed it into a fist, but she ignored the discomfort. Power pulsed from the scarlet gem in the center of the talisman, filling the air with the scent of a coming storm. The fine hairs on the back of her neck danced in an invisible wind and she breathed easier as the magic filled her with the confidence that came from someone holding a very big stick.

I am a bird, you are a worm.

Satisfaction warmed her, easing some of the tension from her shoulders as the vendor flinched and yanked his arm away. She held his gaze, pouring out as much derision as she could muster up. An image of Mother Briar came into her mind and she used it, imagined herself with the same power the old witch held.

The shopkeeper’s flesh paled to an unhealthy shade of green. He backed away so fast, he fell over his own feet and tumbled into a display of apples. Fruit bounced and tumbled to the floor around him, the flow of red spilling down appropriately symbolic.

“You would do well not to lay a hand on me.” Corrine kept her eyes locked on his as she slowly bent down and picked up an apple. The shopkeeper’s eyes burned with muted fury as she lifted the fruit and sniffed. She wrinkled her nose and glanced down at the food with disgust. “Spoiled,” she sneered, tossing the apple to the ground. It wobbled as it rolled across the floor to bounce against his leg. Corrine gave him her back.

“Get out of my shop, you witch!” The shopkeeper choked. “I don’t want your gold or your black soul darkening my shop!”

A dull buzzing sound crept into the shop from outside. A crowd was beginning to gather. The space between Corrine’s shoulder blades itched and she had to fight not to look back and make sure the shopkeeper wasn’t about to launch some sort of projectile at her. Someone shuffled near the door, one of the braver villagers opening it to get a better glimpse at what was happening. Corrine waited until the door was all the way open, then raised her voice.

“What is that horrible stench?” She made a show of sniffing the air and waving a hand about in front of her face. “Oh, dear, it’s your wares. How dare you try to pass off such rotten fare? What fool would pay for food with such a smell?” She put her hand over her face as though being overwhelmed by a foul odor and strode for the door. “I can’t bear to be in here a moment longer. I’ll be taking my business elsewhere.”

The old woman who had been brave enough to open the door watched Corrine without an ounce of shame. The rest of the people parted hurriedly as she plowed ahead, lowered voices buzzing in her wake. Corrine firmly kept her eyes straight ahead. Her bravado was starting to fail her and she needed to get as far away as possible before her façade crumbled and she had to face the fact that she had once again failed to obtain food for herself.

“Maribel, forgive me for not appreciating you as much as I should have,” she whispered.

She walked as briskly as she could, using every ounce of her self-control to keep herself from running. The forest path ahead of her loomed like the gateway to salvation, offering peace and privacy. When she was finally hidden from view, she stopped.

The shaking of her shoulders brought a swell of rage rising up like a dark tide inside of her. Corrine pulled the hood of her cloak up, hiding her face from the world as hot tears burned her eyes. The soft fur of the silk-lined cloak caressed her face almost as if it were offering her comfort. She took a slow, deep breath and ran her hands over the supple midnight blue velvet and silver fox fur. The richness of the fabric told people she was someone of importance, of influence. It was pleasant to the touch, and thick enough to keep her warm no matter how heavy the chill in the air. It was the sort of cloak that offered protection. Only the fact that it was a gift from her father kept it from being perfect.

Bought with the money the monster paid him. The price of keeping my sister.

Corrine stared ahead, unfocused on her surroundings. She wasn’t seeing trees and grass right now. She was seeing her father. She could picture him so clearly, bustling around his cursed farm. The old fool had come home with enough money to buy half of Sanguenay, but what did he do with it? Hired people to work the farm. Hired people to build a new farmhouse. Hired people to cement their miserable lives on this damned piece of land so far from society that it may as well be an island in the middle of the great sea! That money should have been their way out of this life, their ticket back home, but what had he done with it?

Snatching the silk gloves from the pockets of her cloak, Corrine tugged them onto her trembling fingers. She caressed the silk in short, too-quick strokes, ignoring the hysterical scream tickling the back of her throat. If her father thought that buying her new clothes was going to make up for keeping her a prisoner in the middle of nowhere, he had another think coming. She would not rest until they left this nightmare behind them.

“Those are some fine garments you’re wearing. Very fine.”

The old woman’s voice jarred Corrine out of her thoughts so suddenly she had to bite down on a shriek. Heart pounding like an angry dwarf on a particularly cemented diamond, she whirled around to face the intruder.

An old crone stood less than ten feet away from her, the same nosey old woman who’d shoved her way into the shop to witness Corrine’s humiliation. Her burgundy cloak was worn, but clean, the plain brass clasp too dull to glint in the sunlight spearing through the forest canopy. The hood was down and her wild grey hair danced about her, fighting with every breeze that passed. Warm brown eyes peered from a face creased with more lines than a prospector’s map.

“Are you all right, dear?” she asked politely.

“I’m fine.” Corrine brushed her hair back from her face, smoothing the waves as best she could. “Though I might be a touch startled because someone snuck up on me and shouted.”

“Shouted?” The old woman rubbed a hand over her jaw, one corner of her mouth quirking up.

Corrine pulled the cloak tighter around her, trying to gather her thoughts enough to reestablish the haughty façade she’d worn in the shop. She tried to look down her nose at the stranger. “If you’re here to steal my ‘fine garments,’ I’d advise against it. I’m a powerful witch, you know.”

The woman barked out a sharp laugh, the lines creasing her face deepening in genuine amusement. “A powerful witch, eh? Oh, my, they didn’t tell me you were funny.”

“They?” Corrine stiffened.

“Oh, don’t you mind them, dear. People will talk. After all, they must do something to entertain themselves. Common work can be quite tedious, you know.”

“Is that some sort of joke?” Corrine demanded, her face heating. “Are you a friend of Madame Balestra’s? Has she told you all about Maribel’s lazy sister who never helped on the farm a day in her life?” She clenched her hands into fists, the tears pricking at her eyes as they attempted a valiant effort to return. “Did you have a good laugh?”

The amusement abruptly vanished from the crone’s face and she eyed Corrine with a hint of disapproval. “You’re a fine, healthy girl and you could do far more if you had a mind to.”

“You know nothing about me,” Corrine spat. “I—”

“You were a very sick babe, nearly died in your mother’s arms ‘ere you’d seen your first birthday. Ergotism from bad wheat. A tragic truth, to be certain.” The old crone took a firm step forward. “But you are no longer that child. You are a grown woman, and you are far stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

Corrine’s jaw dropped. Anger fought with shock for dominance as her mouth opened and closed several times without letting a sound escape. Ergotism, she’d said. How long had it been since anyone had named her illness by it’s scientific name, the word it seemed only the doctors used? It was far more common to hear the disease’s more colorful nomenclatures. Evil Fire. Demon’s Fire. A sickness that marked someone who practiced the dark arts. Nevermind she’d been a child. You’re never too young to be damned.

“Who are you?” she demanded finally.

“Haven’t you heard? I’m a witch, my dear.” She sniffed, managing to look down her nose without even stretching to her full height. “A proper witch.”

It was Corrine’s turn to bark out a laugh. “Oh, are you now? Well you’re not a very good one. You haven’t said a thing that every busybody in this village hasn’t said at one time or another. And like all of them, you have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m as sick now as I ever was, only now I don’t have parents hovering over me and asking for prayers.”

The last sentence twisted her heart, a reminder that even her father doubted her now. Sometimes she wished she still had the physical signs of her illness that she’d had as a child. Something that she couldn’t be accused of faking.

“Malarkey. You’re more than capable of anything you put your mind to. You merely lack the courage.”

Anger bit at Corrine’s nerves like an army of fire ants. She thrust her burned hand out toward the witch, letting the light shimmering through the leaves dance over the shiny pink of her scarred flesh. “I have episodes that steal my mind and body, leave me vulnerable and more often than not in excruciating pain. Hallucinations take hold of me with such unrelenting strength that even falling with a hand in the fire isn’t enough to let me fight my way out of it.”

The memory of lying there, face against the floor at the perfect angle to watch her flesh burn in the embers of her own hearth, tried to take over. Sensory memories started to rise and she quickly shoved them back down with a shudder. She couldn’t relive that again. “It’s a wonder I haven’t woken up dead.”

The witch snorted. “Woken up dead. Clever girl. But those episodes aren’t a sickness, dear. And if you’ll let me, I can teach you to overcome them.”

“Overcome them?” Corrine shifted from one foot to the other, studying the witch more closely. Pieces of town gossip were coming back to her, snatches of conversations she’d heard on the few occasions she’d come into town. “You’re Mother Hazel.”

The witch bowed her head once in acknowledgement. “I am.”

“Well, thank you for the offer, but I’ve already got a mentor. Mother Briar. I don’t need your help.”

“Mother Briar,” the witch spat. “She has done nothing to earn that title. She’ll teach you no more than serves her, and you’d do well to be rid of her.”

“What is this, some sort of professional jealousy?” Corrine mused. “Do you often try to pilfer the students of other witches?” She crossed her arms. “No honor among crones, is that it?”

Mother Hazel opened her mouth as if to fire off a retort, but then pressed her lips into a thin line. Her brown eyes narrowed as she looked Corrine up and down, and it took Corrine more effort than she wanted to admit not to squirm under the intensity of the witch’s assessment. She gritted her teeth and stuck out her chin, forcing herself to meet the crone’s eyes.

“You have a great deal of strength,” the witch said finally. “You will find it soon. When you do, you will have a choice to make about what path you will travel. Choose wisely. Such choices are often only made once.”

“How delightfully cryptic,” Corrine said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Mother Hazel snorted, but there was a twinkle in her eye. Her hand vanished under her ragged cloak and withdrew a wrapped parcel. She held it out to Corrine. “Here.”

Corrine eyed the package, searching for some sign of its contents, wary of the possible tricks the witch might play. “What is it?”

“Bread. From the shop you visited moments ago.”

Corrine recoiled. “I want no part of that man’s wares.”

“Yes, for a moment I thought he felt the same way. I could have sworn he’d been rude to you—rude to a witch, can you imagine? However, I was ever so pleased when I spoke with him and he assured me that he would never do such a thing.”

There was something in the witch’s voice. A sort of…kinship? She met Corrine’s eyes and there was a kindness there now, an understanding. But that wasn’t all. There was a promise. Something in her eyes told Corrine “I’ve been where you are, and if you let me, I’ll help you get to where I am.”

The material of her cloak filled Corrine’s palms as she squeezed it, determined not to be swayed by pretty words and promises. “Nice try, old woman,” she muttered. “I don’t know what you want from me, but you won’t get it. I don’t need your help or your food.” She averted her eyes, stroking the silk of her gloves over and over. “I’ll send a servant to the shop later.”

“I see. Well, I’ll just leave this here then, perhaps some birds will find it.”

The witch placed the wrapped loaf of fresh bread on the ground and Corrine imagined she took great care not to let any dirt trickle under the wrapping. The scent of warm yeast and melted butter curled through the air to wrap around her nose like an affectionate cat and Corrine’s stomach tightened with sudden yearning. She quickly looked away as the witch stood.

“When you want to find me, I’ll be there.”

There was a surety in the witch’s voice. When, not if.

Corrine clenched her jaw, then whirled back to face her. “Is it part of being a witch to speak so—”

Corrine trailed off as she found she was alone. She ran her gaze over the surrounding trees, searching for some sign of the meddling witch, but saw nothing. No moving leaves, no figure forging a path through the frost-tinged brush. Nothing except the bread lying on the ground. Still covered. Still hot. Still smelling decadently of butter.

Forcing herself to wait five minutes to be certain the witch was truly gone was one of the hardest tasks Corrine had ever forced her mind to. She counted in her head, trying to distract her stomach from the baked goodness lying within reach, half-flying to it as soon as her self-imposed time limit was up. She held it to her with the same care one would cradle a newborn babe as she lowered her gaze and marched back to the farmhouse.

She kept her head down as she trudged past the workers building the new farmhouse and the recently hired help plowing the fields and tending the garden. Eye contact would only invite meaningless conversation and she’d already had enough of that.

She made it to her room without being accosted, breathing a sigh of relief as she bolted her door behind her. Clutching the loaf of bread to her chest, she focused her attention to the trunk on the floor at the foot of her bed. A feeling of security settled over her as she approached the trunk, the sight of the heavy wood and thick iron lock soothing her nearly as much as a new gown.

The lid opened soundlessly on well-oiled hinges, but a knock at the door stilled her hand, startled her out of her thoughts.

“Corrine? Corrine, may I come in?”

Corrine cursed as the sound of her father’s worried voice broke into her room and she fumbled the loaf. The crusty surface of the bread cracked, spilling crumbs into the trunk. The bulk of the bread hit the edge of the chest, tumbled down into her skirts, and then rolled to the floor, leaving an accusing trail of crumbs. Her heart pounded, a thundering echo in her ears as she hurriedly retrieved the loaf and tucked it into her trunk. The smell of mold tickled her nose and she sneezed.

“Corrine?”

She quickly closed her trunk, locked it, and arranged pillows and blankets on top of it. She swept the crumbs under her bed as best she could with her hands, her heart pounding as she scanned the floor for any she’d missed. After she’d gotten rid of as much evidence as she could, she stood there staring at the trunk.

Her father was at her door, he would want to come in and check on her. What if he opened her trunk, found her food? Nausea rolled through her like a sickening wave. Hurry up, Corrine! The door isn’t locked, he’ll let himself in any second if you don’t say something! She quickly sat on the lid of the trunk, half falling as her knees gave out. The sound of the door opening sent her heart into her throat and she just managed to fold her hands in her lap before her father’s face peeked in.

“Corrine, are you all right?” he asked carefully.

Corrine shoved all thoughts of food from her mind. “Yes. Yes, of course, I was just…tidying up.”

Her father opened the door slowly, revealing more of his tired face inch by inch. Maribel had been gone for weeks, and every day of that absence was etched on her father’s haggard countenance. His hair stuck out in sharp tufts from where he’d tugged it, perhaps without even realizing it. Even his new clothes hung limply from his body, as if his flesh flinched away from the finery the monster’s money had bought him.

Her father’s bedraggled state sent a creeping tendril of dread through Corrine’s stomach. This was not a man that could take care of her. This was a man who was going to waste away to nothing and leave her alone and helpless. Without him, how long would it be until the strangers he’d hired turned on Corrine, using the fact that she was a witch to justify cheating her out of her home, her land, maybe her life?

“You’re upset.”

Her father stepped inside and Corrine managed to ignore the thoughts racing through her mind enough to notice he was holding his hat in his hands, worrying the smart, freshly delivered cap until it was barely recognizable. A throbbing beat began in her temples sending ripples of pain to settle in the back of her skull. He has more bad news then.

“How are you feeling? Really?” he asked, a pleading note in his voice.

Maribel, how could you leave me alone with this shadow of a man? She tightened her hands in her lap, resisting the urge to strangle her father for his weakness. “Exactly how you would expect me to feel. Scared, sick. Maribel is gone, a prisoner of some monster who’s keeping her for the gods know what reason. I’m left alone in this house with no one to notice if I keel over and crack my skull, no one to find me if I’m lying on the floor bleeding to death.” For the second time that day she had to fight off the memory of watching her own hand burn. She bit the inside of her cheek, focusing on that small pain, refusing to give in to the panic eating her alive.

Her father paled, his fingers tightening on his hat until they went white. “He said he would not harm her.”

“He might have lied.”

“I… I’ve been working, hiring more help. I was a good businessman once, I can be one again. I’ll buy her back from him—”

“Please tell me that is not your plan?” Corrine’s arms went limp at her sides, her lips parting. “You don’t seriously think you’ll pay for my sister with gold—buy her back from a lord who lives in a manor that could house half the village, who has enchanted chests full of treasure. Surely you cannot be that foolish?” She wrinkled her nose in disgust, hardly able to look at her father. “Why can’t you just admit you’re too afraid to fight for her? Too afraid to even visit her.”

The fresh tears that shone in her father’s eyes stabbed at Corrine, reflecting her own furious visage back at her. Not for the first time, she looked at her reflection in her father’s eyes and didn’t like what she saw. Answering tears welled up in her own eyes. She was just so frightened. Surely he could see that? “Father,” she started, her voice gentler, more like a daughter than an accuser.

“I’ve tried to hire people to stay in here with you, but you won’t have them,” her father interrupted tersely. “After the new house is built, there will be quarters for the servants, but until then, if you are going to have company, you must agree to let them reside in your sister’s room.”

Corrine shot up from her seat. Servants in Maribel’s room, sleeping in her bed, touching her things? Never!

“Let them stay here? Here where I sleep—where I’m helpless? Are you truly that blind?” she gasped. She shook her head, searching her father’s face for some sign that he was truly as oblivious as he sounded. He blinked slowly, his eyes dull without a spark of enlightenment. She tightened her hands into fists, straining the fine silk of her gloves. “You have no idea, do you? No idea of how I’m treated by everyone outside this family. I’m a witch, Father. I can’t even buy a loaf of bread in the village, they won’t serve me. I’m lucky I’m not stoned to death for strolling down the road.”

“You should have taken the carriage,” her father mumbled.

“Should have taken the… What is wrong with you?” Corrine screamed, grasping her hair and tugging at it ruthlessly, using the pain to ground her emotions as they spiraled out of control. “I tell you they want to kill me and your response is to tell me I should have taken the carriage?” Stupid man, ignorant man, pathetic man, howcanyoupossiblybethisnaiveohsweetgoddessmaribelhowcouldyouleavemewithhimi’mgoingtodie. Her thoughts raced faster and faster until they blended into one solid sound buzzing in her head. Hysteria lit up inside her, painting frantic lights over her memories, creating nightmarish images in her mind’s eye. Her pulse struggled like a living thing trapped beneath her skin, desperate to get out.

Corrine ran her gloved hands over her skirt, concentrating on the supple material, the comforting constriction of it. Her insides were churning, acid eating at her stomach, bubbling up in an attempt to spill out her mouth. If she didn’t calm down, she would lose herself to another episode.

Deep breath, one, two, three, deep breath, one, two, three…

It took several long minutes, but finally Corrine thought she could speak without losing herself to hysterics.

“The horses are afraid of me,” she said slowly, careful to keep her voice calm. “I cannot take the carriage.”

Her father hung his head, misery etched into his features. “Corrine, I’m sorry. I … I don’t know what to do. I keep failing you, no matter what…” His voice hitched. “I wish your mother were still with us.”

“I don’t want to talk about Mother.” Corrine’s heart constricted into a tight, painful ball in her chest, the reaction she always had at the mention of her mother. The woman had died giving birth to her sister—her real sister, not the changeling her father believed was her sister. Corrine hadn’t realized what had happened until she was older, and by then Maribel was her sister, in every way that counted—she still was.

Still, what would her mother think if she knew that the fairies had claimed her last earthly act? What would her father think if he knew his precious Maribel was not his flesh and blood, that she was one of the fair folk, and his own daughter was off somewhere behind the veil with her fairy parents?

Perhaps he’d never know. Her father had been a fine businessman once, he had a head for math that was unrivaled, and a feeling for the market that bordered on prophetic. But when it came to people, he was completely, utterly hopeless. And as far as knowledge of the creatures beyond the veil… He probably didn’t know what a changeling was.

Corrine certainly didn’t plan to tell him. Mother Briar was right, if her father didn’t have the sensitivity to magic that would let him feel how different Maribel was, then it was more likely that he would brush off Corrine’s claims as jealousy or some other such nonsense. Besides, revealing Maribel’s true nature would lead to questions. Questions about why Maribel seemed so human. Why she had no gifts. For those educated in the ways of the world beyond the veil, it would lead to questions about why her fairy parents had never checked in with her, never came to spy on their abandoned babe.

Corrine’s breathing came faster—too fast. Sweat broke out on her forehead and her hands trembled as if she were freezing. A tickle sprang to life at the back of her mind. Terror closed around her throat, digging unforgiving talons into her flesh until she couldn’t breathe.

“Corrine?”

Her father’s voice came from far away. Corrine tried to scream, but no sound would come out. Her body wouldn’t move, no words could squeeze past the constricting of her chest, her throat. Reality shattered around her like a broken mirror and she was falling, falling into the chaotic nightmare of another episode.

Everything around her changed. It was as though she were still viewing the world, but a different Dreamworld had been laid over top of it. Normal, everyday objects suddenly radiated with strange lights, shards of colors that poked out like multi-hued spines. Outside the window, the trees were full of clinging monsters, black-furred bodies hunched over as pale human-like hands gripped thick branches and pale faces with flat, slitted noses, long, pointed ears, and glistening, drool-coated teeth eyed her hungrily. She tried not to concentrate on the shadows, her lip trembling at the thought of what she knew she’d see there. Spindly forms twisted around like melted metal, fiery eyes and tense limbs, waiting for an opportunity to pounce.

Her father’s face appeared in front of her. Corrine wanted to look away, tried to look away so she wouldn’t see her father through this horrifying lens of fantasy, but it was useless. Her body may as well have weighed a thousand pounds and been hammered to the floorboards beneath her. She could only stare at her father’s face, wet and lined with tears, his head bald in places where his hair had been torn out. She could barely make out his chest in her peripheral vision and what she saw there twisted something inside her.

Her father’s heart beat weakly in his chest. Every feeble throb sent blood pulsing through the organ—blood that was leaking from a hole on the left side. Her father’s heart had a hole in it, a black spot like an open mouth spewing blackish blood in a macabre fountain. She couldn’t say how, but Corrine knew that the hole had been caused by Maribel being taken away, that her father experienced that loss as a physical and psychic blow.

Pressure built behind Corrine’s forehead, the spot between her eyes burning, itching. Her finger twitched, the only response her body gave for Corrine’s efforts to lift her hand. The pain grew, climbing, climbing. Her father’s lips moved, but no sound came out. There was nothing but the images of the nightmare, and the horrible ache between her eyes that kept growing and growing…

“Corrine!”

Her father’s voice exploded in Corrine’s ears as the spell broke, throwing her back into reality with enough force that she was certain her flesh would bear bruises. She closed her eyes, bracing herself for the chaos that was coming for her. The pain between her eyes faded in time to be replaced with the violent strikes of the floor against her arms and legs. Her body thrashed against the wooden planks like a fish cast into the bottom of a boat, her limbs smacking against the hard surface with unforgiving intensity. She tried to fight it, she always tried to fight it. And as was always the case, her efforts were futile.

She didn’t know how long the seizure lasted, time had no meaning for her now. Tears welled in her eyes as the violent spasms finally released her, leaving her to lie on the floor in a puddle of her own pain. Her father gathered her into his arms and Corrine cried out, his touch too much for her battered body to take. She shoved him away with hands shaking so badly she could scarcely see individual fingers. She tasted blood and knew she must have bitten her tongue again. The pain added to the misery cradling her and she pressed her lips together to muffle her sobs. She hiccupped and lurched to her feet.

“Corrine, wait!” Her father scrambled to his feet, arms reaching for her as she stood.

“Leave me alone!” Corrine screamed, humiliation burning her cheeks. She stumbled as she regained her feet and half-fell against the door.

“Corrine, please, let me help you,” her father begged, tears thickening his voice.

“You can’t help me,” Corrine bit out, scrabbling at the doorknob. The smooth metal mocked her as the scarred flesh of her hand slipped against its slick surface. “You’ve never been able to help me.”

She bolted out the door, leaving her father’s protests behind her. Furniture conspired to keep her trapped in the house, lunging out of nowhere to bang into her hips and thighs. Her heart beat harder as pain blossomed on each fresh strike, the blood pouring from the cut in her mouth welling up until she gagged. Whimpers were falling from her throat as she finally put a hand on the front door and forced it open.

She ran out of the house as fast as she could. The land flew beneath her feet, her surroundings a blur as she desperately raced for the forest that held Mother Briar’s old hut. All around her, her father’s new employees stared, not bothering with subtlety or basic human manners. She could feel their judgment, the hairs on the back of her neck rising as if warning her how dangerous it was to turn her back on them with their sharp farming instruments. She was a witch, untrusted, unwanted. It was only a matter of time before one of them decided they could no longer work for a witch. Before they decided they needed the job too badly to simply quit.

Her head ached, the panic riding her like a demon, urging her faster and faster. She needed help and she needed it now. Maribel was gone. She was slow, too slow. Surrounded by enemies. Starving…

Corrine didn’t know if Mother Briar used magic to alert her to visitors or if the old woman had a sixth sense, but however it came to be, she was standing on her front stoop as Corrine burst out of the trees into the clearing that held her home. The witch stood with her hands on her generous hips, steely eyes tracking Corrine’s progress. She inclined her head to Corrine as she ran up the pathway then retreated into the small hut, leaving Corrine to follow her.

“I’ve been expecting you.” Mother Briar approached the fire and took up a large wooden spoon. She stirred something in the giant black cauldron hanging over the flames, filling the room with the sour aroma of stewed cabbage.

Corrine’s stomach growled loudly even as her nose wrinkled in distaste. She put a hand over her belly and sank into a chair at the table, too tired to be embarrassed anymore or to care what manner of food was offered to her. Mother Briar scooped whatever was cooking into a bowl and set it in front of Corrine along with a few slices of bread and a cup of water.

Shredded cabbage cooked to within an inch of its life floated in an oily broth. Lumps of meat—pork?—floated here and there, nearly lost to the quagmire of cabbage. Corrine wanted to reject the foul-smelling food, but her stomach screamed at her, her body withering as she hesitated.

Starving…

The word echoed from somewhere inside her mind, and with it came an uncontrollable hunger so intense it threatened to fold her in two. Corrine fell on the food like it was a lifeline, her disgust forgotten under the force of her body’s need.

Juice dribbled down her chin and she had to put her face down until it nearly touched the bowl to avoid spilling more food than she swallowed. She shoveled thick chunks of meat into her mouth, scarcely bothering to chew. Mushy cabbage slid down her throat whole and she choked. Still she didn’t stop until she saw the bottom of the bowl.

The food was real, the bowl was real. She wasn’t in that horrible dream anymore, her body was her own again, obeying her commands. Her gaze traveled to the cauldron. Who knew when she would eat again? She eyed Mother Briar, waiting until the witch wasn’t’ looking, then slipping the bread into the pocket of her cloak to save it for later. Finally the panic faded to a manageable level. She put both hands, palms down, on the table and fixed her eyes on her empty bowl.

Mother Briar said nothing, merely waited in silence for Corrine to speak. Corrine had all the time in the world to put her thoughts in order. She waited until she thought she could keep her voice steady before she spoke.

“You lied to my sister.”

The old woman sat across from Corrine, her chair creaking like an ancient tree branch under the weight of a looming vulture. “Oh?”

Corrine raised her face, letting the hot anger flickering to life inside her show in her eyes. “You know full well that the curse on Daman has nothing to do with love or trust. Maribel can’t break that curse—only I can.”

“I’m the one who taught you that curse, Corrine,” Mother Briar said calmly. “I am fully aware that you are the only one who can break it.”

“Then why did you tell her that?” Corrine grasped the sides of the table with her hands, fingers white with the effort. “How could you send her away from me, filling her head with all that rot about saving him with love?” Corrine slid her hands onto the tabletop, clenching her hands into fists. “I need her.”

“Yes. I’d imagine it is quite hard for you to drain your sister’s energy now that she’s so terribly far away.”

Instinctually, Corrine rubbed at a spot over her heart where the arcane mark was drawn on her skin, ink and blood mixed together. Touching it should have let her feel the invisible thread that connected her to her sister, but she felt nothing. It was as though the distance between her and Maribel had stretched the magical bond so thin that it was intangible, even to her magic sense. Completely absent of the thrum of energy she so depended on. Useless. “Don’t say it like that. I’m not trying to hurt her.”

“You can’t hurt her,” Mother Briar corrected her, her tone condescending. “The spell I taught you doesn’t work that way. The bond between you only allows you to share her energy, not to drain it from her. Despite her ignorance, she is sidhe, and as long as she is more powerful than you, you will not be able to take more energy from her than she can spare.”

“I would never take more than I need.” Corrine’s heart pounded against the wall of her chest in a bruising rhythm. “Why did you send her away? You’re the one who taught me the spell, surely you don’t begrudge me using it?”

“I could not care less what you do to your sister.” Mother Briar waved her hand as if to brush away the suggestion. “But for now, she is of greater value to me if she remains with Daman.”

Corrine gritted her teeth at the mention of the monster’s name. She never wanted to hear that name again—ever. “Why?”

Mother Briar’s eyes flashed, an unearthly light glittering in eyes gone black as obsidian. “Daman stole my daughter from me. I want her back. Your sister is in a position to earn his trust and find out where he took her.”

“He took your daughter because you treated her as your slave,” Corrine spat. “You were a fool to mistreat her in the territory of a naga sworn to protect changelings.”

“She is a goblin!” Mother Briar met Corrine’s gaze, beady eyes fairly glowing with ire. “The goblins stole my child and left one of their own miscreants behind! If I hadn’t kept the goblin brat busy, she would have been a danger to everyone. Daman had no right to judge my mothering—especially when he knew what she was.”

“I notice you’re not so interested in finding your own daughter—the one you actually gave birth to.” Corrine rested her chin on her hand, propped up with an elbow on the table. “What’s the matter, humans can’t work as hard?”

“Obviously,” Mother Briar sneered, giving Corrine a pointed look. “Isn’t that why you need your fairy sister to come back? So she can be your slave?”

Corrine pressed her lips into a thin line. “I do not treat her as my slave. She is my sister. I love her.” Why doesn’t anyone understand that? She shoved that thought away. It didn’t matter what anyone said, Maribel knew Corrine loved her.

Mother Briar didn’t argue, but something in her eyes made it clear what she thought of Corrine’s declaration of familial love. The dismissal tightened something in Corrine’s stomach despite her attempts to reassure herself, and the stew she’d gobbled down so ravenously soured inside her.

“There is no reason for us to fight, Corrine,” Mother Briar said finally. “We can work together and we will both get what we want. If you help me get my daughter back, I will teach you magic stronger than any you have ever dreamed of. I will give you the strength to steal energy from anyone around you, the power to bend people to your will. You will be able to find a rich husband and take him for all he is worth. You will have the land, the money, and the power to support yourself—forever.”

The crone’s words wove around Corrine like a new dress, corset strings pulling into a snug fit that hugged her closer than any human ever had. Security. That’s what Mother Briar was offering her now. Magic was only a means to an end, a means to be absolutely certain that she never starved again, was never alone again, never weak again.

Corrine blinked, realizing she’d been leaning forward more and more as Mother Briar spoke. Her heart pounded and images of herself sitting in a grand house, surrounded by servants, smelling the sweet aromas of a sumptuous feast, kept floating through her mind. She searched inside herself for that power that let her sense magic, that let her use magic. Surely the witch must be using some sort of compulsion spell on her. Surely her desperation couldn’t be this strong?

The magical sense rose like a pet greeting its mistress, coming to her call and dutifully sniffing for any traces of magical manipulation. She kept feeling around, but came up with nothing. Mother Briar’s words were just words. There was no force behind them.

“You’ve suffered so much, Corrine,” Mother Briar continued gently. “Your family doesn’t want to admit it, they don’t want you to feel badly, but the fact is that you are a pathetic creature. You’re nothing but skin and bones, and sometimes I’m amazed that you can walk all the way here from your own poor farmhouse.”

Pathetic. Skin and bones. Poor. Corrine averted her eyes, trying to force her brain to think past the strange muddle it had become. Her skin was suddenly clammy with sweat, and if she rubbed her hands together, she could swear she felt the bones grinding against one another. The horror built inside her as she noticed the way her dress sagged against her flesh, sharp, skeletal points tenting the fabric where her bones stuck out. She swayed in her chair. So hungry…

“Oh, you poor child. Let me get you another bowl.”

Mother Briar snatched up Corrine’s bowl and refilled it with the disgusting concoction. Corrine fell on it like a starving wolf. It didn’t matter that the cabbage was overcooked to the point of losing all cohesion, or that the pork was tough and burnt. Her stomach was cramping, her head spinning, her entire body aching as though she hadn’t eaten in days. She needed this food.

“Corrine, if you won’t do this for me, then do it for yourself.” Mother Briar put her hand over Corrine’s, her meaty paw making Corrine’s fingers appear even more fragile. “My dear, you won’t survive this life much longer. You weren’t meant for it.”

She’s right.

Corrine was only half surprised to find her food was completely gone. She kept her gaze fixed on the bottom of the ceramic crockery, forcing herself not to cast a mournful stare at the pot on the stove like a dog begging for more scraps. She was tired of being pathetic.

“Go to your sister. It has been weeks, and she is such a charming girl. It will only be a matter of time until she has the power over the beast to leverage the information I need. Use your influence over your sister. Get me that information. It is your only chance.”

Corrine swayed in her seat, blinking slowly as Mother Briar’s words echoed in her head. “I’ll do it.” She stood up, proud of herself that her legs only trembled slightly. She met Mother Briar’s gaze. There was a spark of pride there, and Corrine’s spirits rose. She tried to remember why she’d ever been angry with the witch, but couldn’t think of a reason. “You’re certain Daman will let me see her? After what I did…”

“Corrine, I’ve already planted the seed in Maribel’s mind that Daman needs love and trust to break his horrible curse. I’m certain that Maribel’s kindness and Daman’s own guilt over his horrid temper will be more than enough to make him give her whatever her heart desires.” Mother Briar scowled. “Besides, the beast has such a soft spot for changelings. I’ve yet to hear of him denying one of the creatures anything they asked for.”

Corrine gritted her teeth. “He certainly doesn’t care that way for anyone who isn’t a changeling. He had no problem whatsoever telling me no.”

“Yes, he was cruel to you, wasn’t he?” Mother Briar moved to stand behind Corrine, hands rising to rest on her shoulders. “All you wanted was the same security he so willingly offered those pathetic changelings. He has no wife, no shortage of treasure. You’re a beautiful girl, a girl who’s been brave in the face of more adversity than any woman should have to bear. He had no right to mock you like he did.”

The flames below the large black pot danced in her vision as Corrine’s mind drifted back to the first time she’d met Daman. “He was so kind at first, but it was only because I had Maribel’s blood on me and he thought I was a changeling. For a moment I actually thought he cared about me.”

“He only cares for creatures from beyond the veil.” Mother Briar snorted. “He obviously has no respect for the suffering humans must endure. Who knows what sort of terror those changelings wreak on their new homes after he’s relocated them?”

“You are no changeling. You have a good life, you are just too spoiled to appreciate it. Go home, human, and be grateful.”

Daman’s words echoed in Corrine’s memory. She could still see his flashing silver eyes, the harsh lines of his face, the cruel twist of his handsome mouth as he’d practically thrown her out of his manor.

“Make your sister understand that Daman is not the man she thinks he is, that he is a selfish beast who kidnaps changelings and sends them away from the people their own families chose to raise them. If she is the kind-hearted soul we know she is, she will help me find my daughter.” The witch moved to the side and settled into a chair next to Corrine. “And then, my child, I will teach you all you need to know to get the life you want—the life you deserve. You can trust me. Only me.”

Anger burned hot inside Corrine as Daman’s face hovered in her mind, mocking her, her pain, and her dreams. Her heart cauterized in her chest, the decision solidifying inside her like a lump of coal squeezed into a diamond. “I’ll do it.”

“Excellent.” Mother Briar stood up, brushing her skirts off. “Now, let me wrap up some bread up for you to take home.”

“Thank you.” Corrine waited for the witch to turn her back and then plucked an apple out of the bowl on the table and tucked it into the other pocket in her cloak. She was so hungry…

Chapter Six

Maribel jabbed the knife into the slab of meat and began viciously sawing off the fat and flinging it into a bowl. It landed with a wet plop! The sound was not nearly satisfying enough to appease Maribel’s growing temper.

“I wasn’t staring.” She savaged the piece of beef into small chunks, hurling them into the oiled cast iron pan heating on the oven. “Why would I? It’s no big deal.” Her teeth clenched in frustration. “Half… Half…” She pursed her lips and slammed a fist down on the cutting board. “Oh, for pity’s sake. Say it. Half serpent.”

The word hung in the air like an accusation. Maribel drummed her fingers on the cutting board, jaw jutting out as she glared at nothing in particular. After several moments of silence, her shoulders slumped and she cast a glance at the oven.

She should have been more excited that Daman had an oven. She hadn’t seen one since her family had been wealthy enough to have a full kitchen, and even then she’d spent limited time in that area of the house. It hadn’t been until they’d lost all of that and she’d begun cooking for her family herself that she’d started dreaming of using one. Now she finally had her chance, and she couldn’t enjoy it properly because she couldn’t quit thinking about her sour host. She grasped the knife.

“It’s been weeks,” she informed the would-be stew. “Weeks, and every time he deigns to speak with me I get to bear the brunt of his atrocious mood swings.” She stabbed the raw meat and resumed butchering it. “If he didn’t want to go on a walk, he should have said so! It wasn’t as though I was trying to underline the fact that he…”

She tripped over the words in her mind, tiny voices in her head screaming she was being rude until she forcibly shook off her embarrassment. “Don’t be a ninny, Maribel,” she told herself firmly. “Say it. He hasn’t got any legs.” The knife thunked into the wood on a particularly enthusiastic jab. “That’s no reason we can’t get along. I’m not judging him for it, there’s no reason for him to be so blasted sensitive.”

The meat sizzled, oil flying off in angry sputters, wrenching Maribel out of her reverie. She gritted her teeth as the oil splattered against her arm, tiny droplets burning her skin. “If anything, I should be the one who doesn’t want to try and get along with him,” she told the vegetables. “Every chance he gets, he steers the conversation to Corrine. I’m sure he thinks he’s being subtle, but men in general are lost when it comes to subtlety and that’s apparently even more true for men who are…” She glared at the angry red spatters on her arm. Say it, Maribel, it’s no big deal. You’ve already said it once. “Half serpent,” she finished.

“Wyvern.”

A squeak exploded from Maribel’s lips. She whirled around with the knife held out in a defensive pose, silver blade shining in the light pouring into the kitchen from the open door and the great cooking fire in the hearth.

Daman loomed in the doorway, his strange silver eyes glinting in the light like polished silver coins. The draconic scales of his lower body shimmered as muscles shifted, and Maribel cursed the blush that heated her cheeks as she became painfully aware that Daman was naked. The fact that he had no…parts, showing should have made it easier—but it didn’t. The arm holding the knife sagged as she scrambled to tear her mind away from wondering things no lady had any business wondering about a man who was not her husband.

“What?” she demanded.

“Wyvern,” he repeated evenly. His deep voice rolled into the air like approaching thunder. “Not serpent.”

Maribel tried to follow the conversation and failed. The fierce heat of her embarrassment had obviously boiled her brain past the point of functioning. Anger obligingly rose to take the place of logic, but before she could let loose a scathing comment, Daman spoke again.

He gestured at his lower half. “I’m not half serpent, I’m half wyvern. Serpent could just as easily mean snake. My ancestry is dragon.”

Maribel started to cross her arms, realized she was still holding the knife, and pressed her lips into a thin line. He’d heard her then. Shame rose at being caught insulting her host, but she viciously squashed it down. What business did he have spying on her anyway? She returned her focus to the chunks of meat sizzling in the pan, careful to brown them evenly. “What’s the difference?” she shot over her shoulder, forcing nonchalance into her tone.

“Careful, child,” Daman warned, the now-familiar warmth of his temper heating his tone.

Maribel whirled around. “I’m not a child. I’m a grown woman.”

Daman held her gaze, silver eyes steady and unnerving. “What’s the difference?”

A thousand contemptuous retorts fought for dominance on Maribel’s tongue. She’d come to the kitchen to find some peace, to lose herself in doing something productive. It wasn’t fair for him to follow her in here, to spy on her and try to paint her a fool. Not when he avoided her so well the rest of the time. She diverted her attention away from Daman and back to the meal she was preparing, jabbing at the chunks of meat and dusting them with pepper.

“What are you making?”

Maribel tensed, grip tightening on the knife. “You did say I was free to go wherever I wished on the property. You have no cook, I assumed it would be all right for me to feed myself.”

“I did not mean to suggest you were doing anything wrong. I was simply…curious.”

The hairs on the back of her neck rose as he moved closer. Her stomach fluttered and she had to take a moment to settle herself before answering. “I’m making a stew.”

“Stew?”

Maribel glanced over her shoulder, brows rising to her hairline as she found Daman examining the vegetables she’d chopped, poking through the bowl of carrots and potatoes and the separate bowl of celery, onion, carrots, tomatoes, and garlic. Her inner chef preened at the expression of appreciation in his eyes as he surveyed the stew’s ingredients. She started to say something, but suddenly his forked tongue flicked out of his mouth, killing the words before they could escape her lips. It was only for a second, but it was…unnerving. Generally speaking, such tongues were usually very tiny, belonging to snakes significantly smaller than Daman. Seeing a tongue the size of a human’s—forked like a serpent’s—was…strange.

Daman finally raised his attention from the ingredients. Maribel jerked her attention back to the browning meat, hoping he hadn’t caught her gaping at him.

“Go ahead and stare, it’s all right.”

Maribel tensed. His tone held no heat, but after being here for weeks, the words were familiar—and they’d never been pleasant. “I was not staring.”

Scales rustled against stone. “I wasn’t accusing you, I was telling you it was all right.”

Again his tone sounded sincere. The meat hissed as Maribel flung the thick pieces about in the pan. “So you think I want to stare at you, that I’m that rude? That’s what you think of me?”

“You’re behaving like a child again.” Daman snatched up a potato, squeezing it in his grip until his claws disappeared into the brown-skinned flesh. “I was trying to be nice. I’m aware you’ve never seen a naga before and you’re trying not to stare, but frankly it’s more annoying to see you tense up every time I’m in the room because you’re trying not to stare. The first time obviously wasn’t enough, so just get it over with, satisfy your curiosity.”

Now there’s the sourpuss I remember. Maribel spun around, the spoon clenched in her grip as her arm trembled with the urge to fling it at her host. “Has it ever occurred to you that I’m tense around you, not because I’m trying so hard not to stare, but because I’m bracing myself for whatever vitriol you’re going to fling at me? Perhaps you’d like to disparage my sister some more?” She pointed at him with the spoon, feeling a sense of empowerment with the utensil that usually only came from brandishing a weapon. “I don’t know what has your tail in a twist, but I’m sick of you taking it out on me.”

She whirled back to the stove before the color rising to her face could steal her victory from her. It had taken every ounce of willpower she had to mention his tail, and she didn’t want to ruin the moment by letting him see how much effort it had taken.

The stunned silence behind her was incredibly satisfying. Maribel smirked at the stew meat. There was an exhalation of breath behind her, a ragged sound dragged up from the depths of his being.

“I’m sorry for what I said about your sister,” Daman muttered.

“Sorry because it’s not true, or sorry because it caused our ‘little feud?’”

A low growl rumbled up from Daman’s chest. “I do not want to fight with you.”

“Then get out of the kitchen.” Maribel grabbed the pan holding the meat and dumped the browned beef into a large bowl. The pan clanged onto the stove as she slammed it down. She kept her eyes away from Daman as she stalked over to the vegetables she’d prepared and threw the carrots, garlic, onion, and celery into the pan still coated with oil and residual fat from the meat. The vegetables sizzled, echoing her temper.

There was a short silence and then Daman’s voice again. “It has been some time since I’ve…entertained,” he admitted grudgingly. “Perhaps we could start over. Get to know one another over dinner.”

Maribel went still, a cup of pulverized tomatoes in her grasp. “Are you completely serious?” She glanced back at Daman, torn between outrage and shock. “Are you inviting yourself to share a meal with me? A meal I’m preparing?”

For a moment, she caught him with his guard down. His stiff mask of indifference had broken and he was gazing with something akin to longing at the food cooking on the stove. As soon as he registered her attention, he stiffened. Haughty arrogance returned to mask his emotions and he pulled his claws free of the potato and thumped it down onto the table, holding her eyes as if daring her to comment. She swallowed the sharp words she’d been about to hurl at him and tapped her spoon on the pan.

“Do the brownies cook for you?”

His eyes twitched, but remained on her. “They gather fresh produce from the gardens, but they don’t cook and they don’t hunt.”

Maribel couldn’t help dropping her gaze to the claws on the tips of his fingers, glancing from them to her injured potato. “So you…hunted for this meat?”

“One doesn’t ‘hunt’ for cows.” Daman made a face as though he’d bitten into something sour, then sighed. “I mean, yes, I slaughtered the cow for that meat.”

Her temper, which had flared up at the first part of his sentence, quickly calmed as she acknowledged he was at least trying to be less insulting. “Well, I suppose it would be rude of me to cook your food and refuse to share it with you.”

The hope that lit Daman’s eyes was humorous. “That is very…kind.” He slid closer, scales grating over the stone. “It’s been so long since I’ve had a grand meal such as this.”

Maribel tensed, the camaraderie of the moment threatening to shatter. “Are you mocking me?”

Daman’s slitted eyes widened slightly. “No.”

“A stew is grand?”

Again Daman gazed longingly at the pan of vegetables. “I’ve been cooking for myself for some time. I’m afraid I’m rather basic when it comes to meals—meat, bread, and whatever fruit the brownies harvest from the garden. I’m not much of a chef.”

“A stew is a fairly simple meal,” Maribel insisted, annoyed with herself for the curl of pleasure that spiraled inside her at the compliment.

“It smells amazing already.” Daman moved closer, arching his neck to peer into the pot. “What are you adding now?”

“Tomato paste.” Maribel scraped the thick red substance into the pan and stirred the vegetables into it. She let it cook for a moment and then grabbed the large bottle of red wine she’d found in the cellar. Part of her waited for Daman to stop her, to say something about the wine being too fine for such a paltry use. But the…naga, just watched, fascination lighting his features.

She dumped the wine into the pan, relishing the sizzle as the alcohol evaporated and the bouquet of the wine scented the air. Daman remained silent, though he slid closer. His body heat caressed her back through the few inches that separated them and Maribel’s nerves danced with awareness. The butterflies swarmed back to life in her stomach and she realized she was holding her breath, anticipating… What?

Snap out of it! Maribel forcibly shook off the ridiculous fantasies trying to play out in her head and snatched up the bottle of balsamic vinegar. She poured it into the pan and Daman’s tongue flicked out again. Maribel jumped, her arm jolting with the motion and pressing against the hot cast iron.

A sharp inhalation of pain escaped her lips as she dropped the spoon and clutched her arm. The skin shrieked in objection at her touch and she quickly yanked her hand away, holding the injured arm out into the air and clenching her teeth against the pain.

“I’m sorry.” Daman’s voice was terse, tight with an emotion akin to self-admonishment. He vanished with unnerving, inhuman speed, then returned with a jar of honey. “I startled you.” He snorted as he unscrewed the lid, filling the air with the sweet, sticky scent of honey. “No wonder Moira never wanted me in the kitchen.”

Maribel held still, trying to concentrate on his words, on the jar, anything but the throbbing pain of the burn. Equally to be avoided was the sharp stab of jealousy that lanced through her at the mention of some woman named Moira.

Forcing her mind away from that baffling train of thought, she held her breath and let Daman smear some of the thick, viscous fluid on her arm. “Honey?” she breathed, more to distract herself from her own thoughts than anything. She closed her eyes against the sting of pressure on the wound.

“It is a natural disinfectant and will ease the pain.”

She opened her eyes. “I know, I…” The traitorous blush returned with a vengeance.

Daman arched an eyebrow at her. “You didn’t expect me to know that. Because I’m a man or because I’m a naga?”

This time there was no doubt that Daman saw her embarrassment. She kept her gaze on her arm, pathetically unable to meet his eyes.

The sight of his finger sliding so gently over her arm mesmerized her. It wasn’t the fiery red condition of her own blistered skin, but the unmarred perfection of his. For some reason, she’d expected his entire body to be covered in scales, thought that if she got close enough, she would see the fine diamond pattern common to snakes. His skin had appeared smooth, but she’d assumed the scales were simply more refined on his upper body.

Now that she had an opportunity to see his skin up close—in a situation where she could study it without appearing rude—she realized that for the most part, from the waist up, he was the same flesh and blood as any human she’d ever met. Though, granted, his skin was a pale blue and did bear some scaled ridges.

Her gaze landed on his neck and the lines of thick scales that fell like braided silk down either side of his throat and ended just after the curves of his shoulders. A circular swirl of scales sat at the base of his throat, tendrils of the thick scales sliding out in a line on either side to almost, but not quite, connect with the ridges that ended at his shoulders. The bottom of the circle was connected to another ridge that fell down his chest, branching out into two delicate lines of ridges that cradled his ribs on either side. The main ridge down his chest continued past his taut stomach until it blended seamlessly with the scales of his lower body like a glistening river meeting the rippling waves of the ocean.

The honey grew tackier as Daman continued to spread it. He dipped his finger into the jar for a fresh scoop. As he applied more honey to the burn in the same slow, soothing motions, some of the tension leaked from Maribel’s shoulders. The even strokes he used to apply the balm were hypnotic, calming. The pain faded into the background and her mind continued its unimpeded consideration of her host.

His fingers were tipped with short, but wickedly sharp and curved white claws. He was obviously taking great care to keep from scratching her as he used the middle of his finger to spread the honey. Her gaze travelled to his hand and up his arm, and she noticed for the first time how thick his muscles were, the tempting swell of his biceps.

She must have made some sort of sound, because when she finally tore her attention away from his torso, Daman was staring at her, his face less than a foot away from her own. His mercurial eyes were dilated, the reptilian slits wider, round enough to be human. He’d stopped spreading the honey and now held her arm in a gentle grasp. His grip was warm and strong, and Maribel was suddenly incredibly aware of exactly how close they were.

“Does that feel better?”

His voice was deeper than it had been, absent the sharp edge she’d grown used to hearing from him. Rough and textured, a tangible sound, like rich, thick bed furs on bare skin.

He has a very human face, really.

The thought came out of nowhere, but it lodged itself in Maribel’s brain, dragging her attention to Daman’s face, the line of his jaw. He had very angular features, strong and solid. His mouth was perfectly normal, his lips…

Maribel had a sudden image of his forked tongue flicking out, his reptilian eyes intense. The strange spell rising between them shattered like overheated glass.

“Thank you,” she said hoarsely, tugging meekly at his grip on her arm. Her heart pounded so hard she thought the pulse in her throat would cut off her air.

There was a strange look on Daman’s face, as if he were debating whether to let go of her arm or pull her closer. Hyperawareness reminded her how much strength was in those broad swells of muscle, how much power was in that sculpted body. His eyes that had appeared so human to her a moment ago were now stark reminders that the man beside her was a predator. And she was behaving like prey.

The sound of blood rushing through her veins was so loud in her ears it shut out all else. She had to swallow three times before she could speak.

“I… I should get back to cooking.”

She held her breath and tugged at her arm again, inordinately grateful as he released her without protest. Then she practically dove for the spoon she’d been using to stir the pot, focusing on mixing the simmering concoction as though it took all of her concentration. Every nerve in her body vibrated with awareness as she waited for some sound behind her, some indication that Daman had moved. There was nothing but silence.

“I don’t want the vegetables to burn,” she babbled, focusing hard on the stew that didn’t need the attention she was giving it. “It has to cook like this for hours, and then I’ll add the bowl of carrots and potatoes and they’ll have to cook for another two hours… It takes so long, I know, but I used to make this all the time on the farm because I could leave it to cook while I…”

The complete and utter silence that met her incessant stream of rambling knocked against Maribel’s awareness like waves against the hull of an abandoned boat, and she forced herself to stop. She concentrated on taking a few subtle, slow breaths, trying to regain her composure. By the time she finally got the nerve to glance over her shoulder, he was gone.

She searched the kitchen, checking the doorway and waiting a full five minutes before letting out her breath.

“Stupid,” she muttered to herself.

“What did I do?”

Maribel screeched and yanked the spoon out of the pot, sending a spray of broth in a heated arc toward the wall. There was a flash of silver in the air and Maribel’s lips parted as some sort of…snake, leapt into the air and swallowed a droplet of stew before landing in a metallic coil on the butcher block.

“Mmmm,” the serpent hummed. “Can I have sssome more?”

Maribel clutched the spoon to her chest as her heart threatened to shatter her ribcage. “Who…” She blinked. “Daman…?”

The snake twisted its upper body so it was peering behind itself. “Where?”

Not Daman, then. Maribel let out the breath that had lodged itself in her throat. Her brain had managed a mind-boggling leap from utter distaste to a disturbing attraction to her scaled host. She wasn’t sure she’d have been able to handle him turning into a full snake. Especially one as small as her visitor.

Not that size matters. Don’t think about size. Size of what? Stop thinking! “Who are you?” she asked loudly, practically shouting from sheer desperation to drown out her own thoughts.

“Not ssstupid,” the little serpent said pointedly. Its tiny pink tongue flickered out.

“Stupid?” Maribel tried to gather her wits back into some semblance of order. “Oh, no, I’m sorry. I was talking to myself.”

“That’sss all right then. Asss long asss you realize I am not ssstupid.”

“I’m sorry, did you burn your tongue?”

The snake tilted its head. A moment later, it opened its mouth and a small flame shot from its throat. It closed its mouth again.

“Probably not then.” Maribel cleared her throat and continued stirring the pot. I am not having a nervous breakdown. Nagas, vampires, brownies. Why not a talking snake? She glanced at the snake. With wings. “I’d be glad to get you a…bowl when you’re ready, but I must say, it would be worth the wait if you let me finish it first. It has to cook for a long time, but after it’s done, the meat will melt in your mouth.”

“Ooh, that sssoundsss good.”

“Are you a…friend of Daman’s?”

“Are you?” the serpent countered, its beady black eyes following her spoon as she stirred.

“Am I what?”

“Daman’sss friend?”

“I…” Maribel paused and cleared her throat, firmly shoving away the memory of Daman’s fingers sliding over her skin and her subsequent perusal of his body. His naked body. She tightened her grip on the spoon. Stop thinking about that! “We haven’t known one another long,” she managed finally.

“You ssseemed clossse.”

Maribel tapped the spoon on the edge of the pot and set it on the butcher block. The snake lowered its head as if intending to lick the spoon and she twitched and jerked it out of the way. She pressed her lips into a disapproving line and deliberately put the spoon on the other side of the stove.

“I don’t know what you think you saw, but it was nothing. I burned myself and Daman was…helping me.”

“But you do like him?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Maribel sputtered. She crossed her arms. “Honestly, I’m having trouble making up my mind. He has rather pronounced mood swings, if you must know, and I’m not sure I care for him when his temper gets the better of him.” She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “What do you care?”

“Jussst making sssure everything isss going according to plan.”

“Plan?” Maribel tensed, dropping her arms to her sides. “What plan?”

“I don’t like to tell everything at onccce,” the snake said casually. “It makesss it difficult to know.”

“To know what?”

“If thingsss happened naturally or if you forccced them to happen.”

“Ohhhh,” Maribel breathed. “You’re talking about his curse.”

The snake lifted its head higher, and if it’d had ears, they would have perked up. “You know about hisss curssse?”

“Yes. Mother Briar told me about it.”

“Ssshe would know,” the snake agreed.

Maribel shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know what your stake is in all of this, but I’m not here to fall in love with a perfect stranger.” The words tasted odd on her tongue and for a moment she felt foolish.

The snake blinked. “Did you sssay fall in love?”

“I know that’s how to break the curse, but love doesn’t happen like that.” Maribel slanted a glance at the doorway Daman must have left through. Part of her wished he was standing there. “Besides, so far we don’t seem very compatible.”

“Are you talking about the mating assspect?”

Maribel nearly swallowed her tongue as she whipped her head around to gape at the snake. The serpent still sat there calmly, its body coiled in a pile on the butcher’s block.

“What did you say?”

“The mating assspect,” the snake repeated slowly. “You sssaid you weren’t compatible. Did you mean—”

“No!” The heat rushing to her cheeks was making Maribel’s head spin and she half-stumbled across the kitchen to fall into a chair. “I most certainly didn’t mean—”

“Becaussse you don’t have anything to worry about there,” the snake continued. “Even if he doesssn’t break the curssse, he isss fully capable—”

“If you finish that sentence, I’ll make you sorry you ever sat down on a butcher’s block,” Maribel choked.

The little snake froze, then glanced down at where it was sitting, seeming to notice the large butcher’s knife for the first time.

“Interesssting.”

Maribel covered her face with her hands, mortified as her mind followed the path the snake had started down with its outrageous insinuation. She hadn’t thought about it—of course she hadn’t thought about it. He’d basically taken her prisoner, he’d threatened her father, insulted her sister… He was half snake, for goodness’ sakes!

Not snake. Wyvern.

She paused, realizing that she wasn’t entirely certain what a wyvern was, and this talking, fire-breathing snake might be her chance to ask without having another awkward conversation with Daman. It would also change the subject.

She opened her mouth to form the question, but when her gaze landed on the butcher’s block, the serpent was gone.

“Must be a reptile thing,” she muttered.

Chapter Seven

Daman leaned against the edge of the lake, lashing his tail lazily back and forth through the water. Ripples flowed out from him, soothing in their graceful outward path, the way they kissed the shore and disappeared. The water was haunted with the memory of winter, but the sapphire depths held no chill for him. His scales were thick, his body easily able to adapt to changes in temperature…and his blood was still overly warm from the pleasant sensation of Maribel’s skin under his fingers.

He lifted his hand out of the lake, fat droplets of water falling from his fingers. He imagined he could still see the honey even though it had been hours since he’d washed it away. Maribel hadn’t recoiled from his touch, hadn’t flinched or shied away from him. She was still very nervous around him, even after being at his house for over two weeks, but he was starting to wonder…

“Fool.” He slapped at the water, sending a glittering arc through the air. “You are far too old for such self-delusion.”

And it had to be delusion. The way Maribel’s breath had come faster as their eyes had met—that all came from nerves. What woman wouldn’t be anxious around a beast such as himself? He wasn’t even a naga anymore. His temper had pushed him from the ranks of his noble kin, barricaded him behind bars of his own creation. He was a danger to anyone who came near him, and he’d been a fool to keep Maribel close. He had to send her away.

It didn’t matter that his temper tantrums had been limited to harsh words and admittedly inexcusable rudeness. It didn’t matter if her touch calmed him. It didn’t matter if seeing the flush on her face, the pink tint flowing down her neck and below her dress, had stirred a heat inside of him that had nothing to do with his temper.

“Daman?”

The sound of her voice tore his attention from the water so quickly that he had no idea what was showing in his eyes, what emotion he hadn’t had time to wipe away. Whatever it was, it robbed Maribel of her words, left her standing on the shore of the lake with wide eyes. He wanted to say something, ease the tension, but no words would come. His brain was far too occupied with how her blue eyes sparkled in the sunlight, how her breathing was hard enough to make her chest rise and fall in the most…distracting manner.

“The… The stew is done. I thought you might like to come inside and eat.”

Her voice was more breath than tone, though if that was because of the trek to the lake from the manor or something else, he couldn’t be sure. He blinked, surprised to find the sun so low in the sky. Had he truly been lounging in the lake for the entire day? Had he lost himself so completely in his thoughts?

Again he tried to speak, but no words would come. Part of him was afraid to speak, afraid that he would say something to make her leave. He tried to hide his awkwardness with motion, swimming across the small lake to the opposite side where she stood. She watched him swim as if mesmerized, her gaze flicking to his tail, following it up his body to his bare back. Something warm stirred inside him at the way she didn’t run, but simply stood there with that…intensity in her eyes.

Waiting for him.

A desire that hadn’t stirred inside of him for years, even before he’d been cursed, filled him with wild energy, buzzing over his nerves, invigorating his blood. He met her eyes, holding her gaze as he emerged from the water. The delicate skin at her throat fluttered with a rapid pulse, her chest rising and falling faster. His scales slid easily over the wet grass, bringing him closer to her. For the first time, he moved without self-consciousness, without concentrating on what her reaction might be.

Her entire face tensed, her eyes suddenly firmly fixed on his face in an obvious attempt not to stare. A familiar flicker of temper threatened to draw his face into a scowl, but he batted it away. Not now, he would not lose his temper now. Not over something so insignificant. Not in the midst of these other feelings, other emotions, tempting him with the promise of something…more.

He stopped less than a foot away from her. “How is your arm?”

Maribel blinked at that, though she still didn’t take her gaze from his face. “Better, thank you.”

Her voice was breathy and higher than normal. It was a balm to the masculine pride that had suffered along with his cause this past year. Daman kept his eyes on hers as he took her arm. She didn’t fight him, allowed him to raise it to examine the wound. His fingers slowly curled around her biceps as his other hand held hers. The burn was still an angry shade of red, but the skin wasn’t blistering or broken. He imagined it was painful, but she would be fine.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable earlier.” He spoke partly to reassure her and partly to distract himself from the thoughts taking root in his mind. Apparently even a day spent in an icy lake was not enough to cool what had started to burn between them earlier. He was already holding her arm. Her soft, supple, delicate arm. It would be so easy to slide a hand around her waist, pull her to him. It had been so long since he’d been around anyone, so long since he’d basked in body heat like hers. Even longer since he’d wanted to…

A tiny voice in his head screamed that there was a very good reason it had been that long, but he shut it out. The sensations running through his body were too delicious, the vibration of her thundering heartbeat too mesmerizing to stop now.

“No, it’s all right. You don’t make me nervous,” she protested.

He couldn’t help the quirk of his mouth, the outward betrayal of his amusement. “Liar.”

A spark flared in her eyes. “What you call nervousness is no more than a perfectly normal reaction for a lady when her male host stands so close to her—naked.”

His eyebrows shot up. She hadn’t said anything that wasn’t true, but he hadn’t thought she had it in her to bring up that particular subject. But was it a complaint? He pressed his lips together for a moment, firmly resisting the urge to slide his tongue from his mouth to taste the air. He so desperately wanted to know if her heartbeat was thundering from fear…or something else.

“Draconic anatomy is an oddly dignified thing.” He kept his focus on her face, searching her features for hints to her thoughts. “Clothing is largely ornamental, even in mixed company. Unless of course you continue gawking at me like that, standing so close—”

The slap caught him completely off guard. His cheek stung where her hand had connected with his flesh, a warm throbbing that didn’t hurt nearly as much as it had surprised him. He let go of her arm and she took advantage of his distraction and whirled around to stalk back in the direction of the manor.

He moved before his brain could process what he was doing. In seconds he was in front of her, her body flinching backwards, startled by his sudden movement. She opened her mouth on a gasp as she stumbled and nearly fell. Daman grabbed her around her waist and jerked her against him to keep her from falling. Warm flesh met scales that still held the chill of the lake. She shrieked and he had to tighten his grip to keep her from leaping away and falling over again.

“Hold still or you’ll fall and break something,” he ground out, his brain still trying to catch up with what had happened. “I’ll let you go as soon as you’re calm.”

Maribel went completely still in his arms, her lips pressed in a line so tight they’d gone white. Fury sparked in her eyes, making them flash like the center of a raging bonfire.

She’s even more beautiful when she’s angry, he thought, reluctantly releasing her. He expected her to scramble away from him, but she flitted away just long enough to grab a large, broken tree branch from the ground. She brandished it like a club, eyes hot enough to burn. Furious.

“I don’t know why you want me here,” she ground out, her voice only trembling slightly. She pointed the makeshift weapon at him. “But if you think I’m going to warm your bed—”

“Warm my…” Daman sputtered.

His own temper flared to life and he streaked forward as fast as his coils could launch him. The rough surface of her club dug into his palm as he closed his fingers around it and tore it out of her hands. Her scent teased his nose, a mouth-watering bouquet of vegetables and spices—the stew she’d made. He hesitated, remembering why she’d come out here.

“Perhaps we could start over. Get to know one another over dinner.”

Maribel released the branch with a pained yelp that was quickly followed by an angry shout. Daman tensed, his focus sharply returning to the present. His temper still scratched along the inside of his skull, riled by Maribel’s insinuation. He clenched his teeth and backed away, holding the branch up between them. He snapped it with one quick tug, exerting no more effort than it would have taken to break a toothpick.

Maribel flinched at the sharp crack that shattered the silence, but she didn’t retreat and she didn’t quit glaring at him. In some part of his mind, Daman was aware that her lack of fear should have comforted him. Instead, it only made him angrier.

“I have never suggested such a thing—nor would I.” He hurled the broken pieces of wood away from him. “A monster I may be, but I assure you I have not grown so desperate for female company that I would drag an unwilling maiden into my bed.” He turned away from her, not trusting what his face might reveal of the emotions roiling inside of him. “I don’t want anything from you.”

“Other than my freedom,” Maribel bit out.

Tension sang through his muscles, pulling them taut. Now. Now was the opening he’d been waiting for, the time to tell her she could go home. He should release her from the bargain she’d struck on her father’s behalf, pack another trunk full of treasure, and send her back to her family.

“Yes. Except that.”

Again, the words flowed from his mouth without permission, coming from the very depths of his being, a place far from wherever good intentions originated.

If he’d had any sense, he’d have used his superior speed to get back to the manor before she could respond. The dinner that had been supposed to give them a fresh start seemed highly unlikely now, and the gods only knew what other words were waiting on his tongue, ready to fly off without any acquiescence on his part. Why he faced her again he didn’t know. Certainly it wasn’t to see her face, to read her expression. It wasn’t some deep need to see what her reaction was to being told she still had to stay.

Maribel stuck her chin out and crossed her arms. The tempting curves of her breasts were shown in a most flattering manner by the stance, but the agitation sparking in the air around them was far too stifling to allow that thought to proceed very far. The way Maribel planted her feet and straightened her spine did not bode well.

“I know you need someone to fall in love with you to break your curse,” she told him, only a slight waver in her voice betraying her nerves. “But if this is your way of going about it, then you’re dooming yourself.”

He’d been prepared for a lot of things, but that hadn’t been one of them.

The flame of his temper died under a flood of confusion. Daman’s lips parted, eyebrows knitting together until his forehead ached. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, but words failed him.

“Fall in love?” he echoed finally. “Who…?”

“It doesn’t matter how I know,” Maribel rushed to add. Her cheeks grew redder by the second. “The point is, I know.”

Daman tapped a claw against his scales, mind working furiously to figure out what the blazes she was talking about. What lies had the witch told her sister? Was this how she’d convinced Maribel to come in her place? Had she filled her head with stories of a beast who could be changed into a prince if only a woman would fall in love with him? Did Maribel envision herself as the future mistress of his manor as well?

That last thought cut too deep. Daman swore at himself, furious he’d once again missed what was right in front of him. Of course there had been a reason Maribel had agreed to stay. Whether she’d been manipulated into coming here by her sister for Corrine’s own purposes, or she’d come here with her own grand plan, Daman promised himself he’d have no part of it. And to think he’d…

“My curse can be lifted at the witch’s will, not by any…emotional pity you might try to bestow upon me,” he said stiffly. “Trust me when I say, I have no designs on either your body or your heart. You may rest easy on that score.”

The flash of hurt on Maribel’s face was a trick of his mind, a cruel prank. If she felt anything, it was probably disappointment that her task would be harder than she’d anticipated.

“Well I’m certainly relieved to hear that,” she shot back.

Her voice lacked the venom the statement called for, but Daman assured himself he heard no disappointment in her tone. Still, there was no point in continuing this ire. There was still a possibility that Maribel was an innocent changeling, a victim of her sister’s machinations. And if that were the case, Daman had a duty to her, a duty that should mean more to him than his own petty fears and pride.

“Now that that’s been cleared up,” he managed, keeping his voice calm. “I suggest we put it all behind us and go back to the house to partake of the lovely meal you’ve worked so hard on.”

“Typical male.” Maribel snatched up a leaf that her broken branch had lost upon its death. “You insult me as much as possible and then invite yourself to share in the meal I cooked.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Again.”

“The meal you made with my food.” Daman plucked the leaf from her hand. “It would be most impressive if you could keep me from it.”

Maribel yanked the leaf back and ripped it down the middle. “My, my, not holding back, are we? You just come right out and say if I don’t willingly share the meal, you’ll take it anyway.”

Daman ignored the shame blistering his ears and folded his arms. “Yes.”

Maribel pursed her lips, contemplating him for several long moments. Finally, the corner of her mouth twitched. “Well, you can take the food by force,” she said lightly, shrugging one shoulder. “But if you can’t be nice, then I won’t make the dessert I was planning.”

“What kind of dessert?”

He absolutely hadn’t meant to say that. Maribel’s lips slid into a full out smile, flashing white teeth.

“Keep being rude, and you’ll never know.”

Daman barked out a laugh, the tension between them shattering with the rough, unexpected sound, leaving him feeling lighter than he had in some time. He eyed Maribel, amusement playing with his voice, robbing it of some of its abrasiveness. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?”

Maribel startled as if he’d torn her from some deep thought. He leaned closer without meaning to, suddenly very curious about what she’d been thinking so intensely about.

She started back toward the manor, robbing him of the opportunity to glean any clues. “No. Not really.” She cleared her throat. “When you get angry, I get a bit…nervous,” she admitted. “But I think that would be true of any man of your stature. You simply have a lot of weight to throw around.”

Daman blinked, slowly starting to follow her. “Are you saying I’m overly large?” He studied himself as he asked the question. He was considerably smaller than he’d be in his dragon form, but he’d never compared his form now with his human form—not in terms of size, at least. Was he larger than a human?

Maribel started to look him up and down, then seemed to remember he wasn’t wearing any clothes and immediately locked her gaze on his face again. “You are an impressive size.”

A masculine voice in Daman’s head preened at that last comment, but Daman brushed the innuendo away.

“You aren’t frightening,” Maribel offered after a few moments of silence. “The…lack of legs is a bit…different.” She shrugged. “But other than that, you’re not all that different from other men. Actually, with your light blue skin and those silver eyes you’re…rather striking.”

The last words came out in a rush, as if she’d had to work up her courage to say them. A rush of pleasure curled upward inside of him and he moved closer to Maribel. A sudden bolt of realization struck him, logic rearing its ugly head.

Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me. There is no reason to believe that this seduction is any more sincere than her sister’s.

“This form was not meant for attracting a mate,” Daman said, carefully putting more distance between them. “This is an in-between form. The more powerful of my people can hold this form mid-transformation, but for most it is merely passed through during the shift from human to dragon. And even the most powerful of my people never held this form for great lengths of time.”

“Why not?”

Daman clenched his teeth. “Because it requires a great deal of focus and energy to balance the mind of a man and the mind of a dragon. It is…challenging at the best of times. To remain in between for so long…” He didn’t want to finish the sentence. There was no need.

“And you’re trapped in this form because of a curse?”

Daman opened the door to the kitchen and gestured for Maribel to precede him inside. “Yes.”

“That seems like a strange curse.”

A heavenly aroma filled the room, curling into Daman’s senses until his stomach rumbled loud enough to drown out the unpleasant thoughts being stirred by the unfortunate turn in conversation. Maribel went to the stove and Daman noted with interest that she’d already set out two bowls. Apparently, she’d taken his suggestion that they dine together seriously from the beginning. She ladled stew into each of them and brought them to the table.

“Why did the witch curse you?” Maribel asked as she sat down.

A surge of temper interrupted Daman’s appreciative inspection of the red wine infused broth flowing around tender bits of meat, carrots, and potato. “Because I would not give her what she wanted. She was a spoiled, selfish woman and she wanted me to give her a comfortable life. She wanted to rule over my manor and lands, to immerse herself in wealth she had not earned. She used trickery to gain access to my home, and after I discovered her lies, she tried seduction. The curse was her revenge for my rejection.”

“So now you hate all witches.”

Daman picked up his fork and stirred his stew, avoiding eye contact. Maribel wasn’t ready to hear the truth about her sister, that much was obvious. He would have to earn her trust before she would even begin to be open to the truth. And that wasn’t likely, all things considered.

“I do not hate all witches. But I do think that the ability to use magic brings a great responsibility that few are truly prepared for. It is too easy to let one’s fears and needs rule your decisions, and with magic at one’s command, a great deal of damage is often the result.”

Maribel dropped her gaze a little too quickly, failing to hide the flinch that twisted her features. Daman smothered the desire to push her, to find out if that look meant what he hoped it might—that Maribel herself had concerns about her sister’s magic.

“This stew is excellent,” Daman said instead.

Maribel perked up, a small, pleased smile lifting the corners of her mouth. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Indeed. The vinegar complements the garlic nicely.”

“An impressive palate,” Maribel observed.

“My sense of taste in this form is extremely developed. In many ways it can replace my sense of smell. I can follow an enemy’s scent by tasting the wind the same way a wolf might use its nose.” He paused, his mind flowing back to a time his manor had been full of people, friends and servants alike. He could practically hear the bustling sounds of an active kitchen, Moira’s voice bellowing the way only a head cook could. “I think perhaps this is something I missed most,” he said, slowly prodding at a chunk of beef. “The meals my cook used to prepare.” He cleared his throat. “And the company.”

Maribel’s attention fell to her bowl. “Yes, you mentioned that you isolated yourself—that you didn’t feel you were safe to be around.”

Daman’s spirits sank. The question he’d avoided was hanging in the air between them now, weighted and foreboding. Maribel’s unspoken inquiry echoed in the silence. If it’s not safe to be around you, why are you keeping me here?

He tried to think of something to say that wasn’t the truth. Telling her that he’d demanded her father bring his daughter because he’d been expecting Maribel’s sister and he’d wanted revenge on the witch would not endear him to Maribel. And telling her that he’d kept her here after realizing she wasn’t who he’d thought she was because…

Why had he kept her here? Why hadn’t he sent her home?

Because you want her here.

The thought threatened to set off a chain reaction, and Daman barely kept himself from letting himself admit more than he should. “If I thought you were in danger from me, I would send you away,” he said finally, feeling his words out carefully. He met her eyes, willing her to believe him even as he willed himself to believe what he was saying. “I would never hurt you, Maribel.”

Maribel held his gaze, her blue eyes boring into him as if weighing the truth of his words. Finally she nodded. “All right. I’ll trust you then. Until you give me a reason not to.”

Chapter Eight

Maribel shrank away from the sides of a dark cave. Solid rock rose up all around her, cold and damp. Moisture hung in the air, coating her skin in a layer of slime and infusing her body with a bone-numbing chill. She rubbed her arms, but no amount of friction could chase away the icy touch, the eerie grip of air that had never seen the sun. There was water nearby, a lake, or perhaps a stream. The bubbling sounds called out to her, beckoned her like a familiar voice.

Stones scattered as Maribel stumbled, her hand scrabbling along the slick stone as she carefully moved through the darkness. Her heart pounded out a staccato beat, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up.

There was danger here.

The darkness thinned, chased back by a glow from somewhere ahead of her. Maribel moved faster, careful not to trip over anything even as something inside her screamed at her to get closer to the light, to hurry. She tumbled into a new cavern.

Light radiated from the bottom of a lake, the rays blunted by the watery depths. The water was a crystalline blue, shining as though sunlight streamed down on it, though there was no discernible source of light inside the cave. Something thick and silvery, coated with scales, slid under the water. Ripples flowed to the edge, making the water lap gently at the smooth rock. Despite the strangeness of the scene, there was something mesmerizing about that lake. Maribel wandered closer, floating as if in a dream.

Water gushed upwards as something reared from the depths of the lake. Maribel’s heart stuttered and her breath became a solid weight in her lungs. Whatever was thrashing up out of the lake, it was enormous. Shining scales reflected the light and a large snout opened to reveal rows of needle-sharp teeth. Reptilian eyes glittered at Maribel as the sinewy draconic body twisted in the air and dove at her. She screamed. Something jerked the monster back. It bellowed in rage as some invisible forced dragged it back under the water.

Maribel’s heart beat with bruising force against her chest. It hurt to breathe. She held her hands to her skin as if she could physically hold her heart inside her body. The surface of the water foamed where the beast had crashed back down into the depths, and she could still make out the heavy body roiling under the surface. Angry.

“It can’t escape.”

The voice ripped Maribel’s attention from the water and brought a scream rising into her throat. She whirled around, falling over as her feet slid on the slippery rock. She landed hard, crying out in pain as her entire body jarred with the force of hitting solid rock. Chains rattled against stone and something about that sound sent the terror inside of her spiraling out of control. She let out a broken sob and scrambled away from the lake and the wall where the voice had come from.

The sound of the chains abruptly stopped.

“I’m sorry,” the voice said softly. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I only wanted you to know the beast will not harm you. Cannot harm you.”

Maribel’s bottom lip trembled as she fought the burn of tears. She sniffed, hating how the sound gave her away, broadcast her fear so clearly for the stranger. He remained silent for awhile, letting her compose herself. After a long minute, her eyes finally adjusted to the dimmer light away from the lake.

A man was chained to the wall. Lean muscles cast sharp shadows on his arms, chest, and legs. His skin, what she could see of it, was pale. Not the ghostly pallor of illness, but an ethereal shade that reminded Maribel of fey creatures she’d only seen in books of fairy tales. Golden blond hair was cut short, close to his head on the sides, but sticking up at the top, mussed in a way that suggested he often ran his hands through it. Maribel sucked in a breath as wicked thoughts leapt into her mind, an image of what it might be like to run her own hands through that hair. He was beautiful, like carved marble brought to life by the gods. She wished he would look at her so she could see if his eyes were as perfect as the rest of him.

“Who are you?” she whispered.

“A prisoner,” the man replied.

Maribel tore her attention from his physique, noticing the chains holding his wrists and ankles. The metal appeared black in the dim light, an abomination against all that perfect, pale skin. “Whose prisoner?”

His shoulders tensed and his head twitched as if he’d started to face her, but then he kept his face locked firmly on the cave floor. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Maribel crossed her arms over her chest as the air around her grew even colder. Goosebumps spread over her arms like darkness swallowing the evening sky. A trembling rattled her entire body as she huddled on the floor. “Why wouldn’t I believe you?”

“It’s someone you trust. Only when that trust is broken will we be free.”

“Who? Whose trust?” Maribel demanded, a sour feeling curling up in the pit of her stomach. “Who’s we?”

Maribel’s eyes flew open and immediately shut again. The morning sunlight streaming through her window seemed determine to drill into her eyes until she couldn’t see, stabbing at her from the sky like a vengeful spirit. She growled and rolled over. Too awake now to go back to sleep, she sat up and slid her legs over the side of the bed.

The images from the nightmare taunted her, filling her mind with questions she had no answers to. She’d had the same nightmare for the last three nights, and she was no closer to understanding it now than she’d been before.

An uneasy feeling crawled up her spine as she considered the fact that the nightmares had started the night after she’d told Daman she trusted him.

“You look upset. Is everything all right?”

Maribel squeaked and grabbed the sheet from the bed. She nearly wrenched her arm out of the socket yanking it closer to cover herself and her flimsy nightclothes as she frantically searched the room for the source of the voice. It was feminine, so not Daman. But who else was here?

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

The voice was coming…from the wardrobe?

“Who’s there?” Maribel asked, trying to keep her voice calm.

“It’s only me.”

Said the furniture. Maribel inched closer to the wardrobe. With every step, she firmly cemented to herself that there was no such thing as talking carpentry. “Who? Who’s in there?”

“Well… No one’s in here. It’s just me.”

Gathering her courage, Maribel grabbed the handle of the wardrobe and flung it open.

Empty. Nothing but clothing greeted Maribel’s gaze, and there weren’t so many gowns that it wouldn’t have been obvious if someone were hiding in there.

“That was a bit rude,” the wardrobe chastised her gently. “After all, I don’t go around flinging your arms to the sides, now do I?”

Maribel leapt back. “You… I… You…” She closed her mouth and blinked. “No, this isn’t right.”

“Well, I can’t really argue with you there,” the wardrobe admitted. “Perhaps there’s a lesson in there for magic users.”

I’m still dreaming. Dear gods, please, tell me I’m still dreaming. Maribel closed her eyes and rubbed her temples in slow, soothing circles. “I’m talking to furniture,” she mumbled. “I’ve been alone too long.”

“Well, you’re not alone, are you?”

There was a certain sly tone in the wardrobe’s voice that raised Maribel’s eyebrows. “And exactly what are you insinuating?”

“I’m not really insinuating anything. I’m only saying that you and the master have gotten very close.”

“And how would you know that?” Maribel tightened the sheet around her. “I most certainly have not entertained him in my bedroom.”

“The brownies are a gossipy bunch. Apparently the teapot was full of stories.”

“The teapot,” Maribel said flatly.

The wardrobe hummed confirmation. “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,” she agreed. “And apparently you are quite the cook.”

Maribel averted her eyes then jerked her gaze back with a scowl. I will not be embarrassed by furniture. She eyed the wardrobe, its pristine white paint and expertly crafted doors far too normal for the situation. If she had any respect for her sanity, she would leave now. Get dressed, and be off on her merry way—perhaps to the kitchen or the garden.

On the other hand, it couldn’t hurt to linger a moment in this nice room Daman had been kind enough to provide her. And it wasn’t as if she didn’t know for a fact that magic existed. Was it truly so much of a stretch that this wardrobe had been gifted with the ability to speak? Besides, perhaps it would be nice to have someone to confide in. Someone she could be sure wouldn’t go gallivanting about the town spouting her private business. Maribel cleared her throat, trying not to think about the fact that she was taking on an inanimate object as a confidant.

“I’m only here for my father.” She crossed her arms and stuck her chin out. “It was my fault he was here, my fault he made Daman so angry. It would have been wrong for him to be the one to stay here. Of course I would go home if I could, that’s where I belong, after all.” She looked around the room, taking in the rich furnishings and comforts that had been provided for her. Her shoulders sagged. “Not that he’s been a bad host, necessarily. The past few days have been…nice.”

The wardrobe didn’t move, but nevertheless gave the impression of listening closely.

“I…” Maribel paused, snagging her lower lip between her teeth as she stared into space, her mind flowing over the past week or so. “He’s in such a foul mood most of the time, but it almost seems…involuntary. It’s like he wants to be nice, but he’s…” Her shoulders slumped. “I can’t think of any other way to say it. He’s just in a bad mood, all the time.”

“All the time?”

“Well, not all the time.” Maribel smiled. “He’s actually quite pleasant when he sits out in the garden with me.” She glanced at the wardrobe. “I suppose you wouldn’t know, but Daman gave me a very large plot of land. He said I can plant whatever I wish. He even asked the brownies to bring me some seedlings.”

“How lovely.”

A pleasant warmth blossomed in Maribel’s heart the more she thought about it. “In the garden with me, he’s happy. Sometimes he helps me with the planting, but other times he seems content to lie there in the sun and talk with me.”

“Well, he is a reptile,” the wardrobe noted. “Sunning is what reptiles do. My memories of being a tree are old, to be sure, but I remember all manner of snakes and lizards creeping out of the brush to sun themselves on rocks on days the weather was warm like this.”

And just like that, the fuzzy feeling was gone. Maribel retreated to the bed and slumped down on the decadently deep mattress. He is a reptile, isn’t he? She clasped her hands firmly in her lap and studied the dirt permanently embedded beneath her fingernails. Does it matter?

“I had heard that in order to break the curse upon him, he must learn to love and trust another, and earn their love and trust in return.”

What if Mother Briar was right? What if Daman’s curse could be broken if Maribel would… Would what? Let these warm feelings bloom into something more? Into what? And what if Mother Briar was wrong? What if Daman would stay as he was forever no matter what feelings she held for him?

Does that matter?

Maribel bit her lip again, thinking of Daman. Silver eyes that glittered with every emotion, pale bluish skin that gave him the appearance of carved marble during those times he held so inhumanly still. Strong muscles that were as intriguing as they were frightening…

“You look asss though you’re thinking very hard about sssomething.”

Maribel shrieked and clutched the sheet to her again. The little silver snake she’d spoken to the other day was peering out at her from under her covers, its beady black eyes blinking sleepily.

“How long have you been in there?” she demanded.

The snake snuggled farther into the blankets. “It’sss very warm in here. Very niccce. And you ssslept in late.”

“How. Long?”

“You ssseem to be getting along well with Daman. Are you content here?”

Maribel opened her mouth, then closed it. “I— What do you care?”

The serpent curled into a tighter coil, tucking its head into the center as though it intended to have a nice nap. “Jussst trying to keep up. Want to make sssure you’re both getting along. The naga lord hasss a temper, he isss not easssy to be around. Wouldn’t want you to get upssset and leave prematurely.”

“Prematurely?” Maribel leaned forward, struggling to read any emotion in the serpentine intruder’s face. Excitement crackled along her nerves, urging her heart to beat faster in burgeoning expectation. “You make it sound as though I should be waiting for something. As if something is going to happen?”

The serpent’s eyelids drooped, its tongue flicking out. “Yesss.”

Maribel waited, but the creature didn’t offer anything more.

“Well?” she prodded, annoyance sharpening her tone.

The serpent opened one eye all the way, the other remaining closed. “Well what?”

“What is it I’m supposed to be waiting for? What’s supposed to happen?”

“I’m sssure I don’t know. It doesssn’t matter asss long asss it happensss.”

“That doesn’t make any sense!”

“Well,” the wardrobe broke in, “what do you expect to get from a conversation with a cuelebre? They aren’t the most helpful creatures.”

The cuelebre raised its head and eyed the wardrobe. “You ssshouldn’t be talking. You’re wood. Dead wood,” he added.

“I’ve as much right to talk as you do.” The wardrobe sniffed, a neat trick since it had no nose. “I’m sure I’m more helpful than you.”

“Do you know what’s supposed to happen?” Maribel turned a hopeful face to the wardrobe, wishing it had eyes so she knew where to look.

The wardrobe hesitated. “No. The master wants the witch to change him back, but I don’t know what that has to do with you. Or why you’re here.”

“You know who cursed him?” Maribel held her breath, her heart pounding as she fought the urge to shake the wardrobe.

“Of course, everyone knows that.”

“Who?” Maribel’s voice came out a whisper, the sheer magnitude of what she was about to learn threatening to steal her voice. If she could find out who had cursed Daman, perhaps she could find a way to make them undo it. And then…

“That isss not for you to tell her,” the cuelebre hissed. “Let her asssk Daman.”

The wardrobe creaked as though shifting to face the snake. “What difference does it make who tells her?”

“It makesss a differenccce.”

The wardrobe fluttered its doors. “Very well.”

“No!” Maribel glared at the cuelebre as if she could set the pest on fire with the strength of her fury. “Tell me now.”

“I won’t tell you, and neither will the wood,” the cuelebre said calmly.

Maribel whirled back to the wardrobe. “Tell me. Please,” she begged.

“It won’t tell you. It’sss too afraid I’ll burn it to assshesss if it doesss.”

“Well, actually, I hadn’t even considered that you’d do such a barbaric thing,” the wardrobe grumbled. It creaked again as though sagging in resignation. “But as that is the case… I’m sorry, Maribel, I can’t tell you. But I’m sure the master would share the information if you asked him.”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

The words floated back to her from the dream, the man’s voice sliding over her skin like a phantom caress. Maribel shivered.

“It’s someone you trust. Only when that trust is broken will we be free.”

“Do you know why the witch cursed him?” she asked, leaning closer.

The snake tilted its head. “Yesss. But ssso do you. He told you, didn’t he?”

Maribel bit her lip. “And what he told me was the truth? The witch wanted to marry him and he rejected her?”

“You doubt hisss ssstory?”

“I only want the truth,” Maribel moaned, rubbing a hand over her face. “Someone isn’t being completely honest with me. Mother Briar told me that Daman was cursed by a witch that he scorned. The witch wanted to teach him a lesson about kindness and helping others. Mother Briar believed the fact that Daman fed and sheltered my father was some sign that Daman was changing, learning from his mistakes. She said to break the curse, Daman would have to prove he’d changed by falling in love and earning the love of someone else in return, that love was the most selfless act possible and only that would break the spell.”

“Interesssting.”

“But Daman contradicts that story.” Maribel shoved herself off the bed and paced back and forth between the bed and the wardrobe. “He says it was the witch who was selfish, that the witch wanted his money and land and tried to seduce him to get it. He says she cursed him for rejecting her, and the only way to break the curse is for the witch to lift it herself.”

“Two different ssstories.”

“Exactly.” Maribel paused, drumming the fingers of one hand against the opposite arm. Words continued to bubble up inside her, flowing from her mouth in an unstoppable stream. It seemed like ages since she’d had someone to talk to, someone that didn’t…that wasn’t…Daman.

“I don’t like Mother Briar. She’s arrogant and condescending. However, I can’t deny that she’s been a savior to my family. She fed us when we were starving, and she always takes time out of her day to help Corrine with her magic and me with studying all sorts of plants and herbs.”

“Why don’t you ssstudy magic?”

Maribel shook her head. “I don’t have the gift for it like Corrine does. The only time I seem to be able to do anything extraordinary is if I’m working with plants and the land. Mother Briar says I speak to the earth and it listens to me.” She shrugged. She’d long ago given up childish dreams of doing grand magic.

“Do you trussst thisss witch?”

“I have no reason not to. Besides, Corrine spoke about the rumors before Mother Briar did, so I don’t think Mother Briar just made it all up.”

“And your sssissster?”

The snake’s tone didn’t change, but there was an inherent accusation in the words nonetheless. Maribel eyed the cuelebre. “Why would she make something like that up?”

“That’sss for you to tell me.”

“She wouldn’t.” Maribel paused. “Well, I suppose she really didn’t want me to leave,” she admitted hesitantly. “I guess it’s possible that she was trying to scare me away from coming. But that wouldn’t explain why Mother Briar would agree with her. Even if she was only agreeing to help Corrine keep me home, she ruined all that when she encouraged me to go. She’s the one who thought I could break Daman’s curse.”

“By falling in love with him?”

Maribel’s traitorous mind flew back to the feeling of being in Daman’s arms. In moments like those, he wasn’t strange or monstrous. He was a man. A strong, handsome man who loved her cooking and enjoyed sitting outside with her in the garden. She cleared her throat. “I suppose that’s what she meant.”

“Ssso if you don’t think your sssissster isss lying, then do you think that Daman isss the liar?”

Was it her imagination, or did the cuelebre give the wardrobe a pointed look as it asked that last question? “I don’t know.” Maribel paused as she realized she was twisting the sheet in her hands, the nervous gesture betraying her inner conflict to the room. She marched behind the dressing screen, snagging a discarded gown on the way.

“I’ve enjoyed my time here with Daman,” she admitted, finding it somewhat easier to voice her feelings now that she was behind the screen and protected from the snake’s unnerving stare. “But I haven’t known him long. How can I trust him more than my own sister?”

“Good quessstion.”

“It’s someone you trust. Only when that trust is broken will we be free.”

Did she trust Daman? If the dream referred to Daman, then what did that mean?

“Do you trussst your sssissster?”

The sibilant voice came from much closer than it had the last time. Startled, Maribel glared up at the snake. He’d left the bed and was hanging from the dressing screen, translucent wings she hadn’t noticed before open to give him balance.

“Of course I trust her. But even if I didn’t, she couldn’t be the witch who cursed Daman, if that’s what you’re thinking. She would have had no reason to seek him out while we still had money, and she hasn’t left the farm on her own since we’ve been there.” Maribel paused. “I suppose…Mother Briar could be the one. But that doesn’t make sense. I doubt she would come to Daman insisting he marry her so she could have all of his land and money. And if the other story is true and she cursed him for a lack of hospitality, then why wouldn’t she have said that instead of saying she’d heard the same rumors?”

She looked up at the snake, but it’d vanished. She searched around her, even peering out from behind the screen to scan the room, but it was gone.

“That’s getting beyond annoying,” Maribel muttered. She swept out from behind the dressing screen, pausing awkwardly in front of the wardrobe.

“Well, I’m going to get going then,” she told the furniture. She waited, feeling as though it would be rude to leave without…saying goodbye?

The wardrobe fluttered open a door in a wooden wave. “Have a nice day, Maribel.”

Maribel nodded, trying not to feel silly, then left the room. Her head spun with unanswered questions as she strode through the hallway and marched down the large staircase. Between the dreams and the cuelebre’s frustrating stream of half-information and loaded questions, she was left with the distinct feeling that she was being manipulated, but no idea as to why. She gritted her teeth, grinding them until her jaw ached. I hate being manipulated.

She stormed out the kitchen doors, heading for the gardens like a black cloud. Apparently, Daman was her only chance for answers, and by the gods, she intended to get them.

A sudden cloud of dirt rising into the air caught her attention. A flash of scales glittered in the sunlight, followed by a dull thud and a litany of cursing that raised her eyebrows. Maribel crept closer to the source of the sounds. Something thrashed around on the ground and she had to clap a hand over her mouth to avoid a squeak of surprise.

Daman was lying in the dirt, staring intently at a hole in the ground. Something moved in the darkness and a creature she couldn’t identify leapt out and skittered across the garden. Daman snarled and tried to snatch the creature off the ground. His movements were too fast for Maribel to follow, but still the creature escaped him and disappeared down another hole.

“Daman?”

“What?” Daman snapped. He looked up then twitched backward as if his brain had only just registered her presence. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bark at you. You surprised me, that’s all.”

A few days ago the very idea of apologizing for being short with her would have been ridiculous to Daman—knowledge she based on having suggested he apologize on more than one occasion. The fact that he’d offered it with no prompting on her part sucked a considerable amount of wind from her blustering sails of a moment ago.

He rose out of the dirt and approached her, the long sleek muscles of his lower body sliding easily through the loose earth. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” Maribel gave up on the shouting she’d been prepared to do—temporarily—and gestured at the holes. “What’s going on here?”

Daman scowled. “Sprites. They’re popping out of the ground everywhere.”

Maribel’s eyebrows rose. “Sprites.”

“Yes. Annoying little pests.” He glared at the ground. “I haven’t seen one since I had to send my gardener away and tend the land myself. I thought I’d scared them off.”

Tiny glittering eyes peered at Maribel from the darkness of one of the holes and she could have sworn she heard something giggle. “But they’re not scared of you anymore?”

“Apparently not,” Daman said darkly. His gaze flicked over the ground as if he could see the sprites moving even through the earth. “But I shall rectify that situation forthwith.”

It took a bit of effort to keep the amusement from her face. The thought of Daman and all his gruffness throwing his weight around the garden chasing after the miniscule sprites did more than a little to leach some of the intimidation from Daman’s presence. Of course, Maribel reflected, it really wasn’t much different than a snake going after small rodents. A large predator waiting with deadly stillness, glossy black eyes unblinking as it waited for its prey. The small furry creatures venturing out into the light, never knowing that their death waited with the patience only a predator could manage…

Unease rolled through her stomach at the imagery her imagination was happily supplying her. Maribel blinked the pictures from her head. She cleared her throat and faced Daman with a weak smile. “Perhaps you’re considering the situation in the wrong light,” she offered. “Perhaps the return of the sprites is a good sign?”

“You have obviously never met a sprite. They are a plague, creatures who have nothing better to do than teach gofers how to steal food.” He glared at the ground again. “How could they possibly be a good sign?”

The end of his tail slid slowly side to side and then his entire body froze, taking on that unnatural stillness that used to unnerve her so terribly. Maribel bit the inside of her cheek, sternly warning her thoughts to stay away from the darker side of nature’s predators and concentrate on the man in front of her.

“Didn’t you tell me once that your temper made you drive people away?”

Daman’s silver eyes flicked to her, though the rest of his body didn’t move. “Yes.”

“Well, it sounds as though it was that same temper that frightened the sprites away. Perhaps the fact that they have returned is a sign that your temper is not as terrible as it once was.”

Daman tapped the end of his tail against the soil. The motion drew the attention of another sprite, and the skinny creature snickered and flew at the scaled limb glittering like precious gems in the sunlight. At the last second, the tip of Daman’s tail slashed through the air, smacking hard into the little fey and sending it sailing through the air like a falling star. A satisfied smirk twitched on Daman’s lips. Maribel chuckled in amusement, but the sound quickly died when she found herself once again the sole target of Daman’s intense gaze.

“You once told me I make you nervous. Tell me, do you find that—like the sprites—you are less…nervous, in my presence now?”

Maribel’s mouth went dry, the rumbling bass of Daman’s voice drawing her attention to his bare chest. It wasn’t until that moment that she noticed he’d removed his shirt—the clothing that he’d started wearing for her benefit—apparently to keep it from getting destroyed as he shot around on the ground after the invading sprites.

Now there was nothing to block Maribel’s searching gaze, nothing to hide the strange combination of unblemished human skin and glittering blue and green scales that traced the ridges decorating Daman’s face and chest before disappearing in the cascade of scales that composed his draconic lower half.

She followed the lines of sinewy muscle over his pectorals, up around his biceps and the sharp lines of his throat. The scales should have given him a monstrous appearance, but at some point in the last week or so, they’d become less foreign. Now they were familiar, a defining feature that only served to decorate the already handsome veneer of the isolated lord. She’d seen them shining in the sunlight during the long days he sat with her in the garden, seen candlelight play over them as they ate dinner together and she happily answered all of the naga’s questions about what ingredients she’d used, or what she was going to serve next.

The blue and green scales were warm, despite their icy appearance, slick under the pads of her fingers. She trailed a finger over one of the large ridges that traced Daman’s collar bone, turning sharply at the line it met and following it up his neck.

I’m touching him.

Every muscle in Maribel’s body seized at once, shocked and outraged at her own behavior. Tendons whiplashed, recoiling her hand with a speed surpassed only by creatures beyond the veil. She didn’t remember moving, didn’t remember reaching out to touch him. Dear gods, what had she been thinking?

His hand closed around her wrist, keeping her from retreating. She swallowed a squeak, her heart leaping into her throat.

“Maribel.”

His voice was a low exhale that caressed every inch of her skin, even through her clothes. A thousand words rushed up only to halt without leaving her lips, choking her with too many things she couldn’t say. She couldn’t think with his hand on her skin like that, could hardly hear anything past the thundering of her heart. Sparks crackled in the air between them like pine logs baking in an open fire. Dear gods, he’s going to kiss me.

Damn his eyes, his expression was unreadable, those silver orbs as good as mirrors, reflecting her own turmoil back at her without revealing anything about what he was thinking.

“Are you happy here?”

For a second, she would have sworn she’d heard some hesitancy in his voice, a slight stutter as if he’d been about to say something else and changed his mind in the last instant.

Would you let me go home if I wasn’t? That was the question she should ask, the question that needed to be asked. After all, shouldn’t that be her goal? Hadn’t she told the cuelebre and the…wardrobe, that she was only here to save her father, that if it were up to her she’d go home? Wasn’t that the truth?

The question refused to come out. Maribel’s heart pounded and for a moment she felt she was being split in two. If she had the choice, she would have to go home, wouldn’t she? It was the responsible thing to do, the right thing to do. Hiding here and basking in Daman’s appreciation of her cooking, his attentiveness, his willingness to spend all day outside with her, digging his own hands into the dirt right alongside hers… It would be selfish to stay.

And the moodiness. His appreciation of her cooking and love of basking in the sun aside, more often than not he was short with her, curt, abrupt, rude. What sort of woman willingly stayed with a man like that?

Don’t give me the choice.

“I’ve been having nightmares.” She shoved the words out, her hesitation to share the dreams with him overridden by her desire to stop him from offering her the choice she didn’t want to make.

The heat that had been burning steadily behind his eyes flickered, dimming like a lamp’s flame behind a sooty shade. “Nightmares?”

Maribel nodded, the movement too fast, too jerky. She took a slow breath through her nose. “Yes. For a couple of nights now.”

Daman studied her, his fingers still carefully wrapped around her wrist, claws held out so he didn’t accidentally draw blood. The heat remained in his eyes, a faint glowing silver. “I’m sorry you are ill at ease. What is the nature of your nightmares?”

“I think… I think it’s you.”

The grip around her wrist tightened suddenly, a flash of pain shooting through her as a fraction of his strength squeezed her so hard she gasped. Daman released her immediately, the muscles of his lower body contracting and releasing as he backed away from her.

“Me.”

It wasn’t a question.

Unease rolled through Maribel’s stomach and the hairs on the back of her neck rose in mimicry of her dream. She wanted to take her words back, stop this conversation from happening. It was only a dream, a nightmare. But as she stood there facing Daman now, she suspected he would not brush them off so easily.

“Perhaps nightmare was the wrong word,” she said, hating how pathetic her voice sounded. “It’s not a nightmare, not really, just a strange dream—a silly dream, there’s really not even a reason to talk about it.”

“Tell me.”

His tone left no room for denial. She wouldn’t get away from this conversation. She took a fortifying breath and told him about the dream, describing both the man and the dragon, including the chains and the man’s cryptic words. Daman visibly withdrew farther and farther with every word out of her mouth, and she felt the distance like a physical pain, as though there were some bond between them being stretched, thinned to the point of snapping.

By the time she finished, Daman wasn’t moving. More than that, his body had taken on that eerie reptilian stillness that no human could manage, a state so profoundly still that it was hard to believe he was still alive. Maribel’s chest tightened and she realized she was wringing her hands in front of her. She forced herself to grab a handful of her skirt to stop the nervous motions.

“Daman, it’s only a dream,” she said finally, unable to bear the silence any longer. “I don’t know what it means—”

Daman burst into a flurry of movement. A scream leapt from her lips, cutting off anything else she might have said. His tail lashed at the ground and he shot away from her like a bolt of lightning, his retreat so fast that by the time Maribel registered the movement, he was already gone. The air around her throbbed with lingering tension, her skin buzzing with emotion so strong her knees quivered and she nearly collapsed to the ground.

He was going to kiss me.

He was going to offer to let me leave.

Would I have let him kiss me? Do I want him to kiss me?

Would I have left? Do I want to leave?

Thought after thought swooped down on her, attacking her like screeching birds of prey, there and gone too fast for her to catch. She blinked at the spot where Daman had been, the spot he’d vanished from without a single word of explanation.

Anger cut through her confusion like a battleaxe, heating her blood with the desire to confront Daman, to challenge his retreat, demand answers. What did he think her dream meant? What had upset him so much that he’d fled, run away from…from whatever had been happening between them?

Maribel gritted her teeth. Her emotions were still chaotic, still a tangled web she couldn’t quite see her way out of, but, by the gods, she would not cower away from them. She wasn’t going to get any answers standing here alone. Daman was the one muddling her thoughts this way. It was his fault no one else would talk to her, give her any answers. She needed him to talk to her if she wanted to figure this mess out.

She glared in the direction he’d vanished.

You’re not going to get away that easily.

Chapter Nine

Daman dove into the lake, cutting through the water like a blade through the heart of an imaginary enemy. He could still feel Maribel’s delicate wrist in his grip, the frantic beat of her pulse beneath the pads of his fingers. He pushed his hands, open-palmed—through the water, trying to rid them of the memory of Maribel’s warmth. To think he’d been so close to…

“Are you happy here?”

His own words mocked him, ringing in his ears no matter how deep he dove into the lake, no matter how hard he tried to lose himself in the frigid water, the caress of the currents. What had he been thinking? What sort of question was that? What had he expected her to say?

So what if she was happy? What would that mean? Did he think it would be some sort of sign that he wasn’t too scary to continue his duties, to start seeking out changelings in need again? Or was he truly so foolish, so deluded, so reckless…as to think it would mean more? What had he been thinking grabbing her, letting himself be overcome by the taste of her excitement in the air?

Where could it have gone?

He fought through the water, swimming deeper and deeper into the blackness at the bottom of the lake. The icy chill hardly touched him through his scales, but his upper body felt the bite. The sensation was a welcome distraction—a needed distraction.

I am a damn fool.

Spending the past few weeks with Maribel, playing in the dirt, basking in her laughter. He hadn’t even tried to maintain the pretense with himself that he was trying to find her a new home, get her away from her witch of a sister. Every day it was easier to pretend she would stay here forever with him. That they would sit down together every night to eat a meal she’d prepared from herbs and vegetables she’d gathered right here on his land, with meat he brought her, he killed for her. It had been a pleasing and dangerous dream.

She dreamed of me as a human. Dreamed of the dragon as something separate, something terrifying—a nightmare.

What a fool he’d been to think she could be attracted to him in his current form. What woman would willingly come into the arms of a man more reptile than human?

Screams echoed in his memories, the screams of changelings he’d tried to help after the witch’s curse—changelings he’d very nearly frightened to death. What had led him to believe Maribel would be any different?

Anger scalded his veins. Anger at himself for daring to dream of a life he had no business dreaming of. Anger at Maribel for putting that dream into his head. He’d been resigned to his fate until she’d come along.

His temper spiked again and not even the chill of the lake bottom could ease the burn. He cursed and shot up to the surface, breaking into the air in a surge of falling water. The sunlight seared his eyes and he blinked away the pain.

“Are you going to talk to me like a logical human being, or are you going to run away again like a sulking child?”

Daman spun in the water, sending a wave cascading outward to the edge of the lake. Maribel stood there with her hands on her hips, glaring at him. Her blue eyes crackled with magic that he was more and more certain she had no idea she possessed and for a moment, he thought she might actually leap into the lake after him. A pleasant warmth curled up in his belly.

No!

“Go away.” He sent another arc of icy water in her direction, spattering the edges of her skirt. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I’m here because you’re forcing me to be here,” Maribel shot back, her chin jutting out in defiance. “You’re the one who sent for me, you’re the one who forced me to stay. And if you think I’m going to be ignored—”

“Go home, then. I release you.”

He snapped his teeth shut, but it was too late. The words were out, the offer hanging between them, her freedom hers for the taking. A sharp pain in his chest caught him off guard, but he fiercely ignored it. He glared at the woman who’d given him false hope, part of him hoping she’d take his offer and leave, even as he realized how much he wanted her to stay.

Maribel looked as though he’d slapped her. Contrary to what he’d expected, there was no relief in her eyes, no joy. Her face fell as she dropped her arms to her sides.

“You’re throwing me out?”

“Throwing you out? I’m setting you free.” He crossed his arms, his tail swirling in furious circles to keep him afloat. “You’re no longer my prisoner. Go home to your family.”

“So you want me to leave.”

Daman slammed a fist into the surface of the water, splattering more of his sensitive flesh with the frigid lake. “Why do you say it like that? As though I’ve hurt you in some way?” He shoved a hand through his hair, tugging on it in frustration. “You didn’t want to come here, didn’t want to stay here. Even in your sleep you know that this is not what you want.”

Maribel straightened at his last sentence and Daman swore under his breath.

“What isn’t what I want?” Her voice was barely loud enough to reach him.

“So like a female,” Daman ground out, the sharp claws on his fingertips drawing warm beads of blood from his palms under the water. “Searching for praise, needing to be told how wonderful she is. Wanting to hear a man beg her to stay.”

“You want me to stay?”
“I will not play these games with you. Leave!”

“I’m not leaving until you hear me out!”

Maribel set her shoulders, planting her feet more firmly on the ground. Daman clenched his hands into fists.

“What is there to hear? Your nightmares couldn’t be any clearer. You dream of the man without the beast. Well, I’m sorry I cannot accommodate you. I am trapped this way. But even if I weren’t, I would never be fully one or the other. The monster is as much a part of who I am as the man, and if that concept bothers you so, then leave.”

“The only person here who has a problem with your form is you.” Maribel suddenly dropped to the ground long enough to grab a pebble. She threw it at him, managing to bounce it off his shoulder before he could recover from his shock enough to move. “I don’t care how much of you is snake and how much is man,” she snarled.

The flicker of hope that flared to life at her words upset him more than anything else so far. Daman shot through the water, lashing against the bank until he stood only inches from Maribel. Her body tensed, but to her credit she refused to back down. The hope inside him flared brighter and he viciously threw it off. He grabbed her arm, digging his fingers into her flesh as he pulled her closer. She lost her balance and fell against his chest, her body falling flush with his.

He looked deep into her eyes as the scales of his lower body pressed against her, searching for the telltale fear or disgust he was sure he’d find. A muscle ticked in Maribel’s jaw, but she didn’t break eye contact. Water from his body soaked into her skirts.

“It would appear you have nerves of steel. But your mask won’t do you any good against someone who can taste your fear.”

Hating himself even as he did it, Daman opened his mouth enough to slide his tongue out, tasting the air. His forked tongue had scared her once, he was counting on the same reaction now. He was praying for that reaction now.

He didn’t get it.

The air between them heated and a slight hint of musk coated his tongue. Daman closed his mouth abruptly. Pink tinged Maribel’s cheeks, but her blue eyes were fierce, unwavering as they bored into his. Holding his gaze, she leaned more heavily against him.

Without giving him time to react, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down, standing on her tiptoes at the same time. Shock reverberated through Daman’s system as she pressed her mouth to his.

It had been a long time since Daman had kissed someone. And he’d never kissed anyone while in this form. Bestial forms were for fighting, not…anything else. It was a disorienting feeling, like sitting in a bathtub fully dressed.

But not unpleasant.

Raspberries. She tasted of raspberries and…strawberries. Fruit that had ripened on the vine, warmed by the sun until they nearly burst. Sweet, and so very satisfying.

Maribel took advantage of his surprise and snaked her tongue into his mouth. Panic flared inside of him at the thought of her cutting her tongue on his fangs, chasing back the fuzzy cloud of desire that had eaten his good sense. He could imagine their mouths filling with blood, the horror that would cover her face, extinguishing whatever heat she was feeling now.

Scrambling to back away, Daman grunted as Maribel refused to loosen her hold. As he tried to retreat, she leaned closer, clinging to him like a stubborn coil of ivy. His balance wavered and they both fell backwards. Daman twisted his body, muscles straining as he fought to lower them gently to the ground. It was an acrobatic feat no human form could have managed, but was possible with the sinewy flexibility of his half-dragon form. Maribel didn’t appear to mind the commotion in the least. Her legs slid to either side of his serpentine lower body and she pulled back to lick gently at his bottom lip.

Dear gods…

Without meaning to, Daman closed his hands around Maribel’s hips, barely managing to keep his claws from pressing into her skin. He held his breath, giving in to the urge to kiss her back, if only a little. He chased that sweet flavor, rumbling deep in his chest at the wonder of it.

Maribel moaned in approval as he returned her kiss and he was careful to keep it shallow enough that his fangs didn’t threaten her. He slid his lips against hers, their breaths mingling as they tasted each other. Slowly, Maribel teased the crease of his lips with her tongue, probing for entrance. He sucked in a shuddering breath, but pushed gently against her hips.

“My fangs,” he warned, his voice hoarse.

“I’ll be careful,” Maribel promised softly.

There was a lazy weight to her voice that was nearly Daman’s undoing. He groaned in surrender, parting his lips to let Maribel explore as she would. She traced her tongue lightly over his, carefully avoiding his teeth. He returned her passion with his own, chasing her tongue back into her mouth and exploring the silky depths. A new heat seeped through him, clouding his thoughts until he could think of nothing but the feel of her body in his arms, the press of her mouth against his.

The kiss lasted for an eternity that ended all too soon when Maribel pulled back slightly, her labored breaths a match for his own.

“Now that we’ve established that you were wrong about your interpretation of my dream,” she said, her voice breathy and uneven, “perhaps we could put our heads together and figure out what it really means?”

The mention of her dream popped the fantasy bubble that had been glittering around them, plunging Daman back into harsh reality. Fury singed his veins, a voice in his head mocking him with a phantasmal rolling laugh for so quickly falling under Maribel’s charms. Whatever her kiss had tried to make him believe, the woman still dreamed of a human man. She held on to him only because she thought he would be human someday, that she could salvage a rich husband without having to live with a monster.

“I know you need someone to fall in love with you to break your curse.”

He started to push Maribel away and lever himself up off the ground, only barely resisting the urge to throw her off of him with all the fury surging through his veins. Is there no end to my gullibility? The voice screamed in his head, so loud it hurt.

Maribel’s legs slid around him as he rose, locking in place behind him. Startled, Daman gaped, too slow to stop her from locking her arms in a similar fashion around his neck.

“What are you doing?”

“You’re not running away from me again.” Maribel tightened her grip. “I’m telling you, I think the dreams mean something. And I want to know what it is.”

Daman tried to extricate himself, holding his temper like a fiery shield around him, refusing to think about how her body felt against his, or the defiant tone ringing in her voice. Maribel responded by tightening her hold. There was no way to get her off of him without hurting her.

“I already told you what they mean.” He looked down where her body was wrapped around his, trying to ascertain the best way to pry her off of him. “There’s no point in talking about it.”

Maribel twisted against him as he rose and he bit back a groan as her body pressed harder against his. He was suddenly painfully aware of the fact that he was once again naked—not having planned on having a visitor during his swim. If Maribel didn’t let go and let him get some space between their bodies, she was going to get a lot more than she’d bargained for. That thought inspired an interesting image and he half-choked as he shoved it away.

“They don’t have to mean anything,” he added, hating the tinge of desperation creeping into his voice.

“My sister is a witch, and I have some abilities too.” Maribel tightened her grip stubbornly. “The dreams might mean something.”

“Your kind are not known for prophecy.” Daman groped behind himself, trying to get a grip on Maribel’s legs so he could peel her off of him.

“Witches are human.” Maribel pressed closer against him, fighting his attempts to lever her away. “If my sister is a witch, what makes you so sure I’m not?”

“You’re not a witch,” he huffed, “you’re a—”

Daman cut himself off just in time. Maribel stared at him, the sharp look in her eyes telling him she’d caught what he’d said. He groped for some way to distract her, something that would cover his slip.

“What were you going to—”

“Didn’t your parents ever teach you not to wrestle with a naked man?”

Maribel’s muscles went slack, allowing Daman to wiggle free. He set her on the ground and hurriedly retreated to a safe distance, far enough away that she couldn’t grab him again, but not so far that she accused him of running away. His words had apparently had the desired effect. Maribel stood there brushing at her skirt, her eyes firmly on the ground, on her dress, anywhere but on him.

“I didn’t realize,” she mumbled. “I wasn’t thinking.”

Daman cleared his throat, breaking the sudden, awkward silence. “Why don’t we go inside and we’ll see if I can’t manage a meal for you? You’ve been cooking for me since you got here, allow me to return the favor?”

There may have been a hint of desperation in his tone, but neither of them seemed inclined to comment on it. Maribel busied herself with untying and retying the string of her apron, giving the task significantly more concentration than it merited. Apparent relief dragged her shoulders down when Daman moved ahead of her. She followed quietly behind him.

The silence was not as comforting as he’d expected it to be and Daman found himself wishing he could see her face.

“There really is nothing wrong with you, you know.” She kept her voice light, conversational. “Man or beast, it doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t be so ashamed of your form.”

“I am not ashamed of my form,” Daman said stiffly, giving her a pointed look over his shoulder.

Maribel shrugged. “You’re extremely sensitive about it. As a matter of fact, you seem determined to make it a point of contention between us.” She focused fully on him, blue eyes severe. “But I’m not going to accommodate you. I will not pretend I give one whit about your tail.”

Difficult woman. Though it is impressive she said tail without blushing. Daman ran a hand over his face. “My form is not the problem. It’s…” He paused, trying to think of some way to explain his situation to make her understand. “Have you ever known a werewolf? Not a loup garou, but a true lycanthrope?”

Maribel’s eyes widened. “No.”

“Pity,” Daman muttered. “Well, lycanthropes and nagas share a certain similarity in that we are dual creatures. Just as a lycanthrope is neither man nor beast, but something in between, so are nagas not wholly man but not wholly dragon. We have two forms, and they are separate, but even when we are one, we are no less the other.”

“I…see.”

Her tone made it perfectly clear that she did not see, did not understand. Frustration plucked at Daman’s nerves like an archer’s bow, threatening to launch his temper like a poison-tipped arrow straight into the heart of this budding conversation. He filled his lungs with the crisp spring air, furiously working to hold an image of his meditation candle in his mind. When he could see the candle flame without it exploding into a raging bonfire, he tried again.

“My dragon form is for hunting, for battle. When I am a wyvern, I am fighting to protect someone or something that I hold dear. When I am living my everyday life, eating, sleeping, conversing with friends and family, I am in my human form. This is not to say that when I am a wyvern, I am a mindless beast, nor to say that when I am human I have none of the wyvern’s senses or instincts. However, staying in wyvern form when there is no threat of danger is like asking a warrior to stand in full battle regalia with his weapon in hand to go and purchase a loaf of bread. There is a certain…mindset that comes with this form, and it is not something so easily thrown off.”

“You said you used to have people around you, friends and servants. You said you had to send them away.”

A vice tightened around Daman’s heart as he thought of those days. Men who’d fought beside him, who’d helped him rescue changelings and smuggle them to their new homes, had been forced to leave. “Many of them wanted to stay. Their faith in me was such that they couldn’t imagine me bringing them harm.”

Maribel swallowed hard. “Did you?”

Her voice was whisper soft, but the question hit Daman with the force of a much heavier blow. Bad enough to know that deep down she believed him capable of the same level of violence that he himself feared, but her question raised memories he’d been trying to forget.

“I sent them away for good reason.”

He held the door to the kitchen open for her and she preceded him inside, seating herself at the table. For a moment, Daman allowed himself to think the subject had been dropped. Unfortunately, the tension in her shoulders told him the unpleasant part of the day was not yet over.

“Why do you want me here?”

Daman closed his hand, the tomato he’d been holding exploding in a mess of pulp and seeds. He flicked the mess away in sharp, angry motions, splattering juice over every nearby surface. “I told you that you’re free to go.”

A small sound escaped Maribel’s throat, an interesting sound somewhere between a growl and a yelp of protest. Daman glanced over his shoulder to see her gripping the edge of the table, her lips pressed together in a firm line. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, but there was a tightness in her jaw that spoke of frustration.

That same traitorous hope that had taunted him earlier burned as merrily as a holiday hearth fire. He clutched the rag he’d been using to sop up the tomato juice on his hands so hard that the fabric tore on his claws. “Do you want to stay?” he demanded gruffly.

“I have a sister at home who needs me.” Maribel raised her eyes then, blue orbs glittering with silent fury. “A sister who’s too sick to care for herself. I left her because I had to—I did it because she needs my father more than she needs me. I wouldn’t have left her if I didn’t have to.”

An answering fury flickered inside Daman at the unspoken accusation. He slid closer, stopping at the edge of the table, gripping the wood to keep himself from coming any closer to her.

“Yes, I understand, I’m a monster for tearing you away from your meek and innocent sister. I’m offering to let you go back to her—”

“Stop assuming you know what I want!”

Maribel shot up from her seat, her chair flying back to crash against the wall. She stormed around the table, charging him like an angry bull. For a moment, he thought she was going to slap him again, but she stopped short of arm’s reach.

“Maybe I want to know why I was forced to make that choice to begin with!” She jabbed a finger at him, her hand shaking. “Maybe I want to know what’s behind your sudden change of heart. Why you’re suddenly only too eager to throw me away, to let me go now that you’ve flipped my world upside-down.”

“Maybe you should stop asking questions you do not want the answers to.” Daman slid forward, crowding her, raising himself higher as if he could scare her away and end this interrogation. Damn her, why was she so stubborn? Why did she have to push him now, now that he actually cared if he hurt her feelings?

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

The words hovered on the tip of Daman’s forked tongue. Oh, how he wanted to tell her. He wanted Maribel to know the truth about her sister, wanted her to know the truth about what Corrine was capable of. But no matter how strong his desire to make Maribel understand, he was no fool. Maribel’s loyalty to her sister would not be shattered so easily, and he had no proof.

Daman lowered himself back down to his normal height, his shoulders sagging in defeat. “I’m going for a swim. Please don’t follow me this time.” He tried to go around her.

“I will follow you.” Maribel side-stepped to stay in front of him. “I will follow you this time and every other time until you tell me why you wanted me here.”

A dull pounding started in the base of his skull. He flexed his fingers at his sides, fighting to keep his arms down even as part of him wanted to grab her, rattle her, force her to see the truth. “Maribel, let it go.”

“Not until you tell me.”

This time when she raised a finger to point at him, she did poke him. She jabbed her finger into the center of his chest, her fingernail dragging along the scales on the center ridge, the one that led straight down. Before he was aware of what he was doing, Daman had snatched her wrist, had closed his fingers around it and hauled her closer. He put his face mere inches away from her own, searching her eyes for something he could reason with.

“What does it matter? I told you that you can go home, what does it matter why I brought you here?”

“Because coming here changed everything!” Maribel shouted.

The fervor in her voice made him lean back to see her face. Maribel glared at him and moved closer, not giving him an inch. The pulse at her neck fluttered, and Daman didn’t have to taste the air to know she was near tears. He could see the telltale glimmer in her eyes and when she spoke, he could hear the thickness in her voice.

“I was at peace with the life I had, and now I don’t know if I can go back. I was used to caring for my sister, putting aside my own dreams to make sure she was safe and happy. Then I came here. You freed me from responsibilities I was too guilty to even dream about abandoning, gave me a taste of a life I didn’t think I could have, didn’t think I should have.” She tore her wrist from his grasp and he let her go, but she didn’t back away. She stood her ground, jutting her chin out at him as if daring him to comment on her tears. “You changed everything for me, and I want to know why.”

Daman’s stomach dropped. She was right. He’d upended her life, torn her from her family. He’d realized his mistake right away, but instead of rectifying it immediately, instead of sending her home with her father, he’d forced her to stay. He’d told himself it was for her own protection, to keep her away from the witch, but he’d never really believed that. No, he’d wanted her to stay for himself. Because he didn’t want to be alone.

Selfishness.

The pain lancing through him hurt too much. He needed to feel something else—anything else. And there was always one emotion waiting for him, ready to welcome him with open arms.

“It wass ssupposed to be your ssisster. Sshe’ss the one who wass ssuppossed to come here. Sshe would have removed her cursse from me, or elsse I would have finally had my revenge.”

There. He’d said it. In a foreign, sibilant, inhuman hiss, he’d said it, the truth falling into the space between him and Maribel like boulders crashing down into a still lake, sending ripples of chaos out around them.

Maribel’s mouth fell open, her brow furrowing over watery eyes. “You… You think Corrine’s the witch that cursed you.”

“I know sshe’ss the witch who curssed me.” Daman sneered. “Sshe came to me covered in your blood. Sshe desscribed the ssame circumsstancess your father did—I vissited your farm. Your ssisster iss the witch who curssed me, and if it weren’t for you, I would have her here now.”

Maribel took one halting step back. “No. It’s not true.”

Daman slid closer, crowding her personal space until she took another step back. “Your ssisster iss ass incompetent a witch ass sshe iss a sseductressss. Like a child lacking even a sscrap of disscipline, sshe threw a tantrum when I refussed her advancess, throwing her sspell like a handful of rockss. Not only did sshe trap me in thiss form, sshe dumped magic over my land.” He watched the conflict dance in Maribel’s vision. “Perhapss you’ve noticced a few sstrange thingss? Talking objectss? A magic rosse?”

He grabbed her arm, forcing her off balance. A ragged whimper fell from her lips as she put a hand on his chest to catch herself. Her hand touched him and she flinched.

There. You’ve frightened her. Are you satisfied now?

He ignored the voice in his head trying to shame him, bit back the apology that tingled on the tip of his forked tongue. He was tired of feeling vulnerable, tired of questioning every word, every gesture, every feeling. He’d been a fool to keep her here. She had to leave, and he had to do whatever it took to make her.

“You’ve given up your life and your dreamss to pamper your ssisster, and all the while sshe’ss been sseeking a way to leave you behind. And now you’re jusst like her, wanting to usse me to esscape the pitiful circumstancess you’ve created for yoursself.”

He leaned down until his face was only inches from hers, until his breath whispered across her skin and he could taste her tears in the air between them. “But I will not play thiss game. If you want to leave your ssisster behind, you will have to take that ressponssibility yoursself. I will not give you an excusse any longer.” Some of his anger drained away even as he struggled to hold onto it. He shoved her away, steeling himself against the fresh stream of tears that fell as she stumbled. “Go home, Maribel.”

Chapter Ten

Corrine slid the lock on her bedroom door into the closed position. The iron clanked hard against its anchor, a loud, final sound. She strode across the room, not bothering to wait and see if her father came to ask if she was all right. She knew he wouldn’t.

He knew better now.

She retrieved the pot of honey she’d tucked away in the small cupboard next to her bed, wrinkling her nose at the way her hand stuck to the jar. Why is it no matter how many times you wipe off a honey container, there’s always just enough residue left to make your fingers sticky? She held her tacky hand out, searching for something to clean it off on so she wouldn’t accidentally get it on her nightgown. The gown was new, her father’s latest attempt to bribe Corrine into the same ignorant bliss that he’d so feverishly embraced. Her fingers tightened on the jar, nails carving grooves in the residue gluing it to her hand. She had no intention of taking the monster’s hush money and leaving him to keep her sister.

Though she had kept the nightgown.

She stomped over to the window and shoved it open. The creaking of the old frame and the grinding of the heavy wood against the sill grated on her nerves. Not so much for the noise, but because it was yet another reminder of how her status had remained the same, despite the rise in fortune. The workers who were steadily improving this farmhouse even as they built a new one had steadfastly avoided her room. Not a single shingle had been evened out, not a plank painted, not a hinge oiled. The entire house looked like a picturesque country cottage with her room sticking out like a deformed limb, rotting away from gangrene.

“If we had moved home, to our proper home,” Corrine ground out, “the people would have better things to do than stew in superstition. No one there gave a flying fig about my illness, no one thought twice about it. They certainly didn’t think I was being seized by demons, that I was…evil.”

But here, oh, here was different. Country people wallowed in superstition. They left milk and honey out regularly, told horror stories about lights in the forest and dark shapes that moved under the surface of rivers and lakes. It had taken no more than one of Corrine’s episodes to send the rumor spreading like wildfire in a drought—the farmer’s daughter was a witch.

At first Corrine had cowered from their ire, but Mother Briar had quickly put a stop to that. Witches must command respect, and if it is not given then it must be taken. She’d coached Corrine, fed her confidence until she could meet the stares of the villagers with an answering stare of her own—and a stare was a great deal different when it came from a witch. As far as they were concerned, every glare from her was the Evil Eye, and they scattered like mice in the path of a hungry cat.

If she couldn’t be loved, she would be feared. It would be enough. It had to be.

Corrine shook herself out of the reverie she’d fallen into, disgusted with herself for giving in to self pity. Reminding herself of her goals, she gazed out into the night sky. Searching.

“Where are you, little one?” she called out, keeping her voice as sweet as possible. “I have something for you.”

There was a spark of light and something buzzed through the window to swirl around her head like a hyperactive firefly. The glow was faintly pink, and it spiraled around so quickly it could have drawn words in the air with its trail.

“Is that honey?” came a voice.

Corrine paused, slowly trying to parse out what the creature had said in her annoyingly high, squeaky tone. “Honey, yes. I have some honey for you. That is, if you have something for me…?”

The pixie halted as though it had somehow been crushed against the air, smashed into a smudge on invisible glass. Its eyes bulged as Corrine played her fingers over the lid of the small honey pot. “They’re fighting.”

Corrine’s eyebrows shot into her hairline. “Fighting? About what?”

“The female wants to know why dragonman made her come there. Dragonman says it was supposed to be her sister. He says the sister is the one who cursed him.”

Corrine’s heart nearly stopped in her chest, her fingers going limp. Daman had told Maribel about what Corrine had done? No. No, Maribel couldn’t know about that. Corrine couldn’t bear it. The jar of honey started to tumble to the floor and she had to scramble to catch it as the pixie gasped and dove for it at the same time. Corrine caught it first and yanked it away from the fey. “And what did the woman say?” she demanded, her heart in her throat.

The pixie wrung her hands, eyes locked on the honey. “She’s crying. Be careful you don’t drop that!”

Crying? Corrine opened the jar and lifted the lid away. In the blink of an eye, the pixie dove into the honey and was instantly covered head to toe in the sticky mess. Corrine cringed and turned away, her thoughts racing.

“He’s made his play.” She paced the length of her room, nightgown tangling about her legs in a mad dance of silk. “The fight begins. I can’t let him win her. If she believes him…”

The thought of Maribel finding out about Corrine’s most desperate moment, her most humiliating memory, turned Corrine’s stomach. There were few people in the world right now whose opinion mattered to Corrine, but Maribel was one of them. There had to be a way to get her back.

Corrine twirled a lock of her long dark hair around a finger, then stiffened as the strands stuck and tugged. She gritted her teeth, remembering the sticky residue she’d forgotten to clean off.

I. Hate. Honey.

After taking a moment to regain her composure, Corrine stormed over to her wash basin and dumped some water from the matching pitcher. She washed the lock of hair as best she could, along with both hands. Agitated ripples in the water drew her attention and she stopped. Were her hands trembling? She slowly raised them out of the water, ignoring the rivulets that ran down her arms to wet the silk of her nightgown. Yes. She was shaking.

Her gaze fell past her hands, down her body. The nightgown that had looked so sleek and decadent to her before now emphasized every sharp angle, every bone stabbing out against her skin. The soft, womanly curves sung about in songs and described with loving detail in poetry were nothing but a cruel dream, something a pathetic urchin like herself could only aspire to. She was starving, wasting away in a wilderness full of frightening monsters and mocking villagers. She was a skeleton draped in expensive cloth. The sick child that should have died in the cradle.

No, no, no…

She averted her eyes, not wanting to see herself anymore. Cruel fate dragged her gaze up and across the room to the large mirror hanging on her wall. A memory rose like a zombie from a grave to touch the silver surface of the polished glass. The episode she’d had earlier, her body twitching and unresponsive to her commands as she lay there, forced into a staring contest with her own reflection in the silver tray Maribel used to bring her meals on.

She’d seen her aura in that reflection. As her father had a hole in his heart, Corrine had a hole in her aura, a gaping mouth on the surface of the shimmering coat of color that fluctuated near-constantly. A bright tube of light led from that hole. It had once connected Corrine to Maribel, but now it was stretched so far, so thin, that Corrine couldn’t feel anything on the other end of that link anymore. There was no energy flowing to her, no taste of Maribel’s presence inside her. She was alone. Vulnerable.

“Maribel, you’ve ruined me.”

Slowly, she clenched her hands into fists. “Why did you have to ask for that damned rose? Why did you have to draw his attention?” She bit the inside of her cheek, her throat suddenly closing, her heart twisting in her chest. “He’ll keep you. He’ll keep you or he’ll take you away.” She cleared her throat, warm tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. For a moment, thoughts of magic and illness fell away and an image of her sister hovered in her mind’s eye. Her sister who had always been there for her, always loved her. Her favorite person in the world.

“Maribel, I miss you,” she whispered.

Anger rose like an avenging angel, slaying her yearning for her sibling, her pain at being without her company, her laughter, her unwavering support. It hardened her soul, coating it in a protective, impenetrable shell. “She left me,” she reminded herself. “Left without a second thought—wanted to leave. Why should I miss her?”

She wrapped her fingers into fists. A dull pain throbbed to life in her hands as her burned skin screamed in protest. The pain was a welcome distraction, exactly what she needed to focus on the future instead of wallowing in self-pity. Corrine lifted one of the small jars sitting on the end table. She twisted the lid off and the scent of lavender filled the air. The homemade cream was cool against her fingers as she dipped them in, ignoring the lumps of herbs and firmly rubbing the ointment into her skin. The wounds on her fingers burned, drawing her attention to the myriad of cuts.

She tried to imagine Maribel’s face if her sister could see Corrine’s hands, see what she’d been reduced to. Without Maribel close enough for the bond between them to let Corrine share her fey energy, Corrine had been forced to brew a different kind of potion to keep her strength up. The only potions strong enough to even come close to the fey power she was missing required powerful ingredients—including blood. Even with the addition of her blood, Corrine could feel the potions growing less and less effective. Mother Briar had told her it was a temporary fix.

She needed Maribel to come home.

“What is the dragonman’s temper like these days?” she called out to the pixie, not taking her eyes off her own hands as she continued to rub the healing ointment into her skin.

“The sprites are back.”

The pixie made the announcement as if it explained everything and went back to alternately playing in and eating the honey. Corrine pinched the bridge of her nose, the scent of the lavender ointment on her hands doing nothing to alleviate the growing headache pounding in her temples. “And do the sprites say he is in better spirits?” she ventured tiredly.

“The sprites wouldn’t be there if it was too dangerous,” the pixie scoffed. “They’re cowards.”

“So he is kind to the woman then? No bouts of temper?”

“Oh, yes, still bouts of temper. But it doesn’t deter the woman.” The pixie focused sparkling blue eyes on Corrine. “They were kissing.”

“They were…” A tight, wrenching pain squeezed Corrine’s chest and she closed her eyes. Of course. Of course he would want her. Maribel was a changeling, and Daman had always had a tender spot for changelings. Why shouldn’t Maribel succeed where Corrine had failed? Why shouldn’t Daman want her, kiss her, when he had cast Corrine aside like so much garbage?

“Are you sick?”

Corrine opened her eyes in time to see the pixie—still covered in thick, viscous honey—march over her coverlet to plop down on her lap. The miserable pest left a sticky trail all the way from the windowsill across the bed, and the sweet substance was now soaking into Corrine’s silk nightgown. The fabric was ruined.

“Yes, little one, I am sick.” Corrine snatched up the pixie, drawing a shriek of indignation from the creature. More disgusting honey oozed between her fingertips as she rose to her feet. “I’m sick of being pathetic. I’m sick of relying on others to keep me safe, to keep me alive.” She tightened her grip. “I’m sick of needing anyone.”

The creature in her grasp suddenly morphed into a scorpion, black insect body shining, and wickedly sharp stinger raised and ready to strike. A drop of amber venom beaded on the tip of its barbed tail.

“Save your glamour for someone who is unfamiliar with your kind,” Corrine sneered.

The pixie snarled as she gave up the glamour, once again becoming the tiny person-shaped creature with translucent wings. “Let me go!”

Corrine stalked over to her wardrobe and tore it open, nearly ripping the door off its hinges. She retrieved a small birdcage, which she then opened so she could deposit the pixie inside. “Try to escape,” she warned, “and the next place you go will be forged of iron.”

The pixie scowled at her, sitting on the floor of the cage in a sticky honey puddle. “This was not part of our arrangement.”

“I’m changing the arrangement.” Corrine’s mind danced over her options like a honeybee in a field of flowers. “I’m changing a lot of things.”

There was much to do. After tucking the cage safely to the side, Corrine quickly washed her hand and gathered a few gowns from her wardrobe. She dragged a bag out from underneath the bed—the same bag she’d packed with her most precious clothes the day she’d had to leave her last home—her real home. She paused, staring down at the bag.

A memory flashed into her head. For a moment she was back in Daman’s manor, standing beside him still covered in her sister’s tacky, drying blood. He’d been so gentle with her then, so incredibly kind. He’d led her to that room and opened a wardrobe filled with beautiful gowns, each one more stunning than the last. All for her.

She slowly pulled the bag off her bed and went back to her wardrobe. Her potions rattled as she loaded them into the satchel, speaking to the pixie without looking up.

“What weakens a fey besides iron?”

The pixie crossed her tiny honey-thickened arms. “Why should I tell you?”

Corrine slid an iron file out of her grooming kit. She waved it at the pixie, letting the iron threat speak for itself. “If she’s upset. Will that emotion make her stronger or weaker?”

The pixie scowled. “Weaker if she’s sad, stronger if she’s mad.”

Corrine tightened her grip on the file, gritting her teeth as she fought the tremble threatening to rattle her fingers. “And if she’s incredibly happy?”

That question gave the pixie pause. She tilted her head to the side. “What kind of fey is she?”

“I don’t know. She’s stronger if she’s outside, and she’s good with plants.”

The pixie arched an eyebrow. “It would narrow the possibilities down more if she wasn’t good with plants. Your sister’s never told you what she is?”

“She doesn’t know. She thinks she’s human.” Corrine hesitated, the file drooping in her grip. “I never…  I never wanted her to feel like she didn’t belong, so I never said anything. It didn’t matter anyway, she’s my sister no matter where she comes from.”

The pixie blinked. “But…she’s a grown-up now. You shouldn’t have to tell her, there would be signs, her gifts would be obvious. Is she stupid?”

“No. There haven’t been any signs.”

“You’re stupid,” the pixie muttered. “If you think she doesn’t know. No matter what she is, there would be signs. She has obviously been hiding them from you if you don’t know about them.”

Corrine gripped the cage, squeezing until the bars bent under the pressure. “You would do well not to insult my intelligence,” she said, letting her anger warm her voice. “What if someone had been sharing her energy? Could that mute it enough to hide the signs?”

The pixie’s gaze intensified with interest. It gave her a sharper appearance, carved more lines in her face, darkened her eyes into solid stones. It was an…unsettling look, and a trickle of unease dripped down Corrine’s spine.

“You mean if a witch was draining her power?”

Corrine stiffened. “Not draining. Sharing. Symbiotically.”

The pixie leaned against the bars of the cage, the motion somewhat predatory and completely at odds with the image of the honey-loving creature she’d been moments ago. “Symbiotically would suggest the fey got something in return. What does a human have to offer a fey?”

“Not merely a human,” Corrine corrected through clenched teeth. “A witch.”

The pixie shook her head slowly, that alien stare unnerving, unwavering. “Anyone who needs that sort of bond is too feeble to have anything to offer a fey.”

Corrine snatched up the cage and swung it at her wardrobe. The metal banged against the solid wood, rattling the pixie until she cried out.

“My parents thought I would never live to see my first birthday. Did you know that? I wasn’t supposed to live a year! I have not survived this long by being a coward—I have survived because I fight. I know what I want, I know what I need, and I am willing to do whatever I have to do to get it.” The words flew from her, giving her strength as if claiming her courage, affirming her fortitude, somehow made it true. The fragility she’d been so sure of moments ago cowered from the passionate claims spilling from her lips now.

The pixie clutched at the bars of the cage, her head swaying back and forth as if dizzy. “So what are you going to do?” she demanded, slapping a hand to the side of her head as if to stop it spinning. “March up to the manor and demand the dragonman marry you? That did not work out so well for you last time.”

“How…” Corrine gritted her teeth. She’d started dealing with the pixie a week ago because they were so very good at gathering information and she’d needed a spy. It shouldn’t surprise her the pixie knew of her past. “I have no intention of trying to marry that beast.”

“Again,” the pixie added smugly.

Corrine slammed the cage down on the bed and its already honey-ruined coverlet. “I am going there to get my sister. I’m going to bring her home where she belongs.”

“You should let her marry the dragonman,” the pixie observed, sprawled like a starfish stuck to the bottom of the cage. “She would give you much money.”

“I don’t want her money.” Corrine tore at the nightgown, fighting to loosen the ties so she could get it off. “I don’t want to rely on anyone!”

“You already rely on her,” the pixie pointed out, unperturbed by Corrine’s show of temper.  She winced as she pried her head from the floor of the cage, the suction of the honey making an audible sucking sound. “You need her energy, why not take her money too?”

“I don’t want her energy, I just want—”

The silken tie on her nightgown broke under the pressure of Corrine’s harried attempts to free herself of the gown. She stared at the string, loose threads curling into the air like the legs of a dead insect. Her eyelid twitched.

“Oh, boy,” the pixie breathed. “Now, stay calm. It’s going to be all right…”

Corrine’s vision went red. Her entire body trembled, pulse pounding so hard in her neck it was difficult to swallow. She stepped closer to the cage and the pixie shrieked and tried to scramble away. The honey she’d so willingly coated herself with was slowly thickening to glue, and she was stuck to the floor of her prison. Corrine watched her squirm with a bone-deep satisfaction and stopped a few feet from the bed.

“I don’t want to rely on anyone, but I need Maribel’s energy. The blackouts are returning and it’s only a matter of time before my flesh starts to rot away. There isn’t enough food to keep me full, not enough blankets to keep me warm. I survived this long only because of the bond I managed to forge with Maribel—without her, I will die.”

The trembling in her body grew worse and she had the sudden, awful realization that if she didn’t calm down, she was going to plunge herself into another episode. Now was not the time to be helpless. Carefully, slowly, she removed the ruined nightgown. The patch of honey left by the pixie had soaked through to her undergarments, so she removed those too. Naked, she walked over to the wash basin with as much serenity as she could muster and began cleaning herself for what felt like the thousandth time that evening.

She could feel the pixie’s eyes on her the whole time, though the fey wisely chose to remain silent. For once. Piece by piece, Corrine dressed again, every clean garment, every slide of silk calming her, soothing her frazzled nerves. Finally dressed again, she faced herself in the mirror.

“Mother Briar has promised to help me,” she said calmly, smoothing her hands down the rich green velvet of her skirt. “All I need is for Maribel to help me get the information she wants, and she’ll teach me stronger magic. I won’t need Maribel’s energy anymore, I won’t…” She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths, the tightness of the gown’s bodice holding her in, holding her together even as she thought she would fly apart. “Maribel will help me.”

“Daman will never betray the location of Mother Briar’s daughter,” the pixie muttered. “The old bat was too cruel to the goblin girl, Daman would never risk her life by telling anyone where she is—not even the woman who transfixes him so.”

Corrine paused, a sudden thought occurring to her. She slanted a glance at the pixie. “Do… Do you know where the goblin girl is?”

“No. Nagas are much like their draconic ancestors in their ability to keep a secret. If the naga does not wish for the goblin girl to be found, it would take much to find her.”

“But you could do it.”

The pixie shook her head, frowning as her hair stuck to one of the bars of her cage. “No. Even if I wanted to help you—and at the moment I don’t,” she added, looking pointedly at the cage. “I would need help from my brethren. It would take me ages to find her by myself.” She tried to pull her hair free of the bar, the effort drawing the skin from her face until her eyes were mere slits. “And there’s no way I could convince enough of them to help—not when they would be risking the fury of the naga who wished the location to remain a secret.” She grunted.

Corrine drummed the fingers of one hand against the opposite arm. No help there, then.

“Well, then I guess there’s only one thing to do.”

Ignoring the protests from the pixie, she packed the cage and some potions in her satchel and laced it up tight. After giving herself a moment to calm the last of her nerves, she marched to the door, thrust back the lock, and ripped the door open.

Her father jumped as she stormed into the main room of the cottage on her way to the front door. He was seated in the chair by the fireplace where an episode had struck her and left her lying helplessly with her hand on the hearth. The memory twisted her stomach and Corrine kept moving, determined to keep the memory from sinking its claws in deep enough to slow her down.

“Corrine,” her father said, wariness in his voice. “Where are you going, child?”

“To get my sister back.” Her hand tightened on the door handle, the aged metal creaking in her unforgiving grip.

Her father rose from his seat, wringing his hands in front of him. “Corrine, please. You have to accept your sister’s choice—we both do. We cannot—”

“We are not going to do anything. I am going to get Maribel. Perhaps you’re content to sit in that chair and do nothing, but I refuse to let that monster keep my little sister.” She fixed her father with the glare that had been her most frequent expression for the last few days when dealing with her parental figure. “After all, someone has to do what’s right for this family.”

Her father flinched as though she’d physically struck him. Corrine wished she had something else to say, something else to throw at him to make him suffer as much as she was. Didn’t he feel Maribel’s absence? Didn’t he think of her laugh, her smile, the way she hummed stupid little nonsense songs while she was cooking?

She was sick of seeing him go on with his life as if nothing had happened. After they’d lost all their money, their home, their friends, her father had picked up and moved on as though it were nothing. He’d bought this miserable farm, put his daughters to work, and acted like life was wonderful again. Then he’d lost Maribel, allowed her to go to that beast. And the bastard didn’t even care about that!

“Corrine, you’re always telling me that you’re sick, that you’re too weak to work outside. And yet now you’re perfectly willing to go traipsing off through the forest—”

“Shut up!” Rage seized Corrine in a suffocating grip, raking claws over her voice until it was as rough as evergreen bark. “You don’t get to believe in my illness when it suits you and forget it otherwise. You don’t—”

She bit her words off, shifting her bag in her grip, trying to calm down. She couldn’t leave in a rage, it was too dangerous to get that emotional when she was going to be alone. Breathe…calm down…it’s all right. “I’m going to get Maribel back,” she said, her voice only slightly breathless. She stared hard into her father’s eyes, putting as much disdain as she could manage into her expression, wanting to be absolutely certain he wouldn’t interfere. “Go sit in your chair.”

As predicted, her father’s face crumbled under her derision. He collapsed back into the chair like a marionette who’d had its strings hacked off, bones jarring with the impact as he hit the cushions.

Corrine gave him one last disgusted look and then left, heading into the dark forest to find her sister with her heart bleeding inside her.

Chapter Eleven

“Your ssisster iss the witch who curssed me, and if it weren’t for you, I would have her here now.”

Daman’s words echoed in Maribel’s head and she clenched her teeth. The dirt slicked rock slipped in her fingertips and she firmed her grip, heaving it into the lake. The rock landed with a satisfying smack on the water’s surface. Water sprayed up into the air, disturbing the peace. She scanned the ground for another properly sized rock. As good as it felt to be throwing things into Daman’s precious lake, she would have felt even better if she had enough rocks to fill the damn thing. Let him try to swim in wet stones.

She hefted another rock into the water. “That’s for you, Daman.” She gripped another, craggy rock. Heaving it with all her might into the lake, she grunted, “And that’s for you, Mother Briar!”

That lying witch. Filling Maribel’s head with ridiculous romantic notions of a beast who needed true love to save him from his curse. What a fool she’d been to fall for such nonsense. How simple-minded did she have to be to put one ounce of belief in such falderal? How desperate did she have to be to want to believe it?

“And you’re even more foolish for not leaving immediately,” she scolded herself. “He wants you to leave, so you should leave. How pathetic must he think you to see you staying where you’re not wanted?”

“Not ssso foolisssh.”

Maribel jumped and dropped the rock she was holding on the end of her toe. She shouted and cursed in a most unladylike manner, hopping on her uninjured foot as pain radiated with ridiculous intensity from her toe. When she was sure she could speak without spewing profanity, she faced the sound of the voice.

“You!” She pointed at the silver winged snake hanging from a tree branch like calcified ivy. “What do you want?”

“Jussst checking to sssee how thingsss are going.” The snake looked pointedly at the rock beside her foot and then at the lake. “He ssswimsss when he isss feeling ssstressssssed. Are you trying to keep him on edge?”

Maribel slanted a glare at the lake. “Why not? He’d driving me to the edge. Why should I be the only one to squirm?”

The snake blinked. “Sssquirm?”

“You probably knew all along though, didn’t you?” Maribel muttered.

“Knew what?”

“Knew that he never wanted me here. You probably knew that the only reason he demanded my father send his daughter here to take his place was because he thought my father would bring my sister. He thinks she’s the witch that cursed him and he wanted to bring her here so he could force her to lift the curse.”

“Sshe would have removed her cursse from me, or elsse I would have finally had my revenge.”

“Or worse,” she added. Her stomach twisted at the last thought, dropping further at the memory of the hissing snarl Daman’s voice had become. Despite his temper, she truly hadn’t wanted to believe Daman was capable of anything horrendous. The thought that he was serious about getting revenge, that he might have hurt Corrine…

“Ssso now you know about your sssissster?”

Maribel kicked a rock, crying out as her toe screamed in outrage, reminding her of its earlier injury. She collapsed to the ground, grabbing her aching foot. “I know that he thinks she’s the one who cursed him,” she ground out through clenched teeth. “What I don’t understand is why.”

“You think he isss missstaken?”

“All I know is that my sister has not left my side since we moved out here, the only time she’s alone at all is when she’s cleaning the house and I’m out in the fields.” Maribel closed her eyes, wincing at the throb in her toe. “I don’t see how it could have been her.”

The cuelebre twined around the tree, corkscrewing down the trunk. “If it were within her power to get here on her own, without your knowledge, do you think ssshe would have attempted it?”

Maribel opened her mouth to say absolutely not, then hesitated. The rock in her hands was suddenly intensely interesting. The surface was damp, making the grey stone black, and it was coated in enough dirt to give it a gritty texture. “She’s been hiding food again.”

“Hiding…food?”

“Yes.” Maribel shifted uneasily, feeling uncomfortable discussing Corrine’s personal life this way. It was wrong to talk about her with a stranger, and yet… Dammit, she needed to talk to someone. Someone had to understand why Corrine couldn’t possibly be the monster Daman believed her to be.

“When she was young, Father was always afraid she’d have an episode while she was eating and choke on her food. He used to limit how much he allowed her to eat.” She bit her lip, focusing on the lake, on the ripples fading into glass-like smoothness. “His intentions were good, but I think it hurt more than it helped. Corrine panicked a lot, she worried about starving. She got better when she got older, and the episodes were further apart so Father relaxed the limitations on her food.” She sighed and rubbed a hand over her face. “Then we came here.”

“And the episssodesss worsssened?”

“Terribly so. I don’t know if it was that one hard winter when food was scarce that scared her, or if there’s something about being out here in and of itself, but she’s nearly as bad now as she was before. Worse in some ways. Now she’s afraid to go outside most times. She complains more, she’s never happy, she…”

Daman was right. Maribel had used him as an excuse to leave, an excuse to leave Corrine behind because trying to keep her happy was becoming too…draining.

“Would being missstressssss of thisss manor have made her happy?”

“I don’t know.” The words were so quiet, so thin, they may as well have been echoes. There was no force behind them, no…certainty.

“Only when that trust is broken will we be free.”

The voice from her dream echoed back to her and Maribel clenched her hand into a fist around the rock she still held. The sharp edges cut into her palm, the pain helping her to think clearly, to chase away the guilt long enough to consider, really consider, what the serpent was asking. “I—”

“Maribel!”

Maribel dropped the rock and spun around, heart pounding as though she’d been caught committing some sort of crime. “Corrine?”

She scrambled to her feet, sliding on the stones wet from the splashing water and took off into the forest. The figure coming through the woods was dressed in a stunning green dress, silk, satin, and fine beads embroidered into the bodice. There was only one person who would wear such garments on a trek through the woods. As she looked on, the figure swayed and collapsed.

“Corrine? Corrine!” Maribel shrieked and ran faster. She fell to her knees, taking her sister’s limp hand in hers.

Her sister blinked, her head lolling from side to side where she lay on the ground. “Maribel. Maribel, I found you. I’m going to take you home…”

Her sister’s eyes rolled up into her head, her eyelids falling closed. Maribel’s heart leapt into her throat. She patted Corrine’s cheeks, trying to force some color into the pale skin, to get her blood flowing. “Corrine, wake up. Corrine!”

Her chest tightened as her sister remained unresponsive, the pulse at her neck thready. Corrine’s head lolled to the side as she laid her gently on the forest floor and stumbled to her feet. She raced back to the lake and half-fell onto the bank, shoving the end of her skirt into the water. When the material was thoroughly soaked, she lurched back to her feet and rushed to her sister. Water trickled down Corrine’s face as Maribel pressed the soaked edge of her skirt to her sister’s forehead. Her sister moaned and stirred. Maribel nearly fainted with relief as Corrine’s brown eyes blinked open.

“Maribel. Maribel, I found you. I’ll… I’ll take you…home.”

“Corrine, what on earth are you doing out here?” Maribel demanded, her voice faint with relief as Corrine’s eyes remained open. She raised her head and scanned the forest, searching for some sign of an escort. “Are you alone?”

Corrine winced. “Yes. I had to…get away.” She let out a deep breath and eased back against the ground, letting Maribel stroke her forehead. “Maribel, it’s awful. There are so many strangers crawling all over the place now. Did you know that Father’s building a new farmhouse? He never had any intention of moving back home.”

Maribel didn’t say anything to that. Part of her hoped that the reason her father was staying where he was had something to do with wanting to stay close to her. But even if that wasn’t the case, she knew that she and her father shared something in common—they had both come to like living out here.

Her father had never said anything, but Maribel had seen a marked difference in him. The stress of the import business—pirates, unpredictable weather, cutthroat merchants—had melted away from him as he’d worked the fields, haggled good-naturedly with friendly villagers who enjoyed bartering as a favorite means of social interaction. He and Maribel had shared that secret, along with the guilt of knowing that they were getting happier and happier while Corrine became more and more miserable.

Corrine grabbed her hand suddenly and Maribel jumped.

“Maribel, I want you to know I never forgot about you,” Corrine said seriously, locking her eyes on Maribel’s face. “Every day I tried to think of some way to save you, some way to force that…monster, to let you go.”

“He’s not a monster.”

Corrine jerked her hand back, a small tic twitching at her temple. “What do you mean he’s not a monster?”

Maribel blinked. “I… I just mean, he’s not all bad. He’s got a temper, yes, and he…” She trailed off, the world fading a bit around the edges as her mind wandered back to Daman. He’s not a monster.

“He what?” Corrine demanded.

“I think he’s just been alone for a long time. He’s going through a lot, and he doesn’t have enough faith in himself—or others. But he’s trying to change.”

Corrine stared at her as though she’d lost her mind. Maribel understood how she felt. She herself was having a rather hard time understanding her feelings at the moment. She’d been so angry a few minutes ago, so ready to leave and say good riddance to Daman and his mood swings. But somehow, hearing Corrine call him a monster… Oh, what is wrong with me?

She gave Corrine a reassuring smile. “What I’m trying to say is, I’m fine. You don’t have to worry about me here.”

“Maribel, I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but I cannot leave you here.” She grasped both of Maribel’s hands in hers. “I’ve been talking to Mother Briar. The stories she’s told me… He’s done such horrible things.”

“No, no, Corrine,” Maribel hushed her. “He’s not horrible, he’s…very moody. But he’s also kind and—”

“He kidnaps changelings!”

Maribel jerked back, startled as Corrine surged forward to grab Maribel’s shoulder. She shook her so hard Maribel’s teeth rattled, sending a dull pain through her jaw. “Corrine,” she sputtered.

“I know it’s true. He… Maribel, he…” For a moment Corrine’s eyes glittered, her lower lip trembling. Then with a tiny sob, she burst into tears and collapsed against Maribel, burying her face in her shoulder. “Maribel, he kidnapped me.”

Maribel’s heart stopped, the entire world coming to a grinding, screeching halt. “What?”

“That day you had an accident in the field—you hit your head on the fence. Your blood was everywhere, even all over me. I helped Father get you cleaned up and into bed and I went back to my room. Before I could wash, he—” Another sob tore from her throat, punctuating her words. “He was suddenly there. He told me I had to come with him, that I didn’t belong with you and Father. He told me I was a changeling, and he was going to take me back to my real parents.”

Maribel shook her head, trying to process what her sister was saying. Her mouth had gone dry and she had a hard time swallowing. “But… But you’re…”

“Oh, Maribel, I’m so sorry. I never wanted to tell you, I never wanted you to think… You’re my sister, isn’t that all that matters? I love you.”

Maribel’s skin felt cold, clammy. “You were covered in my blood. He thought… He thought you were a changeling because…because I’m…?”

Corrine nodded, her face still buried in Maribel’s shoulder. “I never loved you any less,” she said fiercely.

“How did you get away?” Maribel’s head spun, making it difficult to concentrate. She groped for the end of her skirt, raising the still damp section to her own forehead to wipe away the sudden sweat there.

“I used a spell Mother Briar taught me,” Corrine sniffled, pulling away and wiping her eyes. “I was fighting him and he was trying to transform into a dragon. I tried to stop him, to hold him in human form.”

“You… You are the one who cursed him into the form he’s in now. You’re the reason he can’t go all the way back to one or the other.” Maribel leaned back, hand scrabbling at the ground for support. No, it couldn’t be true…

Corrine grabbed her hand, her grip so tight it was painful. “I didn’t mean to! I was trying to get away.”

An ache pulsed to life in Maribel’s temples, throbbing with every laborious beat of her heart. “No. No, that can’t be right. Even if he thought you were a changeling, he wouldn’t have forced you to leave Father and me. He wouldn’t have taken you from your home if you didn’t want to go. He’s not like that.”

“Then why did he take you? Why did he make you come stay with him when you didn’t want to be here?”

Maribel opened her mouth to respond then closed it. She couldn’t argue that Daman had forced her to come here, that he would have forced their father to stay if she hadn’t. But how could she explain his true intentions to her sister without frightening her? Maribel carefully avoided looking back at the manor, suddenly very nervous about the possibility that Daman may know Corrine was here.

“I… I think he’s lonely,” Maribel said weakly, kicking herself even as she lied. She pasted another smile on her face, hoping it didn’t look as brittle as it felt. “Corrine, I’m fine here, really. Go back home, tell Father I’m all right.”

“He wouldn’t be lonely if he hadn’t killed everyone else in the manor,” Corrine snapped. “And I’m not going anywhere without you.”

“He didn’t kill everyone, Corrine, he sent them away.” Maribel pulled her hand out of her sister’s grasp. “Being trapped in the form he’s in makes it hard for him to control his temper, and he was worried that he might hurt someone.”

“But he doesn’t care if he hurts you?” Corrine demanded incredulously.

Maribel pursed her lips. “He wouldn’t hurt me. If he thought he was a danger to me, he’d send me away too. He’s lonely, and he wants to try being around someone. He’s told me about his meditation, about how hard he’s been trying to deal with the temper being trapped in this form gives him.”

“So you’re saying it’s all my fault.” Corrine looked down at her skirt, swiped violently at the dirt clinging to the fabric.

“No, it’s not your fault.” Maribel grabbed a lock of her hair and twisted it around her finger, tugging as if she could distract herself from the mounting frustration inside her. “You were frightened, you did what you had to do to protect yourself. I’m only saying, it was all a misunderstanding.”

Corrine narrowed her eyes and remained silent for an agonizingly long second. Then she nodded once, firmly. “All right then. Take me up to the manor. Let me see for myself how badly I’ve misjudged him, how wrong the stories are.”

The blood drained from Maribel’s face, leaving her cheeks cold.

“Sshe’ss the one who wass ssuppossed to come here. Sshe would have removed her cursse from me, or elsse I would have finally had my revenge.”

“What’s the matter?” Corrine held Maribel’s gaze as she struggled to her feet, swaying a little before squaring her shoulders. “Let’s go talk with the lonely lord. Unless of course there’s some reason you think that would be a bad idea?”

Maribel pursed her lips but didn’t say anything.

“See?” Corrine jabbed a finger at Maribel. “You know he’s a monster. Deep down, you know.” She tugged on Maribel’s arm. “Come home with me.”

“No.” Maribel faced Corrine, putting her determination in her face and stance. “No, I do have faith in him. He’s not a bad man, and he wouldn’t hurt you, not now that he knows how much you mean to me.” Heat pulsed in her head, a warning that bringing Corrine to Daman was a mistake, that it would be pushing him too far. He was so angry already.

He is a good man. I know he is.

“Corrine?” she asked slowly.

“What?”

“Can you undo what you did? Lift the spell so he can shift form again?”

Corrine opened her mouth, then closed it. The skin around her eyes tightened and she wouldn’t meet Maribel’s eyes. “I don’t know.” She snapped a twig off an overhanging tree branch. “My powers aren’t that strong…”

“Will you try?” Maribel asked, trying to keep her voice calm despite a flash of irritation. What, does magic require too much effort as well as farm work?

Corrine stared down at the twig as she turned it over in her hands. “Maribel…do you like him?”

“Do I…” Maribel dropped her gaze to the ground, trailing a finger through the dirt and fallen leaves. Her stomach flip-flopped in a strange and not altogether unpleasant manner. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“I think you do.”

There was no accusation in Corrine’s tone, no underlying heat. In fact, she sounded oddly detached. Maribel didn’t look up, focused on the ground, the small sticks and stones scattered around her.

“Does he like you back?” Corrine pressed quietly.

Part of Maribel desperately wanted to confide in her sister. After all, wasn’t this what sisters were for? Hadn’t Corrine always been her confidant, the one she came to with everything? Well, until they’d moved to the farm. Until Maribel had emotions she had to hide from Corrine, emotions that would have only upset her.

She’s not really your sister.

Maribel crushed that thought as soon as she had it. Corrine was her sister, in every way that mattered.

“Talk to me,” Corrine prodded. She settled down on the ground next to Maribel and put a hand on her knee. “Please.”

Maribel cleared her throat and started arranging some tiny pebbles in a circle. “I think he does. But…” She hesitated. “It just feels like there’s too much between us. Too many misunderstandings.”

“You mean about me.”

“That’s part of it,” Maribel admitted. “I didn’t believe you were capable of something like that. I didn’t trust him when he told me it was you.”

The twig snapped in Corrine’s grasp and Maribel pulled her attention away from her pebble circle. “Are you okay?”

Corrine’s smile was strained, but she looked away before Maribel could analyze her expression further. Corrine grabbed her bag where she’d dropped it and pushed herself to her feet.

“Well, misunderstandings are a problem. If you like him, and he likes you, then you need to clear the air.” She took a deep breath and let it out. “I’ll try to lift the spell.” She dropped the pieces of the twig and started to brush her hand off on her skirt. She stopped with her fingers above the velvety material, then noticed that it was already filthy from her earlier fall. She pressed her lips into a thin line and brushed her hand off.

“But if I’m going to do this for him, then I want him to do something for you,” she continued. “He has to be honest with you about who he is and what he’s done. I don’t know if the rumors I heard were true, but I remember clearly enough him kidnapping me. If there’s a chance that he took others without their permission—perhaps others who were too afraid to tell him they didn’t want to go—then he needs to make that right.”

“I don’t understand?” Maribel stood to face her sister, the excitement swirling inside of her at the prospect of ending Daman’s curse tempered by sudden confusion. “What do you want him to do?”

“Ask him about the changelings he’s relocated, make him take you to them so you can see for yourself if they’re happy. Then there won’t be any secrets between you and you can see where this might go.”

“I…suppose that makes sense.” Maribel wrung her hands in front of her, glancing from her sister to the manor. “Let me go ahead and tell him you’re coming.”

She’d expected Corrine to have a ready retort, something about how Daman wouldn’t need a warning if he was really the good man Maribel claimed he was. To her surprise, Corrine simply nodded.

“Go ahead.”

“Well, I’ll help you get there first. You can wait in the gard—in the kitchen.”

Corrine didn’t comment on her slip. Maribel didn’t meet her eyes, the memory of the Rose of the Mist too strong. Why Maribel had wanted it. What had happened because of it.

What Corrine might do with it if she had it.

Maribel tried to squash that last thought, grinding it as viciously as though it were a beetle going after her precious garden, but the memory of it remained. You were wrong about her, a voice whispered. She did cast that curse. What else has she learned from dear Mother Briar?

“You go on ahead, I can make it the rest of the way myself.”

Maribel’s eyebrows shot into her hairline. “Really?”

“I walked all the way here, didn’t I?” Corrine said. Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Yes you did.” Maribel took Corrine’s hand in hers, holding it to her chest. “I’m so proud of you.”

Corrine gently but firmly extricated her hand from Maribel’s grasp. “Yes. Well, you’d be surprised how much I’ve managed in your absence.”

Something in Corrine’s tone urged Maribel to examine her more closely. Corrine had always sounded tired, weary, and more often than not, a touch afraid. Now there was…a certain steel in her voice. Maribel wondered exactly how hard life had been for Corrine since she’d been gone. And what effect it may have had on her older sister.

How well do you really know her now?

Maribel shoved those thoughts away, near desperation clutching her chest until she could hardly breathe. It was too much, she didn’t have the energy to think about that now. First she would clear the air between her sister and Daman. Then she would figure out what her sister’s revelation meant for her.

Chapter Twelve

The knock at his door echoed in Daman’s ears. Every muscle in his body went taut, leaving him standing in the center of his room, body vibrating like a tuning fork. The rage he’d given into, the primal need to destroy, ebbed, but did not immediately recede. Like a lingering lover, it trailed hands across his mind, plucking at chords and whispering promises of its return.

The doorknob turned.

Pain made itself known as the haze of fury took its obliviousness with it, adrenaline dying to a trickle and leaving him to suffer the delayed consequences of his temper. He had barely enough time to register that his hands were bleeding from several jagged cuts and everything in his room that could have been shattered had been.

Then the door swung open.

“Daman?”

Say something, you idiot! The voice screamed inside his head, but Daman had no words. He had screams, shouts, bellows of rage and ragged howls of pain, but no words. And even if he’d had the words, he didn’t dare speak them, not yet. Not when they would drip with sibilance. A reminder of why Maribel should not be here.

She stepped inside despite his lack of a response. Calmly, she surveyed the room, blue eyes dancing over the carnage with neutral consideration. No judgment. Something inside of him loosened, sobbing with relief. She hadn’t gone, hadn’t fled. She was here. With him.

Finally she met his eyes. “I don’t want to leave.”

He couldn’t move. His gaze wouldn’t leave her, wouldn’t wander away for even a second for fear she was a figment of his fevered imagination. Blood trickled down his hands, warm and wet. He clenched his jaw, waiting for her to notice. Maybe if he pictured the disgust on her face now, it wouldn’t be so painful when he saw it.

“You’re right,” she continued, casting her gaze around the room as she spoke. She stepped to a painting barely clinging to the wall, trailed a hand over the shredded canvas. “I was using you. Caring for my sister was hard, doing her work was hard. Harder still was feeling guilty any time I started to feel good. After all, it would be cruel to rub my pleasure in her face.”

She lifted the scrap of canvas. Daman held his breath as she saw the picture revealed with the tatters in place. It had been a gift by one of the more artistically gifted changelings he’d helped—a painting of him in his human form. She’d said he was the perfect subject, given his ability to remain completely and utterly still, regardless of what form he was in. She’d joked that she could have crafted a sculpture with that kind of time. Maribel gazed at it and part of him searched her face for some sign of wistfulness, the look of a woman seeing something she wanted more than what she had.

Maribel dropped the shred of canvas as if the painting held no charm for her. Daman’s breath came back in a rush.

“As long as you forced me to be here, I could do whatever I wanted. And there was no guilt because it wasn’t as if I’d had a choice.” The corner of her mouth quirked up. “The fact that you don’t exactly live in a hovel helps too,” she admitted.

A joke? She’s joking?

Daman raised a hand to his head, probing for injuries. Maybe not a dream. A hallucination? Had he struck his head at some point in his rampage?

“I don’t know how much of what you said, you said to try and scare me away, and how much was sincere.” She plucked at her dress, brushing away a bit of dirt. “Actually, I guess I’m not sure how much I know about you is really you, and how much of it is a result of the curse that was laid on you, being trapped in that form. I know you said you’re equal parts beast and man, but you also said being stuck in this form had consequences for your temper, so—” She stopped, shook her head. Finally she met his eyes. “I want to find out.”

“Find out what?”

He managed to choke the words out past the sudden tightness in his throat, sending a brief thanks to whatever gods were listening that there had been no ‘s’ sounds for his forked tongue to trip over.

“I want to get to know the real you.”

Daman flexed his hands, remembered the blood, and slowly forced himself to move to the ruins of the bedsheets. He pulled a large swath of the material from the floor and cleaned his hands as best he could.

“You mentioned… The cursse…” He closed his eyes and counted to ten. “How do you intend to get to know the real me when you admit yourself that the curse makes that impossible?”

Maribel held her breath. “My sister has promised she’ll try to lift the spell.”

Stone. Cold stone, frozen stone. Ice. Lake, an icy lake. A cold stone at the bottom of an icy lake, frozen over. Dacian winters. Cold, cold, cold.

Daman struggled to hold on to the imagery, thought of anything and everything to combat the heat that tried to blaze to glorious fury inside of him. The temper was back, tempting, familiar. Hot.

No! I will not give in, not again. Not when she came back.

“Your…ssiss—” He stopped, swallowed, and started again. Cold. Dacian cold. “Your…sister…is here?”

Slowly, so slowly, Maribel nodded. “She is.”

His chest was heaving and Daman realized he was breathing too hard. He closed his eyes, counted to ten. Then twenty. Then thirty. At three hundred and two, he opened his eyes. “She says she will lift the cursse?”

“Yes.” Maribel’s throat worked as she swallowed. “She says she will try.”

Try. Cold, cold, cold, cold.

“I will…be down to greet her…in a short while.”

The words snagged on his tongue, on his fangs itching to come down. He could hardly see through the blackness eating at his vision, the fog that threatened to swallow him as every ounce of willpower rushed to battle the temper raging inside its cage. He thought about trying to smile reassuringly, but quickly abandoned the idea. He didn’t want to know what a smile from him would look like right now.

Maribel’s eyes examined every line of his face. He waited for her to tell him she would leave if he hurt her sister, to say something, some threat, some promise, if he slipped up. Some reassertion that her sister meant everything to her, and Daman would never compete with that.

She didn’t say anything. Instead, she nodded once and left, closing the door gently behind her.

A tremble took over Daman’s body. It started in his hands, traveled up his arms. In a minute his entire body was seizing, rattling his brain.

The witch is here. The witch is here. The witch is here.

A loud cry tore from his throat and he whirled around, lashing out with his tail and shattering the remains of a heavy oak table. Splinters flew everywhere like miniature shrapnel. Daman struggled to draw in air, scrambling for his mantra, trying to hold the words in his head long enough to meditate on them. He reached for the winter imagery again.

“Thisss isss not promisssing,” a voice said from above him.

The mantra and imagery kept slipping away from him, dancing out of reach like will o’ wisps over a bog. “I’ll tear you in two,” Daman choked, glaring at the cuelebre hanging from the wall sconce.

The little serpent tapped the unlit candle with its tail. “Jussst an obssservation.”

“You saw the witch?”

The cuelebre nodded.

Blood pooled in his mouth as Daman’s tongue flicked against one of his fangs. The taste of copper crackled over his nerves, ignited the part of him that yearned for battle, for vengeance. His voice dropped an octave. “And it is the ssame one?”

Another nod.

“I’ve wanted to get that witch here for sso long.” Daman twisted the scrap of material in his hands, claws kneading in slow, stabbing motions. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend it was the witch’s neck he held. “All the hourss I’ve sspent planning…” His eyes flew open and his muscles bunched as he tore the piece of bedsheet into smaller shreds. “But now… How I am to have my revenge when—”

“When you’ve fallen in love with her sssissster?”

For a moment, Daman wished he had the ability to breathe fire as he could in his full wyvern form. “I never ssaid I wass in love.”

“I can sssee. I have eyesss.” The cuelebre tilted its head. “Did you think you were being sssubtle?”

Daman lashed the floor with his tail, surging forward with all the speed at his command. The cuelebre had apparently expected the attack. This time it managed to dart out of the way in time, glittering slender body shooting through the air a hair’s breadth ahead of Daman’s claws.

“Temper, temper,” the cuelebre chided him. “You’ll have to do better than that if you want the witch to lift her curssse.”

“Sshe will never lift the cursse!” Daman flexed his claws, forked tongue slithering out as he gauged the distance between him and the cuelebre.

“Do not underessstimate Maribel’sss influenccce. Ssshe believesss that you are sssuffering. Ssshe will do whatever isss in her power to help you.”

Maribel. The sound of her name flowed over him like a cool breeze against heated skin. Tension flowed from his muscles and Daman gazed back at the door as if he could still see her standing there. She came back.

The thought echoed in his head, soft with wonderment. He would never have expected it, never have believed it. It was too good to be true.

He stiffened. Too good to be true. It was too good to be true.

“If the witch ssent her here, sshe could be lying, ssetting me up to ssee me ssuffer.”

“You are already sssuffering. What sssenssse doesss it make to go through all of thisss in an attempt to increassse your misssery?”

“Or sshe could be trying to win my favor, to ssucceed where the witch failed.” Daman eyed the pile of threads that had once been part of the bedsheet. His claws still ached with the need to destroy something.

“If that isss her intention, the witch will cccertainly not help her. You know better than anyone that the witch would not help anyone elssse attain that which ssshe desssiresss.”

That was true.

Maybe she does care for you.

He carded a hand through his hair, dancing his claws along his scalp. The press of sharp points helped distract him, cleared his head. He turned his attention to his surroundings.

Everything was destroyed. Furniture had been reduced to splinters, fabric rent to shreds. The windows were no more than glittering dust and jagged fragments. Chunks of ceramic and jade spoke of statues and vases that were no more. The room looked as if it had been devastated by a storm the likes of which the world had never seen. Maribel had seen it all, had known that the storm had been his temper, the wanton destruction the result of his inability to deal with that anger any other way.

And she wants to stay.

“If her motives are not what she claims,” he said slowly, gaze dancing over the carnage around him, “then she is either very brave, or incredibly foolish.”

“It ssseemsss to me that the two often go hand in hand.”

Daman inclined his head in acknowledgement. He took a deep breath through his nose and let it out his mouth. “If the witch does not, or can not, lift the curse… Do you think Maribel will stay anyway?”

The cuelebre flew off the wall sconce and draped himself over Daman’s shoulder. The show of trust was not lost on Daman.

“I think Maribel isss going to be watching both of you very closssely. It will be very important that you do not lossse your temper.”

Daman barked out a laugh. “With the witch in my home? That will be a challenge.”

The cuelebre slithered around so its head was directly in front of Daman’s. “Yesss. It will be.”

No false reassurances there. Daman flexed his hands, open, closed, open, closed. The flames of anger inside him were simmering down into embers and leaving a tingling tension in their wake. Nervousness fought with temper.

“If she is lying…and I fall for it…” He shook his head. “I do not think my humanity would ever recover.”

“And if ssshe isss not lying, and you let her leave. Will your humanity sssurvive that?”

Daman fell silent. Every nerve ending in his body tingled with awareness as if seeking some sign of the witch, some sign of her encroaching magic. Corrine was here, she was coming. This was the day he’d dreamed of, and yet now that it was here, he dreaded it with an all consuming, sickening anticipation.

Maribel’s presence changed things. She loved Corrine, believed Corrine loved her back. More importantly than that, he was starting to let himself believe Maribel might lo—might care about him as well. If he exacted his revenge on Corrine, if he used force to make the witch lift her curse, Maribel would never forgive him. Perhaps the most shocking part of it all was that Daman found himself conflicted about what he wanted more. An end to his curse…or Maribel.

“Maribel wantsss to get to know you. It isss why ssshe wantsss ssso badly to break your curssse. You have made it clear to her that what you are now isss not the truth of you. If you are kind to her sssissster, it will go a long way to ssshowing both of you who you are, curssse or no curssse.” The cuelebre slithered around Daman’s neck like a living, writhing boa. “If it isss in her sssissster’s power to undo your curssse, Maribel isss your bessst chanccce of getting her to do ssso,” it added.

“And if she still refuses, I have other options.” Unless you want to keep Maribel.

“It isss often bessst to talk firssst and ussse violenccce later,” the cuelebre agreed. “Often the reverssse order isss not practical.”

Daman leaned away from the cuelebre, barely resisting the urge to grab it by its tail and fling it away from him. It had been a long time since he’d had company—having company quite so close was…stifling.

“I sent away people I cared for, people I respected because I couldn’t be sure I wouldn’t hurt them,” Daman said, almost to himself. “And now I’m going to try and keep my temper with the person I hate most in this world.”

“It will be interesssting.”

Daman snorted. Several long moments ticked by.

“I suppose putting it off won’t do me any good,” he said aloud, whether for himself or the cuelebre, he wasn’t sure.

“No good,” the cuelebre agreed.

Daman didn’t move. “If the witch cannot, or will not, lift the curse, I might still have Maribel. If I keep my temper.”

“A dissstinct possssssibility.” The cuelebre flew into the air, hovering like a ribbon tossed to the sky. “If you can keep your temper.”

“All right then.” Daman cleared his throat and rolled his neck, the popping tendons audible evidence of how much tension he carried there. After eyeing the destroyed room one last time, he sighed and headed for the treasure room. The enchanted wardrobe would supply him with something appropriate.

Like bespelled armor.

Entering the treasure room was akin to stepping into the past. For a moment, Daman froze in the doorway, his mind flying back to the day Maribel had arrived. If he fixed his gaze on the middle of the room, he could see her standing with her father, both of them forgetting the chest of riches immediately as they begged one last time for their freedom. Daman’s heart ached and he rubbed his chest absentmindedly as if he could soothe the pain there. If he’d known then what he knew now…if he’d known then how deeply Maribel would affect him…

Focus! This is a very poor time to let your concentration waver.

Stiffening his spine, he glided to the wardrobe and flung open the doors. As always, the wardrobe knew what was needed. A row of armor met his assessing look, a neat assortment of metal, leather, and hide. Daman considered each one, finally deciding on a chestplate forged from delicate chainmail. The metal links were formed of braided metal, copper, gold, silver, and iron. The working was so fine, it moved and bent as easily and cleanly as cloth and would allow Daman protection without inhibiting any of the acrobatic movements his serpentine body was capable of. The mix of metals would also afford him the largest range of protections against various types of magic the witch may have at her disposal.

As he settled the chainmail shirt over his torso, he glanced at the second half of the row of armor. There were pieces there that would fit part of his lower body, complete the ensemble so it more closely resembled an attempt at clothing himself as opposed to dressing for battle. After all, the chainmail was so fine, it could have been mistaken for cloth from a distance. And it was attractive enough that he could pass it off to Maribel as wanting to look his best, an outward reflection of his good intentions.

But he didn’t want to put on armor over his lower half. Not only did he not need the protection there—his scales provided more than enough natural armor—he also wanted to show the witch that he was not ashamed of what he was. He wanted her to lift the curse, yes, but that was only because he wanted to be returned to what he was, what he was supposed to be. There was nothing wrong with this form, nothing he had to hide.

Besides, let the witch look on what she’s done. Let her remember.

“Sssubtle.”

Daman twitched, startled by the sudden presence of the cuelebre on top of the wardrobe. The serpent was shaking its arrow-shaped head.

“You are dressssssing for battle.”

“I am dressing for company,” Daman said evenly.

The cuelebre snorted. “You may fool yourssself, but you will fool no one elssse.”

“Shall I go naked, then?” Daman asked testily.

“That could be interesssting asss well.”

“Well, then perhaps you’d like to suggest something.” Daman slammed the doors to the wardrobe closed, rattling the furniture so it rocked under the cuelebre. “Go ahead, open the doors. It will reveal whatever style of clothing you think is appropriate.”

The cuelebre’s tongue flicked out. “You’re ssstalling.”

He wanted to argue. Oh, gods, he wanted to argue.

Seconds ticked by, then minutes. Daman stared at the cuelebre, unable to look away, unable to let this moment end for fear of what the next moment would bring.

“I will be here,” the cuelebre said quietly. “I will not leave.”

Daman opened his mouth to make a snide remark about the desirability of the cuelebre’s company, but then he closed it. He nodded once, slowly, in acknowledgement.

With a deeper breath than he’d taken in a long time, Daman left the room. His chest tightened with every step closer he came to the foyer, his nerves winding tighter with every inch. He tried to focus on Maribel, tried to focus on his breathing, tried to focus on anything but the witch waiting for him, the witch who had destroyed his life with a single moment of unbridled fury.

Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who hadn’t been in a hurry for this meeting. He arrived in the main foyer as Maribel was leading her sister inside.

Corrine.

The witch stood beside Maribel dressed in a gown that would have been suited more to the royal court than any other home within a hundred miles. The green satin was trimmed with velvet and silk, the corset hugging her torso and flaring at her hips to give her a perfect hourglass shape. The sleeves ended in deep points that fell to mid thigh on her—a ridiculous impracticality for anyone who actually had to work for a living. Which Corrine didn’t. Her face was carefully blank, brown eyes revealing nothing of her thoughts.

Daman’s mind superimposed the past over the present. The ghost of Corrine flew into his arms like a wild arrow, brown hair so dark it was nearly black flying behind her like a flag. She’d hit his chest with the force of a gale wind, the blood on her arms smearing over his shirt as she sobbed, begging him to take her in.

“My father lost his fortune… He is so angry all the time… He beats me… I am a slave in my own home.”

Her voice echoed around him. He blinked, skin tingling under his armor with the memory of Corrine’s body in his arms, the scent of tears and blood filling the air. He could still remember the way she’d pressed her soft body against his human form, the way she’d snuggled against him as if she were some kind of animal scent-marking him, claiming him as her own. He had never been a man to take advantage of a woman in distress, and he’d been a perfect gentleman, comforting Corrine and giving her privacy to bathe and change. It was only after she’d stood before him dressed in clean clothes and having scrubbed the dried blood from her body that he’d realized the blood hadn’t been hers.

“Daman?”

Daman startled, realizing that Maribel was speaking to him. There was concern in her eyes, the blue orbs shining with unspoken questions. He had a moment of warmth that she should care about the turmoil raging inside of him. He started to reassure her that he was fine, but then Maribel stepped forward and to the side, putting herself between him and Corrine.

His burgeoning smile died on his lips. Her concern was not for him. It was for the witch who stood silently behind her.

“Maribel, perhaps this was not a wise idea.” Corrine took a step back, shoulders hunching as if anticipating a strike. “He does not want me here.”

“No,” Maribel said slowly, firmly. “No, it’s all right. Isn’t it, Daman?”

Oh, I want her here. Daman pushed away the thought and the vicious inclinations that accompanied it. He bared his teeth in what he hoped would pass for a smile.

“Of course, you are welcome here.”

Daman forced himself to bow, keeping his eyes on his new guest. “Welcome to my home.” He nearly choked on the last words, but if Maribel noticed, she didn’t say anything. Instead, she beamed at him and then Corrine. Her expression for her sister said, “See? I told you it would be all right.”

So optimistic.

“It’s so kind of you to have me here after how terribly our meeting went last time,” Corrine said haltingly, prompted by something in Maribel’s face. Her eyes dropped to the floor as if she were having a hard time meeting his eyes. “Maribel has told me how kind you’ve been to her. It’s clear that you…care for her. She’s helped me realize that perhaps the last time we met… Maybe I overreacted.”

Daman bit back the response that leapt to his lips, managing at the last minute to twist them into a brief nod of acceptance. The tension in his shoulders threatened to tear the muscles from his bones and leave him gasping in agony on the floor, but he swallowed it back, fought to keep it from his face under the weight of Maribel’s watchful eyes. He was still struggling to hold himself together when Corrine continued.

“I’m going to try to undo what I did.” She brushed at some dirt on her dress, caressing the soft fabric. “My magic isn’t as strong as I’d like, and I’m still learning, but…” She squared her shoulders and faced him like a soldier preparing for battle. “I will try my best.”

Try? Try? Daman held his breath, desperate to keep any words or sounds from escaping his mouth. I cannot do this, I cannot do this, what in the name of the gods led me to believe I could do this?

“Daman, I’ve been telling Corrine about how good you’ve been to me.” Maribel took Corrine’s arm in hers, linking them together, but her gaze stayed focused on Daman’s face. “I’ve explained to her that no matter what happens, I’ll be staying here. With you.”

Daman’s mouth fell open. For a moment, he was a fish out of water, lips parting and closing helplessly as his brain tried to process what was happening. Maribel hid her mouth behind her hand, her eyes shining with amusement.

Finally, he managed to get a hold of himself. He was smiling, responding to Maribel’s merriment with his own, feeling lighter than he had in a hundred years. The feeling was so new, so unexpected. He grabbed onto it, held on for dear life. He faced Corrine and his smile grew wider.

The witch looked as though she’d swallowed a bug. She wasn’t glaring at him, or scowling, nothing so obvious as that, but her face had a distinct green tint to it that suggested she wasn’t feeling quite as good as she had prior to Maribel’s announcement. There was a tightness around her eyes that hadn’t been there, a brittleness to her posture.

It was wonderful.

“It is my sincerest hope that tonight we can lay all misunderstandings to rest,” Daman said graciously. He bowed easily, the tension having flown from his shoulders to leave his body supple and energized once again. “I would be very grateful if you could…undo the spell you laid on me the last time we met.” He looked at Maribel. “But if you cannot, I will bear you no ill will. Your curse has inadvertently given me more than I could have ever hoped for.”

He might have been laying it on too thick, but he doubted anyone could blame him. It wasn’t as if Corrine didn’t deserve it. Maribel’s cheeks grew a most becoming shade of pink. Maribel deserved it too.

“I’ll try,” Corrine said, her voice sharp.

Maribel glanced at her and for a moment Daman thought she might say something. He found himself childishly eager to hear Maribel chastise the witch in the way her body language had chastised Daman when she’d put herself between him and Corrine. Corrine’s stomach grumbled, breaking the silence.

“Oh, you must be hungry,” Maribel exclaimed. The frown that had been tugging at her mouth a second ago vanished as she put an arm on her sister’s shoulder. “I’ll fix you some food. Do you want to come with me to the kitchen?”

Corrine kept her eyes on Daman, brown orbs darkening to the color of frozen earth. “I’ll stay here and look through my spellbook. I think Daman has waited long enough.”

Daman studied Corrine, wary of the strange light in her eyes. There was something in those eyes, something reflected in her voice, that had the hairs on the back of his neck standing up.

“Daman?”

Maribel’s voice held a hint of concern and it was enough to snap Daman out of his daze. He smiled at Maribel, though this time it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Of course, of course.” He swept an arm in front of him and addressed Corrine. “If you would come with me into the sitting room, I’m sure you would be more comfortable.”

Was it his imagination, or did Corrine give his armor a deliberate once over?

“Thank you.” Corrine hugged her sister, holding Daman’s gaze over Maribel’s shoulder as she did so. “I’m so happy for you.”

That set off warning bells. Daman’s tail slid back and forth, tension returning to his muscles with the enthusiasm of an old friend. The witch was being far too kind. It would be one thing for her to try and help him, to leave her sister here if that’s what Maribel wished. But there was no way she was happy about it.

Daman’s stomach rolled. If Maribel’s smile grew any wider, it would split her face. She did everything short of clapping her hands as Daman escorted Corrine into the other room. When she discovered Corrine’s true nature, it would crush her.

If she discovers it.

Daman remained standing as Corrine settled herself into a broad-backed armchair beside the hearth. There was no fire, the days had grown warm enough that the house held a comfortable amount of heat without it. Corrine took great care tucking her skirt about her, behaving as though she were about to have her portrait painted instead of preparing for spellwork. Part of Daman expected her to drop the act immediately, to whirl on him and tell him how despicable he was and how she would worsen her curse if he didn’t send her sister home immediately. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she tried to blackmail him, tried again to get him to give over his estate to her or else she would poison Maribel against him.

“I got the spell from here,” Corrine said briskly, drawing a book out of her bag.

The cover of the book was heavy, some sort of thick hide, and too worn for Daman to make out the title. He uncoiled his lower half, rising to see if he could peer into the depths of the bag the book had come from. Corrine quickly closed it, stopping Daman from gleaning any clues to the rest of the bag’s contents.

Suspicion tightened his nerves and Daman moved behind a chair, gripping the back of it to keep his claws busy. Corrine opened the book and scanned its contents, one finger steadily trailing down the parchment. Her brow furrowed in thought as she perused the pages, deftly turning page after page. Suddenly, she gripped the book tighter. The pulse in her throat sped up. Daman found himself gripping the back of the chair he stood behind, leaning forward as excitement flickered inside him as well. His tongue tasted the air in front of him as if he could scent what she’d found.

“What?” he demanded, unable to help himself. He winced at the furrows he’d torn in the chair’s material, the stuffing peeking out in silent accusation of his destruction.

Suddenly, Corrine’s face fell. “A dead end.” She leaned back in her chair, letting the book fall closed in her lap with a depressing and final thump. “There are pages missing.”

Pages… The wood frame of the chair cracked as Daman’s grip closed. His claws burrowed into the wood—the only thing keeping them from the witch’s neck. “What game are you playing?” His voice was hot and rough, a sound dragged over burning coals.

Corrine kept her gaze on the book, refusing to meet his eyes. “This book belonged to a goblin. A girl not far from my own age who was studying with Mother Briar.”

Daman went still, even his breath coming to a dead stop. Jeanne.

Jeanne was a goblin changeling who’d had the misfortune to be left at the tender mercy of Mother Briar. Unlike the sidhe, goblins didn’t give one whit for what happened to their children after they left them and took home chubby pink human babes in their stead. The old witch had abused the poor goblin child with no fear of consequences, treating Jeanne worse than a slave, worse than an animal. The injuries he’d found on the goblin still haunted Daman’s nightmares.

“And you need to speak with this girl,” he guessed, horror dawning inside of him, wrapping flame-tipped fingers around his lungs. “In order to lift the curse.”

“Yes. But I don’t know where to find her.”

Pressure built in Daman’s chest, his temper stirring his insides like a cauldron about to boil over. He hadn’t realized until that moment that part of him had believed Maribel, had believed that Corrine would really lift her curse. The wilting feeling inside of him, the sour, twisting sensation unique to dying hope, fell into the flames of his temper like an offering.

“Do you think I’m sstupid?”

Corrine finally met his eyes, brown orbs perfectly calm. If the sibilance creeping into his voice concerned her, she didn’t show it. “I’m sorry?”

Daman held on to the ruined chair, using it to hold himself in place as every fiber of his being raged at him to leap at the woman who continued to torture him even in the wake of the curse that had stolen his life. The wooden frame groaned, broken boards shattering further as he squeezed.

“Mother Briar ssent you here, didn’t sshe? Sshe ssent you here to find out where Jeanne iss sso sshe can track her down and drag her back to the pit sshe kept her in.”

“The pit… What are you talking about?” Corrine raised a hand and touched the amulet around her neck. Her fingernails clicked against the surface of the crystal and a warm pulse spread through the room. “Mother Briar is a kind old woman. Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for the horrible things people say about witches?” Her voice was full of reproach, condescending and pitying at once. “You don’t believe we’re all evil—”

“I have sseen no evidencce to the contrary.” Before Daman was even aware of his intentions to move, he found himself in front of Corrine’s chair, the thick scales of his lower body pressed against the cushion between her legs, one hand on each side of the chair’s back. “What did the witch promisse you in return for Jeanne’ss location?”

“Nothing!” Corrine squeaked. She pressed back into the chair, trying to get as far away from Daman as possible. “She doesn’t even known I’m here! I came to get Maribel back, that’s all.”

Daman bared his fangs. Corrine’s face drained of all color as she scrabbled to firm her grip on the amulet. He should have backed away, sought some sort of shield, but he was too angry. He leaned closer, flicking his tongue out to taste the air. Fear. “You are jusst like Mother Briar,” he sneered. “Too lazy to do your own work, you need ssomeone to be your sslave. What’ss the matter, Corrine? Did my gold not buy you enough workerss?” He paused. “Or are they mean to you?” he guessed. He tilted his head, studying Corrine’s face. “Iss there not enough gold in that trunk to blind people to the monsster you really are?”

For the first time since Corrine had arrived, a spark of the woman Daman had known showed in her eyes. Her skin tightened over her features and she pressed her mouth into a thin line. She glared at Daman and for a split second, he expected flames to shoot from her eyes. Her hand tightened on the amulet and another waved of magic rolled off of her. Something tickled at the back of Daman’s mind, some sort of warning. Corrine was angry. She was obviously wielding magic. Why wasn’t she striking out at him?

“You think you know me so well,” she ground out, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re so superior. You go around saving changelings, rescuing them from the people their own parents left them with, so determined to see that they get a better life—so sensitive to their suffering.” A muscle in her jaw twitched. “You were kind to me when I came here too, but then you found out I was only human. You have no time for humans, do you? Don’t care as much for their suffering.” Her nose wrinkled. “Except of course for Maribel.”

Daman seethed at hearing Maribel’s name on the witch’s lips. “You were not suffering. You were a spoiled child who wanted to be surrounded with money and servants so you wouldn’t have to work yourself.”

“How would you know what I wanted?” Corrine bit out. “You stopped listening to me as soon as you found out I was human. You couldn’t have cared less what I had to say.”

“I didn’t have to hear what you had to say, I saw it with my own eyes. I went to your father’s farm after you came here, saw for myself what your life was like. I saw your room, heard your father calling to you through the door since he thought you were still there. He begged you to come out and have your supper. His love and concern for you were obvious.”

“And you still don’t hear me, won’t listen to me.” Corrine’s breath hitched, her brown eyes glittering. “You never asked me why I wanted so badly to marry you, to stay here.”

“I didn’t need to ask you,” Daman spit back. “You couldn’t have made it more clear.”

“You think I was desperate to marry a man I didn’t love, who didn’t love me, because I wanted luxury?” Corrine seethed. “That is what you thought of me? Think of me?”

“You used your sister’s blood to fool me, lied to me about your circumstances to manipulate me, and then tried to seduce me,” Daman shot back. “That tells me all I need to know.”

“Of course it does.” Corrine slammed a hand down on the spellbook, glaring at Daman with hot tears in her eyes. “I’m tired of your judgment, your insults. You can stay in that form for all I care, let your anger eat away the rest of your humanity.” She sneered at him. “It’s not like you’re using it anyway. And when your temper finally consumes the rest of you, Maribel’s blood will be on your hands!”

Daman roared, the last shreds of control he had snapping as he reared up, fangs bared. He raised one heavy, clawed hand into the air. The tears spilled down Corrine’s cheeks as he brought his arm down, slashing at the center of her chest.

Something struck his arm a foot away from her body, halting his strike with bone-jarring suddenness. Pain jolted down his limb, rattling the bone as magic prickled over his nerves in a sensation like buzzing insects. Daman’s lips parted as he gaped at Corrine. Magic. She’d used magic to form some sort of protective shield around herself. She’d wanted him to attack her, had been goading him all along. Which meant…

“Daman, no!”

Maribel’s voice shattered the sudden silence in the room, pierced the heated fog surrounding Daman. Dishes crashed to the floor as Maribel dove forward, shoving Daman away from Corrine.

Daman didn’t fight her, couldn’t collect his wits enough to do more than fall away. The fury that had been so hot a moment ago had frozen to hard, painful slivers of ice in his veins.

Daman couldn’t move. The coil of his lower body had become heavy stone, his arm where Maribel had shoved him away ached in a way that had nothing to do with physical pain. Maribel was staring at him, not with anger or horror…but with hurt. Tears shone in her eyes, melting them to pools of blue so deep he could have drowned in them.

Those eyes would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Every scale on his body grew heavier, the fangs in his mouth growing larger until even closing his mouth didn’t erase the thought of them from his mind, the image he knew must have greeted Maribel when she’d walked into the room. He would have appeared as a monster in her eyes, a beast intent on killing one of the people she loved most in this world. His attention flicked between Maribel and Corrine. The bond between them was as palpable as the distance between Maribel and himself.

There was nothing he could say to salvage the situation. No accusation he could rally against the witch that wouldn’t cement the picture of him as the aggressor, not when he’d been caught mid-attack and she was cowering behind a shield, sobbing like a child.

A thousand words fought to escape his lips, but they all died on his tongue under the weight of Maribel’s tears, the overwhelming sense of disappointment, of…loss. A howl built in his chest, gaining volume and power as it rose. He had to get out, get away before that sound broke free.

He fled the room.

Chapter Thirteen

“Shhh, it’s okay.”

Maribel stroked Corrine’s hair over and over, though whether she was doing it to calm her sister or herself, she couldn’t be sure. Her mind was a jumble of thoughts and emotions too fractured to be rational. Daman holding her in his arms, kissing her. Daman standing in his room amidst destruction he’d wrought. Daman baring fangs longer than some kitchen knives, wicked, curved claws slashing at a crying Corrine.

Daman looking at her as though his entire world had fallen apart.

“What was I thinking? Great Goddess, what was I thinking? Bringing you here…”

“You love him,” Corrine said, her voice thick with tears. “You wanted to believe the best of him, to have faith in him. I don’t begrudge you that.” Her voice broke. “I’m sorry I’ve ruined everything for you.”

“Oh, Corrine, you haven’t ruined anything.” Maribel held her closer, partly to reassure herself, and partly to keep her sister from seeing her face. Maribel didn’t know what emotion her sister might find there. She didn’t know what she was feeling herself. Or maybe she didn’t want to know.

“But I did! I know you, Maribel. I know you love me, and I know you love him, and I know that you’ll never let yourself truly be with him while you feel it’s a betrayal to me.” She took a ragged breath and a fresh wave of tears soaked Maribel’s shoulder.

A betrayal. Is that what it would be to love him now? Maribel closed her eyes. Was that why she’d brought Corrine here? Why she’d ignored her better sense, ignored the voice inside her head that had told her in no uncertain terms that she’d be insane to bring her sister into the home of the man she’d cursed? Had she needed Daman to prove that he could forgive Corrine, that the two could coexist, before she gave her heart to the half-monster who’d won her without even trying?

Ha. Who am I kidding? He won me trying not to.

“Corrine, what happened? For a while it seemed…” It seemed like I could have everyone I love in my life. “It seemed like you two could get along.”

Corrine pulled back and wiped at her eyes. “Oh, Maribel, he’s never going to forgive me. He thinks I’m evil and nothing I say will change that.”

Maribel pressed her lips together. Every word out of her sister’s mouth showed Daman in a worse and worse light, but there had to be something that had tipped the scales. Daman had allowed Corrine into his home, had claimed he was willing to give her a chance. For a moment back there—

What? For a moment you thought it wasn’t going to matter? Like he was going to throw up his hands and say he didn’t care about the curse anymore as long as he could be with you?

The voice in her head was mocking, derisive. Maribel shut it out, clenching her teeth as she fought to concentrate. Something must have happened to destroy that careful balance between Daman and Corrine, and if she could understand what that thing had been, then maybe… “What. Happened?” she asked again.

Corrine’s eyes flicked over Maribel’s face for a moment—an assessment. “I told him it wasn’t my spell. It was Jeanne’s, a goblin girl who used to live with Mother Briar. I don’t know how to break the spell, so I need Jeanne’s help.” Her lower lip trembled. “Daman doesn’t believe me. He thinks Mother Briar told me to say that so I could get him to tell me where Jeanne is.”

“Jeanne is a changeling?” The word tasted strange in Maribel’s mouth. It was a word that could apparently be applied to her. My father is not my father. Corrine is not my sister. My mother… She shoved those thoughts away, locked them behind a solid door in her mind and chained it closed, throwing away the key. She wasn’t ready to think about that. She didn’t know if she’d ever be able to think about that.

“Yes. Daman stole her away from Mother Briar.”

“Against her will?”

Corrine shrugged. “I don’t know. Daman claims that Mother Briar was mistreating Jeanne, but…” She shoved a hand through her hair. “It doesn’t matter. Without Jeanne’s help, I can’t lift the spell.” The chain holding the amulet around her neck clinked as she fingered the crystal. “I told him that and he got angry. So angry…”

“He has trouble controlling his temper.” Maribel rubbed her hand over her lap, trying to warm her hands that suddenly felt as though she’d bathed them in ice water. “It’s part of the curse.”

Corrine stiffened. For a moment, Maribel would have sworn she was angry, her chest filling with a sharp inhale as if preparing to shout. Then Corrine sagged against her.

“You’re mad at me too. You still want him.”

Maribel gently extricated herself from Corrine, but kept a hold of her hands. It was true, she did care for Daman. She wasn’t ready to write him off yet, not without hearing his side of the story. But Corrine was her sister— in every way that mattered. Even if she wasn’t blood… Maribel pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to calm the burgeoning headache forming there.

“Your curse has inadvertently given me more than I could have ever hoped for.”

The memory of those words mocked her now, taunting her with a happiness that seemed like a poor joke. Had he meant those words when he’d said them? If he had, what on earth could have pushed him to the edge so quickly?

Corrine laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. “I came back thinking I was going to rescue you, and here you don’t want to leave.”

“Corrine—”

“No.” Corrine stood up, brushing off her skirts, obviously avoiding eye contact. “No, you’re happier here.” She snorted. “I can’t blame you. It must be nice to live in such luxury, especially after the hard life you had on the farm.”

“Actually, I do the same work here that I did at home.” Maribel stiffened, her tone sharpening in self-defense. “I still cook, and I still work outside in the garden.” She didn’t mention anything about how much easier it was here, now that she could work without interruptions, or about how Daman was always very appreciative and interested in her cooking.

Corrine opened her mouth then closed it again. Her brown eyes twitched from side to side, scanning Maribel’s face. She tilted her head, looked Maribel up and down. There was a question in that gaze that needed an answer. Maribel shifted uncomfortably, feeling like livestock up for auction under that level of scrutiny. Finally Corrine rubbed the bridge of her nose.

“I want to help him, Maribel. But if I’m going to break that spell, you need to convince him to tell me where Jeanne is. I’ll go to her myself and ask for the counterspell. Maybe he’ll trust you enough to tell you.”

Maribel’s spirit rose and she leaned closer to Corrine. “You would still help him?”

“Of course I would.” Corrine offered her a half smile. “I’m really not all bad.”

“Oh, Corrine.” Maribel drew her into a hug, holding her tight for a moment as gentle waves of guilt lapped against her. “I know you’re not bad.”

“How?”

Corrine’s voice was small, muffled against Maribel’s shoulder. The vulnerability in that voice stabbed at Maribel and she tightened her hold.

“Because you’re my sister. Because you’re terrified of going anywhere by yourself, or exerting yourself, but you did both because you were worried about me. Because you can see feelings in me that I’ve only barely acknowledged, and you’re trying to help me to be happy even if…”

Even if the man I care for hates you, tried to hurt you. Even if being with him means I’ll be leaving you behind.

At some point the hug changed, became more about Corrine comforting her than the reverse.

“I love you, Maribel.”

“I love you too.”

They stayed like that for a long minute, locked together, each one offering comfort and receiving it in return. It was a reflection of how things used to be when they were young, if they were frightened, or even just sad. It was comforting in a way Maribel hadn’t expected, but had needed nonetheless.

Finally, Maribel pulled back. Corrine dropped her gaze, not meeting Maribel’s eyes.

“I can’t help him if he won’t tell me where Jeanne is,” she said, her voice thick with some emotion Maribel couldn’t quite identify. “Get him to tell you where she is, and I’ll do everything in my power to undo the damage I did.” Her voice grew hoarse and she cleared her throat. “I’m sure he’ll trust you enough to tell you.”

“Corrine, are you all right?” Maribel touched Corrine’s arm, flinching when her sister jerked away.

“I’m fine.” Corrine half-shrugged. “Only I’m…so tired. Would it be all right… Is there a room where I could rest before going home?”

“Oh, Corrine, I’m so sorry. I’ve been going on and on about me, about my problems, and here you’re probably ready to collapse.”

Nice. Ask her to help the man who tried to cut her to ribbons and completely ignore the fact that she travelled all the way here by herself.

“Of course I can show you to a room where you can rest. Follow me.”

They stood and Corrine paused, gaze fixed on the mess where Maribel had dropped the dinner tray. Chunks of chicken and thick slices of mushroom lay in a nest of broken crockery, all of it spattered with thick white sauce. The scent of tender shallots and warm Marsala wine perfumed the air, still enough to tempt Maribel’s senses despite the dinner’s ruined state.

“Chicken Marsala.” Corrine inhaled deeply and her stomach growled. “Now that is a sad sight.”

“I have more,” Maribel offered. “The sauce is keeping warm over the fire, and it doesn’t take long to cut up a bit more chicken.”

Corrine shuffled over to the mess and started to kneel. Maribel’s lips parted in shock as she plucked pieces of broken plate from the ground.

“Let me help you clean up this mess,” Corrine said, still eyeing the food as though she wanted to cry.

“I…” Maribel cut herself off from the automatic response that wanted to assure Corrine that she didn’t need to do that, that Maribel could clean it up. She squared her shoulders. If Corrine wanted to help, that was good—admirable. “Thank you,” Maribel told her seriously, kneeling beside her to help.

Corrine nodded, but didn’t speak. They worked together for a while, gathering what they could and piling it onto the silver tray. There was only so much good the napkins could do them, so they had to leave somewhat of a mess behind, but Maribel assured Corrine that it would be taken care of. They were both silent for several minutes as Maribel led Corrine to a room, careful to choose one as far from Daman’s quarters as she could.

Finally the silence started to feel uncomfortable. Maribel glanced at Corrine and noticed the amulet around her neck. She recalled the scene she’d interrupted between Corrine and Daman, remembered seeing her sister holding the amulet in her fist.

“That amulet is new, isn’t it?” she asked.

Corrine automatically raised a hand to touch the item in question. She looked down at the gold-encased crystal. “Yes. Mother Briar helped me make it. She took some of my blood and infused it with her own magic, then used it to make this crystal.” She tapped a fingernail on the slick surface of the glittering red stone. “It gives me power to fuel my spells.”

“It sounds like you’ve been making a lot of progress.” Her voice came out higher than usual, exited. Maribel winced as she realized how she must sound. “I meant, it sounds like you’re becoming the powerful witch you always wanted to be,” she amended quickly. “I wasn’t trying to—”

“It’s all right,” Corrine interrupted. A strained smile tugged at her lips. “I know what you meant.” She dropped the amulet and ran her hands down the silky surface of her skirt. “I don’t want to get your hopes up though. This amulet is Mother Briar’s magic, not mine. It’ll need recharged soon.”

“Still, the spell I saw you using seemed impressive.” Maribel tried to keep her voice encouraging even as Corrine’s words pricked at her high expectations for her sister’s ability to end Daman’s curse.

“A basic shield spell.” Corrine snorted. “Child’s play for any witch with even a speck of talent.”

She obviously didn’t want to speak of her magic, so Maribel gave up. They journeyed the rest of the way to the room in silence. Finally Maribel stopped at a door.

“You can use this room. I’ll come in and help get you settled—”

“This isn’t my first time here, Maribel, remember?”

Maribel’s teeth clacked as she shut her mouth abruptly. “Oh, right.”

Tension crept between them, a sudden awkwardness that hadn’t been there a moment ago. Corrine cleared her throat.

“I’m tired, so I’m going to go lie down.”

“Okay,” Maribel said, perhaps too quickly. “I’ll bring you up some food.”

Corrine opened the door and stepped into the room. She turned to close the door, but then paused. “Maribel?”

“Yes?”

“I’m glad you’re happy. Just… Try to get him to tell you where Jeanne is. I can’t help him if he won’t trust you enough to tell you.”

There was something about the way she said that last part that sounded out of place, a hesitation to her voice like there was more she wasn’t saying. Was Corrine trying to tell her something?

Mother Briar’s words came back to her, the story of how trust was the key to breaking Daman’s curse. Was this part of that? Was this the proof of his trust? Maribel searched Corrine’s face for some sign, some clue. “All right. I’ll try my best.”

Corrine nodded, but there was that same hesitation in her body language, the tension in her shoulders and arms screaming at Maribel that there was more she wanted to say. Before she could push, Corrine closed the door gently, but firmly.

Maribel hovered in the hallway, her mind tearing her in a thousand different directions at once. Should she stay and press Corrine for more information? Was she making a mistake keeping her here? Would Daman trust her with Jeanne’s location? Would he let Corrine leave unmolested if she couldn’t lift his curse?

At some point, she must have started walking, because suddenly Maribel found herself standing in front of the door to Daman’s room. She stopped and listened, holding her breath as she strained to hear any evidence that Daman was lost to his temper again. It wasn’t until several long moments dragged by in complete silence that Maribel realized she’d expected to hear rending cloth, shattering glass and ceramic, splintering wood.

Perhaps he’s destroyed it all already, she wondered, remembering the state of his room earlier.

“Daman?” she ventured carefully. She knocked on the door, then pressed her ear to the heavy, polished wood. “Daman, are you in there?”

There was no answer, but she heard something. The heavy slide of scales against stone and something else, something softer. It was familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. She had her answer, though. Daman was in there and he was moving. She tried to picture him and what he might be doing inside and an image popped into her head of the carnage she’d witnessed the last time she’d been in that room.

Suddenly she questioned the wisdom of standing there with her head pressed to the door. She didn’t believe Daman would ever willingly hurt her—even seeing what he’d tried to do to Corrine didn’t change that. Still, if he lashed out in a fit of temper, not knowing how close she was to the door… She backed away a few steps.

“Daman, may I come in?”

There was a burst of movement, something scraping the stone, something different than the now familiar slide of scales, but still a sound she knew but couldn’t place.

“Oh, this is ridiculous,” Maribel muttered. She grabbed the door handle. “I’m coming in.” Without waiting for an answer, she turned the handle and shoved the solid door open, well-oiled hinges not making a sound.

The room was spotless.

Well, not spotless. There was still some dust on the floor, some jagged glass fragments sticking out of the window frames. And the mattress still bore deep gouges bulging with stuffing. But the broken vases and statues, the shattered wooden furniture, and the scraps of ruined blankets were all gone.

Daman stood in the corner. His hair stuck up at odd angles as though he’d been tugging on it, some of the pale strands coated in the dust dancing merrily through the air. Maribel’s lips parted as she noticed he was holding a dustpan and a brush. The sound she’d heard, the one she’d known but couldn’t place. It had been the sound of a broom and dustpan.

She closed her mouth, wrinkling her nose at the sensation of dust coating the tip of her tongue. Waving her hand in front of her face to disperse the dust provided a distraction for her mind as her eyes continued an unabashed examination of the naga.

He was no longer wearing the glittering mail shirt that he’d worn to greet Corrine—or anything else for that matter. Rather he stood before her bare—in more ways than one. There was a raw look in his silver eyes, a slight hunch to his shoulders. He stood there like a man expecting bad news. The pain she saw in his eyes stole her breath.

She must have stared at him longer than she thought because he finally gave in and spoke first.

“You came back.” His voice was low, hoarse with dust, emotion, or both. Slowly, he leaned down to place the brush and dustpan on the floor, his serpentine body more graceful than any biped could ever hope to be. “You came back…again.”

“You cleaned up.” Brilliant, Maribel, lovely opening.

Daman’s eyes didn’t waver from her face, as if he were afraid if he looked away she would vanish. “I had to believe you would come back. I wanted to show you…” He started to gesture at the room, stopped. “I wanted… I don’t know what I wanted.” Frustration pinched his mouth and he shoved a hand through his hair. “I didn’t want you to see me like you did last time.” He gestured around the room, the movement jerky, almost angry. “Sitting in ruins like some sort of barbarian.”

It was strange to be standing there talking about the room’s state of cleanliness when they were both thinking about Corrine, and what had happened in the sitting room. It wasn’t lost on Maribel that whether Daman realized it or not, what he was doing by cleaning his room was trying to show Maribel that he was in control. She knew a little something about organizing the world around her when the world inside of her was…a bit conflicted.

“Do you want to talk about what happened back there?” She kept her voice calm, nonjudgmental. Open.

Daman’s face tightened, but to his credit, he didn’t look away. “Are you offering me a choice?”

“I am. We don’t have to talk about it. I know you well enough to know you met with my sister with the best of intentions.” She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “And it’s not as if you haven’t told me from the beginning that you…struggle…to control your temper.”

Something in Daman’s eyes sharpened suddenly and he leaned toward her ever so slightly. There was a scrutiny in his expression that had every nerve in Maribel’s body alive and buzzing with awareness.

“You know your sister goaded me,” he said slowly, his voice low with something akin to awe. “You… You are not convinced she was the victim she played so convincingly.”

Maribel snapped her mouth closed. Heat rushed to her head and her hands fluttered around her, helpless to do anything with the nervous energy suddenly sizzling along her skin. Deny it! a voice screamed inside her. She is your sister!

“Perhaps we don’t have to talk about it,” she managed meekly.

The intensity remained in Daman’s eyes as he slid toward her, his posture improving as if a weight had been lifted from him. The black slit that bisected his silver irises grew wider, and Maribel could suddenly see her face reflected in his gaze. She looked…mesmerized.

“You still want to stay with me.”

Maribel’s throat went dry. He was so close. The heat from his body kissed her skin and she could already imagine the weight of his scales pressing against her legs, could practically feel his arms sliding around her waist. She leaned closer to him.

“Yes.”

There was something she was supposed to tell him, ask him. Or something she should be doing. Whatever it was, it was lost when his mouth closed over hers.

He tasted exactly as she remembered, hot with a trace of the flavors she’d used in her last meal. Sweet Marsala wine. She moaned and deepened the kiss, parting her lips in invitation. Daman’s arms tightened around her, dragged her against his chest.

She inhaled sharply at the first touch of his forked tongue against her own, the sensation strange and new. Tension sprang to life in Daman’s arms and he started to pull back, arms stiffening as if to push her away. A small sound of protest escaped Maribel’s throat and she threw her arms around his neck and hung on.

Daman stilled, hesitating, then a deep chuckle reverberated in his chest. Maribel swallowed the sound, pleased when he continued the kiss. Tentatively, she drew her tongue over his, playing with the different points. Daman’s breath quickened, became more ragged.

He pulled away with a gasp. His mouth moved, but no words came out. The black slits of his eyes had thinned, nearly vanished. The sight tightened things low in Maribel’s body and for a long minute she could do nothing more than stare into those eyes.

“You…” Daman started. His voice was hoarse and he had to swallow before continuing. “You understand now that my curse has nothing to do with love or trust. Your…feelings for me will change nothing. Your sister will not—or cannot—lift the curse. I am now as I will always be.”

“I don’t care,” Maribel said fiercely. She stroked one hand through his hair, laughing at the dust that rose into the air. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.”

Daman leaned closer, laid a gentle kiss on her lips. “A most pleasing situation.”

Warmth blossomed in Maribel’s chest as his lips slid from her mouth across her jaw in a trail of gentle kisses. Suddenly she remembered what it was she’d come to ask him.

“I don’t care what form you have,” she managed, closing her eyes as he laid a particularly hot kiss against the pulse at her throat. “But you should know you may still have a choice.”

Daman went still in her arms, that strange, alien stillness that no human could attain. “What?”

“My…my sister says she may still be able to lift the curse.” Maribel pulled back so she could think. “She just needs a little help.”

The air changed, cooling between them even as he still held her in his arms, only inches away from his chest. Something snagged at her dress and some distant point of Maribel’s mind registered the fact that his claws were dancing at the small of her back, sharp tips catching the material of her bodice.

“Does she now?” Daman took a deep, slow breath. “And would this help need to come in the form of a goblin girl?”

His scales shone in the light streaming through the shattered windows, illuminating his heaving shoulders and the tip of his twitching tail. His eyes gleamed more than human eyes ever could, the black slit down the middle emphasized by the brilliance of the silver. His tongue flicked out from between his lips. Was he doing that on purpose as he had before, intending to intimidate her, drive her away?

A wave of unease washed through Maribel’s stomach, but she pushed it back. “She doesn’t have to come back here, I just need to speak with her. Won’t you trust me to let me do that?”

“Oh, so now it is a matter of whether or not I trust you?” Daman pulled away, his face closing down until he wore the same indifferent mask he’d worn so often when they’d first met. “Let me guess, your dear sister has told you that if I trust you, I will give you Jeanne’s location.”

Maribel bristled at his tone.  “I told you once that I didn’t care what form you’re in. I still don’t.”

Daman’s jaw twitched, but he nodded. “I believe you.”

“But it’s also clear to me that whether or not I care…you care. I have to wonder if you’ll ever be really okay with yourself if this curse isn’t broken. If you’ll ever be able to…let me close to you.” A blush tickled her cheeks, tried to distract her from what she was trying to say, but Maribel stubbornly ignored it.

Daman averted his eyes, peering out the broken windows. Shadows danced through his eyes, over his face. The sun was setting and for a moment that dying light was the only warmth on Daman’s features.

“I do trust you,” he said finally. There was a tiredness around his eyes when he faced her again, an exhaustion in the way his shoulders sagged. “But even if Corrine is being truthful, and she wants to find Jeanne for no other reason than to ask for her help, I could never betray Jeanne by revealing her location. I swore to her the day I pulled her out of Mother Briar’s grasping clutches that she would be safe, that no one would ever find her. Not even to save my own sanity could I betray her trust.” His gaze grew unfocused, as if he wasn’t seeing anything now before him. “That trust was not easily given. It is far too precious to break.”

Maribel studied him carefully, her heart softening. “It sounds like she meant a great deal to you.”

“They all do,” Daman said simply. “So many changelings are left by their parents. There are all kinds of reasons. The sidhe do it to keep their bloodlines strong, to bring in fresh blood. The goblins and trolls often do it because they find human babes more appealing than their own kin. And then there are others who do it out of boredom, or to chase some random prophecy or another. Whatever the reason, it is seldom that they do their research before leaving their child. They assume that humans will care for the creature they think is their own, and they leave it at that.”

His eyes sharpened and he once again focused on Maribel, grim determination etched in the lines of his face. “But that is not always the case. Mother Briar knew in a moment that the child screaming in the cradle was not hers. She kept her anyway—probably because there is more work to be gotten from a goblin girl than a human child. But the way she treated Jeanne…” He shook his head, as if the end to that sentence was too horrible to vocalize.

It wasn’t until that moment that Maribel realized what was truly driving Daman mad. “Daman, what have you done since you stopped rescuing changelings?”

“What have I done?” His tail slashed across the floor, flinging up a fresh cloud of dust. “I have done nothing. I am far from my homeland and there are very few creatures who are familiar with my kind around here. To the changelings of this land, I am a monster, something to terrify, not comfort. They are already abused, taught that the world is a hateful, violent place. They do not trust easily, and this form makes it difficult to even approach them, let alone gain their trust enough to convince them to come with me, to let me help them.”

“Oh, Daman, you can’t just turn off that kind of passion, that kind of dedication.” Maribel took his face in her hands, cupping his jaw in her palms. He vibrated in her grip, silver eyes shining with some sort of inner light. She smiled ruefully at him. “No wonder you feel like you’re going insane.”

“Nagas do not change their purpose once they have found it,” Daman whispered, his voice a bitter mix of longing and despair. “I cannot simply take up a new mission.”

“Do all nagas work alone?”

Daman frowned, his handsome face twisting with the expression as he focused on her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Your problem is that you cannot approach the changelings because you are physically frightening. You need them to know you mean them no harm, you need them to know you before they see you.” She raised her eyebrows. “You need an introduction.”

She could see the moment he realized what she was suggesting.

“You… You want to help me.” His brow furrowed, eyes going hazy as his mind turned the idea over. “So…I would find the changelings, but you would approach them first. You would get to know them—”

“And after I’ve earned their trust, I would tell them I know someone who could help them,” Maribel finished. “I would introduce you in a controlled way, after preparing them.”

Daman dropped his head, no longer meeting her eyes. His entire body trembled, a violent shaking that had Maribel’s heart leaping into her throat.

“Oh, Goddess, did I say something wrong?” She tightened her grip on his face, tried to make him look at her. He resisted her efforts, shaking his head, and her heart pounded ferociously in her chest. “Daman, please, tell—”

A strangled cry tore from somewhere deep in Daman’s chest. The next thing Maribel knew, she was being crushed against his chest, his mouth covering hers in a possessive, searing kiss.

Chapter Fourteen

Daman’s head spun under the wave of heat that flowed from where his mouth was pressed to Maribel’s, melting down his body to pool below his waist. She tasted as sweet as he remembered, her lips the same velvety texture that haunted his dreams. Her words echoed in his ears, dragging hope kicking and screaming from the depths of his body.

She wanted to stay, no matter what his physical form, she wanted to stay—she wanted him. To be offered a chance to get his life back, the purpose he lived for, he needed to keep him sane, on top of that was…

A surge of passion washed over him and he wrapped his arms tighter around her waist, careful not to drag his claws over her body as he held her like a lifeline. She’d done herself in now—he’d never let her go.

Maribel moaned into his mouth, her sharp intake of breath stoking the flames inside of him. It took more effort than it should have to keep from deepening the kiss. His fangs retracted against the roof of his mouth, but there was still a good chance Maribel could cut herself if the kiss went too far. Adrenaline was adrenaline, and he had very little practice with passionate kissing in this form.

This was a dream. It had to be a dream. Somewhere in reality, Maribel was running as fast as she could away from him, her arm around her two-faced sister. She’d come in at such a horrible moment, caught him at his worst, towering over her sister with what must have been a demonic expression on his face, fangs bared. She wouldn’t have stayed. She wouldn’t have come to him when her sister was working so hard to poison her against him.

Maribel pressed her lower body against his, her hips sliding against his scales. A growl trickled unbidden from his throat, his body rolling in an undulating motion against her. He swallowed the sharp gasp that fell from her lips, the taste of her desire sending a fresh wave of liquid heat through his veins. His head swam as a ferocious urge to drag her to the ground tightened his muscles, demanded that he take what she offered so willingly.

Daman broke the kiss with a sharp inhalation of breath, the last scrap of sanity he’d managed to retain warning him that he was letting things go too far.

Stop now. Don’t throw it all away.

Maribel’s head fell back, exposing the long, pale line of her throat. Daman’s honorable intentions to put some distance between them melted away, the light scent of vanilla wafting up from her delicate flesh beckoning him closer, drawing him in to taste that silken flesh.

Memories overwhelmed him, reminding him of days spent in the garden, nights spent hovering in the kitchen, watching Maribel coax untold delights from the simplest of ingredients. Even now he could see the pleasure on her face, the slight quirk at the corner of her mouth as she swatted him away from tasting the meal before it was finished. Those were the nights he couldn’t sleep, kept awake by thoughts of what he couldn’t have, of the day she would leave and never return. The day he would scare her away for good.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

He groaned in surrender as he dropped his mouth to her silky flesh, dragging hot kisses against her skin, tasting the scent of the garden that always clung to her.

Maribel’s hands slid over his shoulders, trailing along the thick ridges there. Despite the half-crazed desire pounding a throbbing beat against his skull, Daman froze. Maribel’s fingers danced over his scales, stroked the heavy silver flesh that was more like armor than skin. The urge to pull away seized him and it took every ounce of his self-control to remain where he was.

“The only one who has a problem with your form is you.”

He would never convince changelings not to be afraid of him if he couldn’t be comfortable with himself. Maribel cared for him, had no fear of this form. He would not get a more welcoming reception, so perhaps it was best to start here.

He concentrated on breathing through his nerves, holding still as Maribel’s fingers slid into his hair and combed through the short strands. His heart slammed against his ribcage with every beat, his nerves taut as he let her explore as she would, waited for her reaction. She’d already kissed him, had been sprawled over his body, but she’d never touched his scales this way. It would make it harder to ignore what he was, harder to imagine he was human.

She lifted her head and gazed at him, her eyes cloudy with desire and a lazy smile on her lips. One hand slid from his hair and she ran a fingertip lightly over the heavily scaled ridge over his eye, following the curve around to his cheekbone. Bit by bit, tension eased from his body as she touched him, caressing the parts of him that should have scared her away.

A heavy, languid feeling wove through his muscles, making his body pliable. He didn't even realize his tail was moving until the thick coil had risen behind Maribel, pressing against her and holding her to him.

She pulled his head closer for another kiss and Daman surrendered, releasing the last of his worries, his insecurities. His mind was fracturing, breaking apart and rebuilding into something better, stronger. He didn’t have the concentration to worry anymore, not when there was so much else that required his…attention.

Maribel traced her tongue over his lips and he parted them willingly, letting her dart inside his mouth to explore as she would. He held as still as the desire coursing through him would allow, willing her to be careful, but not warning her away. Her tongue found his fangs, and Maribel slowed the kiss, carefully avoiding the sharp points as she continued to explore with small licks and playful nips.

By the time she pulled away, Daman’s head was spinning, a heated mess of pleasure and desire. He stared down at the willing woman in his arms, hungry for more of her, tormented by thoughts of her pale, naked body spread out before him. Never in his life had he wanted a woman so badly.

Her fingers trailed down his chest, not stopping at his waist. A half-choke escaped his mouth and he grabbed her wrists, closing his eyes as if not seeing her would give him back some semblance of control.

“Maribel,” he rasped.

Maribel went still and he opened his eyes to see a deep blush staining her cheeks. She met his eyes, but the strain in her neck betrayed how hard she had to try to keep from looking away.

“Don’t you want—”

Daman nearly swallowed his tongue, the huskiness in her voice very nearly too much for his increasingly fragile self-control. “Yes,” he said hoarsely, not strong enough to let her finish that sentence. He swallowed hard. “But you deserve more than… I can’t ask you to…” Words abandoned him as quickly as his sanity and all he could do was look down at his draconic half.

Understanding dawned in Maribel’s sapphire blue eyes. “It’s okay,” she said softly.

“No. It’s not. I can’t…”

The color in Maribel’s face deepened to a near-purple hue. “Can’t?”

An answering heat started at Daman’s neck and consumed the flesh between it and his hairline like wildfire. “Not like that,” he mumbled. “I can, but I…” He cleared his throat, consciously pulling his tail away from the small of her back, forcing himself to withdraw his arms from her waist. “I couldn’t ask you to—”

Maribel frowned at his retreat, but didn’t move to hold onto him. Her hands slid away from his body as he pulled back and she wrapped her arms around herself as if she were suddenly cold.

“Corrine says that without Jeanne’s help, she can’t lift the curse.”

Daman tensed, blinking through the haze that clouded his mind in the wake of Maribel’s kiss. “So you said,” he said carefully. Unease trailed sharp claws down his back. Hadn’t they already discussed this?

Maribel kept her eyes on the floor for several long moments. “You won’t tell her where Jeanne is. And you won’t go see Jeanne, ask her for the rest of the spell yourself?”

Every nerve in Daman’s body tightened, one by one, slowing the maddening flow of desire through his veins. “It would be too risky. I never see the changelings again after I’ve found them new homes. There is too great a risk that the ones who abused them might follow me and I would never lead such danger into their lives.”

“Then you’ll be in this form forever,” Maribel said, almost too quietly for him to hear.

The tightening of his nerves increased, causing a sickening sensation in Daman’s stomach. He forced himself to keep looking at Maribel, scanning her face for some sign of where her thoughts were, what her purpose was for this line of conversation. A voice in his head was screaming at him to give her whatever she wanted, do or say anything to get her back into his arms. A voice from lower in his body bellowed at him for ever letting her out of his arms to begin with.

“Yes.” He steeled himself against the shriveling hope being strangled inside of him. He could not betray Jeanne’s trust. Not for any reason.

Maribel raised her eyes to his and stepped closer until a deep breath would have had them touching. “Then that bares the question, will you keep yourself from me forever?”

“I—What?”

Maribel held his gaze as she touched his chest, slowly trailed her hand down. Daman’s skin sizzled with an anticipatory buzz and his throat went dry.

“Your scales don’t bother me,” Maribel said firmly, sliding her hand farther down until it brushed his ribs. “Your tail doesn’t bother me.” Her fingers danced over his stomach, trailing the line of scales that led farther, farther down. “Your teeth and claws don’t bother me.” She stopped, holding his gaze, her hands closer than she knew to the point of no return. “If this is to be who you are, then this is who I want to be with.”

Molten heat flowed up Daman’s body, melting his veins until the fire from his blood spilled through the rest of him. He couldn’t think, could barely see.

“Maribel,” he choked.

She stopped then, tilted her head. Words failed him as she slowly raised her hand to lift her hair off of her neck, pivoted slowly until her back was to him.

“Help me?”

Daman stared dumbly at the fastenings of her dress. Laces and buttons mocked him, suddenly requiring great feats of intellectual and physical skill that were far beyond his mortal brain. His hands moved of their own accord, his body not sharing any of his brain’s doubts. Horrified, he saw himself drag a claw down the laces, slicing them one by one. His shame was mitigated by the intense appreciation of every inch of skin bared by his heavy-handed tactics.

“I owe you a new gown,” he managed, his voice rough, barely intelligible.

“You gave me this one,” Maribel answered in a voice almost musical with amusement.

He didn’t bother trying to come up with a response, his breath quickly leaving him as the material finally released, parting to reveal smooth, creamy skin. The breath left his body as the gown fell away like flower petals opening to reveal a gorgeous bloom. The soft swells of flesh beckoned to him, called to him to drag his mouth and hands over every hill and valley, to worship the perfection that was Maribel’s feminine form.

Maribel turned around, her pink cheeks the only crack in her confident façade. Her gaze faltered and fell as if her bravado had suddenly abandoned her.

Daman surged forward, outraged that she could be anything but gloriously arrogant of the body she’d bared so willingly for him. One arm locked around her waist, dragging her naked body against him, the other rose to cup the back of her head, holding her still so he could ravage her mouth. He didn’t know if he imagined it or not, but Maribel tasted different now, warmer, more exotic. He followed that flavor into her mouth, stroking his tongue along hers, fighting to get closer, deeper, wanting to meld their bodies together until it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.

He shifted the hand holding the back of her head, carding it through the silky brown waves as he slid it down her body. Her skin caressed his palms, so supple, so different from the harder planes of his own body, mottled as it was with scales. Warm curves melted into his hand as if yearning for his touch, every sound falling from her lips encouraging him to explore further, touch more.

Maribel caught her breath in a sharp gasp as he cupped the swell of her breast, claws pressing ever so lightly against her skin. The sound drove a sharp ache of want deep inside him and he muffled a groan against her mouth as he put just enough space between them to let him lift her breast in his palm. Maribel gasped, breaking the kiss as her head fell back. A whimper escaped on a sharp inhale as he flicked his thumb over the hardening bud of her nipple. Her hands groped against his shoulders then slid up and clutched at his hair, anchoring herself to him.

The movement lifted her breasts and Daman licked the line of her jaw approvingly as he slid his other hand around to cup her other breast. He pushed his tail farther out behind him, lowering his torso in a swift, limber motion no bipedal creature could manage. Maribel gazed down at him with heavy-lidded eyes, her breath coming in heavy pants, doing wonderful, sinful things to her breasts. Daman kept his eyes on hers as he closed his mouth around one succulent nipple.

Maribel cried out, a delicious, passion-rich sound that urged Daman to lave at her nipple, nipping gently at the puckered flesh then soothing it with his tongue. There was a split second of hesitation as his forked tongue caught his attention, the moment the two points were on either side of her nipple, framing it and mocking him at the same time.

He glanced up at Maribel, searching her face for some sign of repulsion. Maribel held his gaze as she pressed her breast more firmly against him, fire sparking her blue eyes to flame. Hot satisfaction rose inside Daman and he renewed his efforts, cupping her breasts and holding them to receive his equal attention.

Her skin tasted like the air on the first day of spring, fresh and sharp, holding a small bite of winter. An odd thought skittered across his brain, the impression that she had to be some type of nature spirit, perhaps a sidhe. Any further speculation drowned on a wave of hunger as he slid his mouth down the taut line of her stomach, his hands drifting along her sides to clutch her hips. He tightened his grip and lifted her until her feet left the ground.

Maribel gasped, clutching his head to keep her balance as he swung his body in a rapid arc, positioning himself so that she straddled him. He kept his grip on her hips, holding her firmly as he brought his mouth between her legs.

“Daman!”

Maribel’s voice rose to a fevered pitch and her entire body tensed at the first touch of his tongue against her wet, heated flesh. Daman groaned, sending vibrations into her body as he dipped his tongue between her velvety folds, licking at the nectar that clung to her. Maribel writhed in his arms, her fingers tightening spastically in his hair, and his muscles bunched as he held her through her contortions. He focused his attention on the bundle of nerves throbbing before him, begging for his attention.

Maribel’s hips bucked rhythmically in his hold, her body striving for the release his mouth promised her. His ego swelled, filling him with the masculine satisfaction only a passion-drenched woman could give. He watched her up the line of her body, watched her eyes close, her lips part. She was beautiful in her abandonment, free and wild as she was always meant to be.

He licked and sucked at the bundle of nerves, his own hunger building as her movements became erratic. Her hair tumbled around her in waves that bounced with every movement, the curling tips caressing her nipples, still hard and straining from his earlier attention. Suddenly her entire body tensed, her fingers digging into his scalp as her head fell back. Her mouth parted, but no sound came out, only strangled breath as her hips thrust in tight little jerks against his mouth. Her passion lasted for wave after wave, and then the tension melted from her body, and she was boneless in his arms.

Reluctant to abandon the sweet taste of her, Daman continued his ministrations for a few moments more, committing the flavor of her to memory. Slowly, he slid up her body, letting her weight press against him as he lowered her to her feet. She whimpered and writhed as his scales dragged against her over sensitized flesh, each bump of the vertical ridge down his chest kissing the swollen bundle of nerves still throbbing between her legs.

Maribel groped at his shoulders, her movements sluggish as if she were having a hard time making her body do what she wanted it to. He grinned wickedly, careful to support her as he pulled his lower body between her legs and then started to push against the floor to straighten himself into a standing position.

As his coil left her body, lowering to the floor, Maribel abruptly closed her legs, trapping him there. Daman faltered, scrabbling to redistribute his weight farther down his tail to keep his back from hitting the floor.

Shock shot through his system as Maribel grabbed a handful of his hair. She flexed her legs and shimmied down until his coil was once again pressed against the wet heat at the apex of her thighs.

“No,” she ground out, still breathing heavily. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Daman inhaled sharply, desire spiking so strong inside him it was a wonder it didn’t draw blood.

“Maribel,” he rasped. “Are you sure?”

Maribel surged forward, the suddenness of the motion catching Daman off guard. He grunted as he fell back, his tail flexing to keep them both from hitting the floor. Maribel slid her legs more firmly around his body. With one hand clutching his hair and the other holding his shoulder, she dove toward him, pressing her mouth against his neck. There was a sharp pain on his skin, the sense of her teeth digging into his flesh in a lover’s bite.

It was the last straw.

Daman hissed as the hot heated length of his cock swelled, pressing up through the slit in the scales of his lower body. A groan wrenched itself from the depths of his being as he thrust against Maribel, sliding between her legs. Maribel cried out against his neck, her hips thrusting instinctively, trying to impale herself on his shaft. Heat filled Daman’s head in a rush, melting coherent thought, leaving only instinct, raw want. He growled and grasped her hips, claws grazing her skin as he held her still.

He didn’t have the sense to doubt anymore, too lost to the desire eating him alive from the inside out. He thrust into her with savage intensity, the vice-like grip of her body an achingly sweet agony. Maribel screamed, riding him as he eased them back onto the floor.

Pleasure rose like a wild desert storm, lashing through Daman and twisting his body in wild ripples. He surged beneath Maribel, thrusting deeper and deeper, driven mad with the need to get closer. Every stroke stole more of his breath, every clench of Maribel’s muscles robbed him of more control. He thrashed underneath her, surging up higher and higher, trying to bury himself as deep inside her as any man could. Her breasts swayed above him as she held on to his chest, her eyes closed as she chased her own pleasure. He wanted to touch her breasts, wanted to raise himself up to take them in his mouth, but it was all he could do to hold on to her hips while the desire whipped him into a frenzy.

His climax hit him with all the force of a gale wind, twisting his body into a tight mass of knotted muscle. He roared as he came, his grip tightening to bruising force on her hips. Maribel screamed a moment later, her delicate body fluttering against him. A shine came from somewhere inside her, light dancing over her skin like sunbeams playing with new spring leaves. Daman blinked, but the effect was gone before his addled brain could make sense of it.

As the last ripple faded, Maribel collapsed against his chest. Her tangled hair fell over him and the floor, a beautiful puddle of warm chocolate. He stroked her naked shoulder with the backs of his claws, floating peacefully on the warm waves of pleasure still washing over him in gentle laps. In that moment, he was truly present, here and nowhere else. The past didn’t matter, the future didn’t matter. He was here, Maribel was here.

It was enough.

Chapter Fifteen

Corrine stared into the mirror as the images she’d conjured faded away. As the last vestiges of her spell wore off, she slowly became aware of her own reflection again. Her brown eyes were glassy, blank. For a moment, she swore she could still see Daman’s silver eyes flashing, glowing with passion as he…

Her stomach rumbled, twisting itself into a painful knot. It seemed that she would have to go searching for food on her own. Maribel was…occupied.

Energy fluttered inside her like wild butterflies, her skin buzzing with the sensation of marching ants. The bond between her and Maribel had been renewed now that they were so close, and the amount of energy pouring through that link was more potent than any potion Mother Briar could manage. Corrine stumbled as she rose from the vanity, having to lean heavily on the furniture while she waited for her head to stop spinning. She was energized in a way she could scarcely remember ever feeling. She should be happy.

“If you help me get my daughter back, I will teach you magic stronger than any you have ever dreamed of… You will have the land, the money, and the power to support yourself—forever.”

“You love him.”

“Oh, Corrine. I know you’re not bad.”

“I love you, Maribel.”

“I love you too.”

“Get him to tell you where she is, and I’ll do everything in my power to undo the damage I did.”

Corrine crossed her arms, hugging herself as the voices danced around in her head, each one tearing up her emotions, throwing them around like so much confetti. Everything had been so clear yesterday, the plan had sounded so easy.

“She’s in love.”

She said the words out loud, tasting them, testing them. Bittersweet.

Using her bond with Maribel to cast the spell that allowed her to see things through her sister’s eyes had been one of the most painful experiences she’d ever been through in her life—and the most educating. It had hurt more than she wanted to admit to see Maribel…giving herself to a man who’d no more than an hour ago threatened to kill Corrine. See her coupling with him, lost in the moment, when she’d supposedly been so concerned about Corrine, so willing to fetch food from the kitchen for her to keep up her strength.

“It took so little time for her to forget about me.”

The anger that should have rushed to warm her at the sound of those words wouldn’t come. The resentment that she had a right to, the indignation…none of it would comfort her now as it had in the past. Not when the happiness in her sister’s voice was so blinding, even in memory. Maribel was in love. True love.

“Oh, I was so close,” Corrine continued, talking to herself despite the way her dull, lifeless tone fell like stones into the room. “I had him. I had him exactly where I wanted him, where I needed him. She was going to ask him—no, not ask him, make him tell her where Jeanne was.” She pressed her hands flat to her skirt, increasing the pressure, pushing them harder and harder against her thighs as she fought the tremble beginning in her shoulders and threatening to flow down to her fingertips. “He probably would have forgiven her. They could have still lived happily ever after. And then I would have my mentor, have the help I needed to be strong on my own.”

She stared down at the small clay bowl on the dresser in front of the mirror. The herbs she’d used in the spell still smoked gently, filling the room with the scent of burning rosemary and sage. She picked up the pestle and half-heartedly ground the herbs to dust until the smoke faded and the ashes cooled. A trail of fading smoke followed her as she strode over to the window and dumped the remainders over the windowsill. They floated away on the breeze, carrying her dreams with them, leaving her alone and bereft…again.

A muffled squeaking erupted from inside her bag. Her mind still muddled with conflicting thoughts, Corrine stumbled over to her bag in a daze. The squeaking grew louder as she opened the laces and fished out the small cage.

“About time!” grumbled the pixie. She glared at Corrine, but the expression was somewhat ruined by the fact that the honey she’d so willingly covered herself in had dried into a glue-like consistency. Her wings were stuck together and her hair was twisted into hard clumps. The eyelashes of one eye were stuck to her eyelid, and her dress was bunched into a hard knot of amber-hued glue plastered to her body.

Corrine stared at the fairy, but her mind was still in that other room. With her sister. Watching her forget about Corrine as she built a new future with Daman. Get angry, Corrine. Use the fury. You can still salvage this, still get the information you need. New love is such a delicate thing… Her anger was a phantom scent on the wind, there, but gone before she could follow it. She blinked at the fairy without seeing her.

“I need a bath,” the fairy said slowly, careful to enunciate each syllable.

Corrine strode over to the small table holding the tea tray that had been waiting in her room on her arrival. She poured the hot water that had been meant for tea into the empty teacup and then cooled it with some water from her washing pitcher. Mechanically, she opened the cage door and set the teacup inside. The pixie struggled to stand, hissing as she pried her sticky arms from her legs and she limped over to her bath.

“I don’t know what to do now.” The words went out into the air like orphans, meek and pathetic, searching for help in mewling tones.

The pixie sighed happily as she sank up to her chin in the warm water. Blue eyes blinked lazily as she gazed up at Corrine through the faint cloud of steam. “Eh?”

“I can’t do it. I mean, I didn’t want to do it. I did it anyway, at least I tried. It didn’t work though. He wouldn’t tell her, and she wouldn’t press him. They just…” Corrine trailed off. “They’re in love,” she said simply. “What right do I have to take that from her?”

The pixie splashed gently in the water, shifting around as though trying to let the water get at as much of the sticky honey as possible. “Her? Maribel? Is that the sister you’ve been draining?”

A hot retort lit on Corrine’s lips, but snuffed itself out with her next breath. She rubbed her temples in small, soothing circles. “I’m so tired.”

“You shouldn’t be. This close to Maribel you should feel like a barrel of honey.”

The familiar burning sensation of tears made Corrine close her eyes all the way. She sank down on the side of the bed.

“I never wanted to hurt Maribel. Never. I don’t care if she’s my blood or not, she’s my sister and I love her, no matter what anyone else thinks. I just…” She opened her eyes, holding her breath until she was sure she could speak without losing her words to a sob. “I’m scared.”

The fairy dunked her face into the water again, vigorously scrubbing before popping back out. Water sloshed over the side of the cup, landing in wet splats against the floor of the cage. She tried to blink, scrunching up her face as she pried her eyelashes from her eyelid, face contorting as she did so. One eye rolled in Corrine’s direction. “Why do you think you’re so sick anyway?”

Corrine traced the velvet pattern worked into the silk stretched across her lap. The material caressed the pad of her finger, calming her nerves. “You’re fey. What would you know about feeling weak?”

“Nothing,” the fairy agreed. “I’m very strong.”

“Well, I’m not.” Corrine shifted, pulled the gold braided cord knotted about her waist out from under her where she’d sat on it. The braid was slick and supple in her hands as she twined it around her fingers. “Sometimes I think I was meant to die as a child. Father said I came close. Not many children who are taken by the Evil Fire survive.”

Memories flooded back to her, the early days when the episodes had been new. The pain. The convulsions. The horrible images that would frighten her until she screamed, and not even her mother could comfort her. They were terrifying enough now that she was older. As a child, they had nearly destroyed her.

“The Evil Fire,” the fairy mused. “I’ve heard of that. Had convulsions did you?”

Corrine shuddered. “I nearly bit my tongue off during one of them. I still get them now and again.”

“Saw frightening things if you closed your eyes?”

“I didn’t even have to close my eyes,” she breathed. An eerie shiver slithered down her spine and she instinctively fixed her gaze more solidly on her lap, avoiding the windows and shadows. If you don’t look, you can’t see them.

Silence dragged on. Encouraged by the stroll down memory lane, the nightmares from the past paraded across her mind’s eye, as horrible and terrifying as they had ever been. Shadows moving when they shouldn’t, long spindly fingers reaching out for her. Faces peering at her from outside her window that was far too high for any human to peer through.

Gradually she became aware of a rasping sound. Her heart leapt into her throat, her skin tightening to the point of pain. It took several seconds to register that she was scratching her skirts, the rasping sound just her fingernail rapidly clawing at the velvet. She stilled her hand and tried to slow her breathing.

Corrine caught the fairy staring out of her peripheral vision and angled herself to face the pixie more fully. Something about the expression on the fey’s face gave Corrine chills. That serious, soul-penetrating gaze didn’t belong on that insolent little countenance, surrounded by hair still sticking up in stiffened clumps on top of her head.

“You’ve been studying magic with Mother Briar, yes?”

“Yes.” The answer slipped out before Corrine could think and she pressed her lips into a tight line. You know better than that, Corrine. This is exactly the mistake others so often make, the reason the tiny folk always know everything. So tiny, so nonthreatening. No one ever gives a second thought to answering their questions, speaking in front of them. To speak in front of a pixie is to risk your words traveling abroad without your knowledge, being shared with who knew what or who. You are smarter than that!

“And how exactly did this apprenticeship come about?” the pixie prodded.

“I’m not her apprentice,” Corrine corrected automatically. “I’m not really a witch, at least not a powerful one. I’m just a human with a little skill for spells.”

The fairy arched an eyebrow. It stuck to a glob of honey under her hairline and stayed there in an expression of perpetual amusement. “Mother Briar told you that?”

Corrine nodded. Then she kicked herself for answering so easily even after remembering the risk.

“Did she also tell you that you wouldn’t be able to work magic without her help?”

Corrine bit the inside of her cheek, holding her answer in. She fought not to raise her hand to touch the amulet resting between her breasts.

“I am perfectly capable of casting spells without help,” Corrine corrected the pixie stiffly. “I told you, I have some natural talent for it.”

The fairy disappeared under the water. A long second dragged by. Curiosity ate at her and Corrine peered down into the teacup. The fairy blinked up at her through the honey-clouded water, blue eyes piercing even through the ripples. She blew a stream of bubbles that rustled the surface of the water and completely blocked her from Corrine’s view. Corrine rolled her eyes.

“Corrine?”

Corrine tripped over her skirt as she lunged off the bed. She managed to keep her feet, but just barely as she stumbled into the table the tea set was resting on. The china clinked together and rattled against the tabletop. The pixie’s makeshift bath tilted wildly to the side. The fey popped her head out of the water with a yelp and Corrine hissed and plucked her out of the cup with a muttered “Shush.”

The pixie glared at her, but didn’t say anything as Corrine dropped her into the cage and fastened it closed before shutting it away in her bag once again.

“Corrine, are you awake? It’s me. I want to talk.”

Corrine quickly dumped the honeyed water out the window and half-flew to the washing basin, rinsing out the cup and drying it quickly before rushing to replace it on the tray. She searched for any signs she may have missed, evidence of her spellwork, or her fey guest. No need for Maribel to know what she’d been up to. It didn’t matter now anyway.

She stood there for a moment, smoothing down her hair and dress, trying to regain control of her breathing. Finally, she straightened her spine and walked with slow, measured steps to answer the door.

Maribel stood there, her cheeks flushed with the evidence of what she’d been doing, making the wild tumble of her hair and the wrinkles in her gown all the more damning. Her eyes were still bright, her lips fuller, slightly swollen. Every detail pierced Corrine like the blade of a dagger, stabbing at her, torturing her with the double-edged sword of her sister’s happiness. It didn’t help that every physical sign was paired with the memory of it happening, the curse of the spell she’d used.

You cold-hearted heathen, be happy for her! When was the last time you saw her smile like that?

“How are you feeling?” Maribel asked.

Corrine twisted her mouth into her best attempt at a smile. “I’m feeling better. I was about to have some tea. I don’t suppose you have time to join me?”

Maribel’s face crumpled and her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, Corrine. Your dinner. I forgot.”

“It’s all right, really.” Corrine focused her full attention on the teapot. She had no idea what expression was on her face right now, but whatever it was, she wanted it to remain private. Maribel deserved this happiness, and she would not ruin it for her. It was time to get out of her sister’s way.

“No, it’s—”

“I’m not going to stay the night.”

Maribel snapped her mouth closed and half-fell onto the bed. “Oh, Corrine, please.”

“I think it’s for the best,” Corrine said firmly, her voice thick with the cursed tears trying to come back. She poured a cup of tea for Maribel and slid the saucer closer to her side of the small table. Then she poured a cup for herself.

“Why?” Maribel asked quietly.

Corrine made no move to pick up her cup of tea, barely caressing the saucer with her fingertips. “You’re happy here, Maribel. There’s nothing I can do to make it better.” She let out a long breath. “And so much I can do to make it worse. It’s better if I go. Really it is.”

The silence that fell between them was thick, charged with emotions the way the air before a storm is charged with the promise of lightning and the distant rumble of thunder.

“I miss you.”

Maribel’s words crept toward Corrine, hesitant, as if afraid of the reception they’d receive. A sob lodged itself in Corrine’s throat.

“I’ve missed you too.” Her vision blurred. “Maribel, there’s something I have to tell you.”

“No.” Maribel seized Corrine’s hands, her blue-eyed gaze boring into Corrine as though she could stop her from speaking through sheer force of will. “It doesn’t matter. Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter. We’re starting with a clean slate—all of us. I’m going to make sure you and Father have all the help you need—and you’re going to come visit—all the time.” Maribel’s eyes turned glassy, the threat of tears turning them into twin blue ponds. “Or you could stay here. I’m sure—”

“No, no, I can’t stay here.” Corrine pulled a hand free, rubbing the arcane mark as the tattoo started to itch. “It’s better if I go. But I’ll…I’ll visit, yes.”

Maribel smiled, sniffling and blinking away her tears. “If you’re sure.”

No! I’m not sure.

Panic reared its ugly head, wild eyes and screaming mouth painting a horrifying image on the inside of Corrine’s mind. Her sister’s words echoed in her head, and suddenly it hit her—really hit her.

Maribel was staying. Corrine was going home alone. Alone. Alone to face those horrible people, alone to watch her father sink further and further into depression. She wouldn’t have Maribel’s energy anymore. The nightmares, the monsters…

Her heart leapt into her throat. Mother Briar. She would be furious with Corrine for not getting Jeanne’s location. She would shun her, stop helping her, stop teaching her. She would be alone then, truly and utterly alone. Vulnerable.

Dying.

The bond between Corrine and her sister pulsed, throbbing like a second heartbeat. It glowed like a bright gold thread inside her and Corrine tugged on it, desperate, needing more energy to keep her sane. She needed more, more to get her through, more to keep her safe. Oh, Goddess, she was going to make the journey home alone. Again.

The string gave easily under Corrine’s panic-fueled tugs, pouring a churning, roiling rush of energy down the connection. Corrine startled at the power of the flood, the weight of it. That shouldn’t be. Maribel was too strong, Corrine shouldn’t be able to pull so deeply from her. Until now, calling on that bond had only fed her minimal amounts of energy, like water dripping from a silent pump. It was as Mother Briar had said, she couldn’t take much from Maribel because her sister was so much stronger than Corrine.

Unless…

The amulet around Corrine’s neck had begun to glow. Red flame lit the crystal, pouring warm power out over Corrine’s body. It invigorated her, making her feel stronger, more confident. Secure.

Corrine jumped as Maribel suddenly collapsed on the bed, blue eyes glazing over, shifting from a bright sapphire to a muted winter sky. Her head lolled from side to side and she let out a soft sigh as if she were falling asleep.

I just need a little more. Just enough to get me home, to last me for a while until I find some other way.

Corrine held her breath and pulled harder on the thread, tugging at the energy that was so abundant in Maribel. The power came like a flood from a shattered dam. Corrine pulled again, trying to make the flow faster, to get what she needed quickly so she could get out of here, away from Daman and his smug face, away from Maribel and the temptation to use the arcane mark, to keep leeching energy from her. This was it, the last time, and then Corrine would break the link for good.

Energy like nothing she’d ever experienced before washed over her. Her muscles swelled, flexing as if dreaming of great feats of strength. Her heart pounded, a firm, steady beat that invigorated her entire body. Her mind sharpened and it was as if she were thinking clearly for the first time in her life, as if a curtain had parted and she could finally see.

Chapter Sixteen

Maribel’s head throbbed, sending a pulsing wave of pain over her scalp to the back of her head. It flowed back like an angry tide, rose, and flowed forward again, bringing its agony with it like foam laced with broken shells. She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead into the down coverlet on Corrine’s bed, seeking relief.

“Corrine…something’s wrong.” Her voice came out heavy and slurred. Her tongue felt too big for her mouth and she could barely hold her wits together long enough to swallow.

“Maribel? Are you all right?”

Corrine laid a hand on Maribel’s shoulder and Maribel rolled her head to the side to rest it on her hand, grateful for the comfort. Her sister’s skin was cool against her feverish cheek, a welcome balm to the miserable heat holding her in its suffocating grip. Corrine cupped her jaw, whispering soothing, nonsense words.

A second later, Maribel’s stomach lurched. Something twisted inside her body, like a string was being pulled from somewhere deep inside her, a string connected to her heart and stomach both. The sensation wasn’t exactly painful, but strange and nauseating. Maribel leaned away from Corrine and the pulling sensation intensified and she groaned.

“Corrine, I don’t feel well.”

Corrine’s grip followed her, her fingers digging more firmly into Maribel’s shoulder. “It’s all right. Everything’s going to be all right.”

Corrine’s voice had changed. There was an excitement in her tone, a fluttering nervousness that left her words breathy. Maribel forced her eyes open.

The paleness that had always given Corrine a haunted, ghostly pallor had been replaced by a rosy-cheeked glow. Her brown eyes shone bright and lively, more brown than the black they usually appeared as. She was curled to hover over Maribel, but her posture was different, more confident, nurturing instead of slumped under some invisible weight.

Maribel tried to raise a hand to pet Corrine’s cheek, but her fingers were too heavy. “You look wonderful.”

In an instant, the peaceful expression on Corrine’s face cracked, revealing wide, panicked eyes that darted from side to side, scrutinizing Maribel from head to toe. Her fingers curled into claws, digging into Maribel with painful stabbing motions.

“Maribel? Maribel!”

Maribel kept smiling, the fuzzy feeling in her head flowing down her body like warm honey, leaving her muscles limp. “It’s so nice to see you looking so healthy.” She blinked slowly, lethargically. “You’ll be fine. I’ll stay with Daman and you can go home… I’ll send you…so much money. You’ll be…”

Pain exploded in her cheek as Corrine landed a ringing slap across her face. She grabbed Maribel’s head in her hands and shook her, Maribel’s body barely rocking where she lay on the bed.

“Maribel!” Corrine screamed.

“Get away from her!”

Daman’s voice broke over the room like a tremendous clap of thunder. There was a flash of glittering scales and a jagged shriek tore from Corrine as a clawed hand wrapped mercilessly around her biceps and flung her halfway across the room.

Maribel’s heart pounded, an acidic wave of adrenaline washing over her, pushing back the pain and nausea enough for her to struggle into a sitting position. She swayed, feeling like a small boat being tossed to and fro on a raging river, and braced both hands on the bed to hold herself up so she could see what was happening.

Daman was on the floor, his tail wrapped around Corrine’s waist. The large bluish green scales of his lower body covered Corrine from her ribs to her hips in a punishing vice. His silver eyes blazed like liquid starlight, his lips pulled back to reveal two sets of wickedly curved fangs. He lunged, reaching out for Corrine’s throat with a hand tipped with vicious, sharp white claws.

Maribel tried to scream, tried to yell for Daman to let Corrine go, to stop. Then her gaze landed on her sister and the words faded away under a flood of awe.

Corrine’s eyes were no longer the dark brown of pure bitter chocolate. They were green, a vibrant, glowing emerald like paintings Maribel had seen of the lights in the Dacian winter sky. Corrine was gripping Daman’s hand by the wrist, muscles trembling as she fought to keep his claws away from her throat. At the same time, she groped for his face with her other hand, straining for his eyes as if she would blind him. Only Daman’s grip on her wrist kept her from gouging out those silver, glowing eyes.

“Stop!” Maribel tried to shout, but her voice came out a breathy plea. She closed her eyes but opened them immediately when the room started to spin. The tugging on the string inside her grew worse, the nausea threatening to empty her stomach. She swallowed hard and focused on the couple fighting on the ground.

“Daman,” she tried again. “Stop. Please.”

“Sshe wass hurting you.” Daman lurched forward another inch, claws flexing as he strained to rake the tender flesh of Corrine’s throat.

“I was not!” Corrine’s voice rose an octave, her eyes wild. She risked a glance at Maribel. “Maribel, are you all right?”

“Do not pretend you care for her!” Daman bellowed, rage tearing his voice to shreds on his fangs. “What were you doing to her, witch?” His tail flexed, squeezing Corrine until she gasped. “Tell her!”

“Daman, stop, please,” Maribel shouted hoarsely. “Don’t hurt her.”

Daman faced her, reptilian eyes widening even as the black slits narrowed to the width of a hair, almost completely lost to the silver. “Sshe hurt you.”

Maribel cursed as the haze refused to lift and every movement sickened her further. “I’m fine. Maybe a little tired.”

“Perhaps you wore her out,” Corrine snarled, the strain in her voice betraying how hard she was struggling. “Being taken on the floor like an animal can be hard on a woman.”

Maribel sputtered, her cheeks suddenly scalding. “You…”

Daman focused glittering eyes on Corrine. “You have been sspying.” His voice dropped to a deadly hiss and his coils flexed as they covered more of Corrine’s body. “Why are you really here, witch?”

“I’m here to get my sister back.” Corrine choked, her voice growing raspy as her chest was constricted by the scaled body clutching her tighter with every breath she released.

“No. No, that iss not why you’re really here.” Daman flicked his forked tongue into the air between them, so close to Corrine he could have licked her. Corrine shrieked and angled her face away. “You tasste of magic. What sspell have you been working on your ssisster?”

A garbled sound came from Corrine’s throat, but no words. She thrashed feebly and the hand holding Daman’s away from her throat trembled. His claws inched forward, closing the distance, tips brushing pale skin.

Maribel shoved herself up, ignoring the fresh wave of nausea that swept over her and nearly threw her out of the bed. She thrust out a hand as Daman’s claws dimpled Corrine’s skin, sharp points pressing in.

“Daman, stop!”

Corrine tried to suck in a breath, but it came out a skin-crawling wheeze. Her face darkened to purple, green-glowing eyes dulling.

Maribel lurched, shoving herself off the bed. Her feet hit the floor and her legs threatened to give way, half-spilling her to the rug. She grabbed the edge of the bed, holding on, waiting for the room to stop spinning. Panic sent adrenaline through her system like an acid wash, and she gritted her teeth.

“Daman, get away from her.”

Daman’s gaze was locked on Corrine’s neck, followed a drop of blood that had welled out around one of his claws. “You are too closse, you cannot ssee the truth right in front of you. Sshe caress nothing for you, Maribel! You are a changeling, a child left at her housse in the middle of the night. Whatever sshe’ss ssaid to you, sshe caress only about your power.”

His face twisted with fury. “Sshe’ss done ssomething to you. I know sshe hass. Sshe wass holding you and you were getting weaker while sshe sseemed only to grow sstronger.” The muscle in his jaw tightened and he flexed his muscles, leaning forward. Corrine’s arms trembled, but she held him back. “Don’t you ssee how much sstronger sshe iss? I know there iss a connection.”

Every word out of his mouth was another needle in Maribel’s heart, another strip of skin peeled away to leave her raw and vulnerable. It was only minutes ago she’d been so happy, everything had been settled, all was right with the world. What was this nightmare, where had it come from? She stared at Daman, willing him to listen. “You’re the one who can’t see what’s right in front of you. Corrine has been studying magic in the hopes of coping with her illness. It makes sense that she’s getting stronger. That’s why she studies magic, why would she continue to study if it wasn’t working?”

“Do you hear how sshe defendss you?” Daman pulled Corrine closer, constricting, tightening his coils around her. “Do you hear the love in her voicce? Sshe musst feel what you’ve done to her, ssomewhere insside her, sshe musst know. And sshe defendss you anyway—lovess you anyway. How heartlessss musst you be to usse her?”

Corrine’s eyes flashed, then the green light died, leaving them a brown so dark it was nearly black. Her gaze flicked to Maribel, her face a sickening shade of bluish purple. Maribel tried to meet her eyes, tried to offer her encouragement, support, some sign that she had more faith in Corrine than Daman did. Corrine’s eyes glistened with tears and she looked away.

Maribel stifled the roll of unease at the way Corrine wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Daman, please. I care so much for you, and I do want to stay here. But Corrine is my sister. If you hurt her… I don’t know how I would ever move past that.”

Daman’s face twisted in pain. “Maribel…”

Suddenly his entire body spasmed. A muffled choke garbled from his mouth, his coils going limp around Corrine as his body arched back, face going taut. The blade of a dagger protruded from his chest, just to the side of his heart. Ruby red blood welled up in the wound, spilling down his body and outlining his silver scales with rivulets of crimson. A trickle of blood escaped his mouth as he blinked down at the weapon, the black slits of his eyes flickering, silver irises shifting from silver to dull iron. Maribel screamed and stumbled forward.

Corrine gasped, choked, the ragged sounds speaking to the condition of her ravaged lungs. She lay on the floor like a ragdoll, half of her body still lying on Daman’s coils where she’d fallen. Brown eyes too wide, she lay on the floor, staring up at Daman like a sinner on his deathbed, gazing into the face of an avenging angel.

The hand that had been trying to claw at Daman was free, extended toward the naga as though she’d thrown the knife. Her bag was open on the floor beside the bed, a silken scarf trailing out of it as though something had been pulled in a hurry from the depths of the satchel. By magic.

Maribel hovered in front of Daman, afraid to touch him, afraid that she would only bring him pain. Tears blurred her vision and she spoke to her sister without facing her. “Corrine?”

Corrine heaved herself away from Daman, scurrying away from his coils as if they might grab her again. “He was going to kill me.” Her voice was a broken rasp, each word sounding like a struggle. “I had to do something.”

A sob broke from Maribel’s throat, tears welling up to blind her. Daman was still frozen, whether from shock or pain she didn’t know. He wasn’t looking at her. Rather, his leaden gaze was zeroed in on Corrine.

“Daman…”

The naga dove for her sister with more speed than a human, but less than he’d been capable of before. His silvery-scaled body flashed, his arm rising above his head, slick white claws spread. Corrine opened her mouth to scream, but the noise never made it past her lips. Daman brought his hand down, slashing her throat and upper chest. Maribel screamed again as Corrine fell back against the wall, sliding down into a crumpled heap.

“I won’t…let you hurt her,” Daman rasped.

Time slowed, becoming thick and palpable. Maribel had all the time in the world to see the light die in Daman’s eyes, the tension melt from his face as a ripple moved from one end of his body to the other. His torso hit the ground with a dull thud and a rustle of scales. He didn’t get back up.

Maribel’s heart constricted in her chest, so tight she could scarcely breathe around the solid weight of it. Panic, fear, desperation all braided together, forging strength that rushed through her body with nerve-sizzling intensity. She half-fell toward Daman, hands out, choked cry lodged in her throat. A wet wheezing sound came from behind her.

Corrine.

The sound drew Maribel, some instinct telling her that she might be too late to save Daman, but her sister was still alive. Corrine held her neck with one hand, blood seeping through her fingers. Her face was deathly pale, her lips nearly white. Blood soaked her gown, some of it hers gushing from the wounds in her neck and chest, flowing down her body in a broad ribbon, and some of it Daman’s splattered over her like some macabre rain. She didn’t speak, just stared at Maribel.

“No!” Maribel sobbed and fell to her knees beside Corrine. “No…”

Corrine’s lips moved but no sound came out. Maribel searched the floor around her, searching for something, anything to staunch the flow of blood. She spotted Corrine’s bag on the floor, but Corrine’s hand scrabbled at her arm.
“Maribel…”

Her voice was so faint, Maribel nearly missed it. She clutched Corrine’s hand in hers, fingers slipping in the slick coating of blood. She leaned closer so her ear was right next to Corrine’s mouth.

“S…sorry…”

Maribel shook her head, warm tears streaming down her face. “No. No, don’t be sorry, don’t be sorry, Corrine.” She hesitated before brushing Corrine’s hair behind her ear, stroking her cheek. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I left you, I’m sorry I brought you here, I’m just,” she choked, “sorry.”

Corrine’s eyes drifted closed. A long exhalation rolled out from her body, flowing from her nose and mouth on a sigh that came from somewhere deep in her body. Something inside Maribel loosened, the phantom string she’d felt so keenly earlier. The nausea and pain she’d had a moment ago vanished, so quickly it made her head spin anew. She blinked, startled at how much more vibrant the world seemed suddenly, how much clearer her mind was. Strength flowed through her and she pulled in a deep, soul-cleansing breath.

Corrine slid to the floor, her head lolling to the side. A small smile played over her lips.

“Sshe wass holding you and you were getting weaker while sshe sseemed only to grow sstronger. Don’t you ssee how much sstronger sshe iss? I know there iss a connection.”

“Sshe musst feel what you’ve done to her, ssomewhere insside her, sshe musst know.”

Maribel’s hand stilled on Corrine’s cheek. Slowly, tilted her head down so she could look into Corrine’s cloudy brown eyes. “You were taking energy from me.”

Corrine blinked once, slowly.

Dread curled in Maribel’s stomach, sent icy shards bobbing into her bloodstream. “Corrine?”

“Y…yes.”

The confession was so breathy that Maribel had to strain to hear it, and even then she thought she might have imagined it. Her heart pounded, hope shooting up inside of her like a geyser, explosive with its force. She grabbed Corrine by the shoulders. “Do it again,” she commanded. “Take more, take everything you need.”

Corrine’s teeth clacked together from the force of Maribel’s jostling. She could tell the moment the words registered because Corrine’s eyes flew open, the haze over the brown orbs retreating. “No,” she rasped. “Will kill…you.”

Maribel shook her head, unable to keep from looking at Daman’s body lying a few feet away. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t shifted. There was no rise and fall to his body, no twitch in any flesh from the top of his head to the tip of his heavy tail. He was gone.  She bit her lip to hold back a sob. “I won’t watch you die too.”

Corrine tried to push herself up, hands scrabbling at the ground, pushing her back against the wall in a vain attempt to shove herself upright. Her dress tore, the sound of wet fabric tearing jolting Corrine out of her futile attempts. She stilled, studying Maribel from the corner of her eye. A spark of green lit somewhere deep within the brown irises.

Maribel recognized the pull when it started. It was the same string, the same nauseating tug that had laid her out earlier. Even prepared for it as she was, she couldn’t help but curl her arms around her stomach as if that could ease the discomfort. The invigoration of a moment ago seemed like a dream as the adrenaline fizzled out, left her drained, listing to the side.

She blinked trying to stay conscious, needing to reassure herself that Corrine was getting better. Images blurred into watery blobs of color and gray ate away at the edges of her vision. Her heart lurched as she fell back…

And into a pair of strong arms.

Maribel blinked, breath chilling to ice in her lungs. “Daman?”

Daman’s eyes looked into hers from where he hovered over her. Well, sort of Daman’s eyes. They were the same beautiful silver, but the pupils were round like a human’s instead of slitted like a reptile’s. Her brow furrowed, brain fighting to process the other changes. His skin. It wasn’t pale silvery-blue anymore. It was the pale flesh tone of a human. The scales were gone, the ridges that had traced his brow, curled down his shoulders…gone.

“Maribel?” Daman held her face in his hands, gently, as if afraid of hurting her.

“Daman!” Maribel thrashed in his lap, desperate to sit up, to see for herself that she wasn’t dreaming. Arms akimbo, body stubbornly refusing to do as she instructed it, she let out a cry of frustration.

“Easy, easy,” Daman hushed her.

The strong arms around her flexed, became steadying. Maribel’s hands landed on his shoulder, dancing over his skin, his jaw, his face. He held still, let her touch him, reassure herself he was all right.

“Oh, Daman, what happened?” she breathed. “I thought you were dead, and Corrine—”

Daman’s face tightened, pain in his eyes. His grip on Maribel tightened and he tried to pull her to him, tried to keep her from turning around to where Corrine would be.

“Daman…” Maribel struggled against him, straining to look behind her. Daman put his hands on her face. Slowly, he shook his head. Panic rose like a wild thing in Maribel’s chest and she renewed her efforts, thrashing, needing to see for herself.

Daman had to let her go or risk hurting her. As soon as he relaxed his grip, Maribel spun, heart in her throat.

Corrine was lying on the floor, her eyes open, but drooping. Her chest rose and fell slightly. Or did it?

“Corrine!” Maribel tried to go to her sister, but her body wouldn’t support her. She collapsed, sobbing, stretching for her sister, but only grasping the edge of her skirts. Daman’s hands closed around her, lifted her and carried her to Corrine’s body.

“I don’t understand,” Maribel sobbed. “What happened?”

A muffled shouting from somewhere close by drew Maribel’s frazzled attention to Corrine’s bag. She pointed, too disoriented to verbalize what she needed. Daman followed her hand and nodded. After carefully settling her against the wall—moving so slowly Maribel wanted to scream—he fetched the bag and brought it to Maribel. She fished around in the bag and removed a small cage.

A tiny creature was inside, roughly the size of a raven, but thin and humanoid. She had pale pink skin and her clothing was sewn from some sort of gauzy material that was darker in some places and clung to her body as if it had dried funny. It swiped it’s long ponytail out of its eyes and glared at Maribel, translucent wings fluttering angrily.

“Let me out!” the fairy demanded. She stared at Corrine’s body slumped on the floor, face creasing in consternation. “Let me out or she’ll die!”

Maribel flicked the latch on the cage and opened the door, barely resisting the urge to shake the cage to get the loud creature out faster. The fairy zipped out in a flash of glittering lights and landed on Corrine’s shoulder.

“Who are you? What happened to Corrine? How did Daman—”

“Agh!” the fairy shouted, covering her ears. “Too many questions! I can’t concentrate! Shut up!”

Maribel snapped her mouth closed, as the fairy laid her hand on Corrine’s cheek and spoke in a voice too quiet for Maribel to make out what she was saying.

“Is she going to be all right?” Maribel leaned to the side, grateful when Daman put an arm around her and held her tight. She laid her head on his shoulder, too tired to hold it up anymore.

The fairy didn’t answer. Her eyes lit up and a second later she was gone.

A second later she was back, holding a flower in her hands. Broad white petals glittered with gold dust, a warm pulse flowing out from its shining center. The energy washed through the air, flowing over Maribel, infusing her muscles with heat and vitality. She sat up, still in Daman’s embrace but no longer leaning on him.

“The Rose of the Mist,” she breathed.

The pixie nodded. “Use it. Save your sister.”

Maribel caught the rose as the pixie half-flung it through the air. As soon as her hand closed around it, the invigorating sensation she’d felt before increased, pounding through her like a sledgehammer of adrenaline. She sucked in a breath, blinking through the buzz of power.

“Don’t go getting drunk on me yet,” the pixie barked. “Heal your sister first!”

“I… I don’t know how to use it, I don’t have the…book.”

The fairy crossed her skinny arms. “You’re sidhe. I’m not sure how this is confusing you.”

“She?”

“Not ‘she,’” the fairy corrected her. “Sidhe.”

Maribel blinked. The fairy rolled her eyes.

“You’re a changeling. A sidhe changeling. The plants listen to you. Just…” She waved her arms in frustration. “Listen to the flower! Talk to the flower. Tell it what you want it to do.”

Tears burned in Maribel’s eyes. “I don’t know how.” Corrine’s chest hitched, her body going stiff. Her eyes drifted the rest of the way closed.

“No!”

“Maribel, look at me.”

Daman’s voice sounded far away. Pressure on either side of Maribel’s head made her turn, held her still no matter how hard she tried to focus on Corrine and that dreadful stillness creeping over her body. Finally she became aware of Daman’s eyes, the fact that she was looking at his face from inches away.

“Listen to me, and take deep breaths,” Daman said calmly.

Maribel pulled at his grip, but he held her firm.

“Corrine is going to be fine,” he said firmly. “You are going to listen to me and you are going to heal her. She will be fine.”

“You don’t know that.” Maribel sobbed, her voice hitching as a fresh wave of hot tears spilled down her cheeks.

“Yes, I do. Now close your eyes, and take a deep breath. Hold the flower.”

Maribel pressed her lips together to hold back another sob, but did as he told her. She clutched the rose so tightly the stem snapped, smearing her hands with liquid that smelled of spring and newly churned soil. She whimpered and opened her eyes, crying out when she saw what she’d done.

“It’s okay, you haven’t hurt it,” Daman soothed. “Close your eyes.”

More tears spilled as she obeyed, her closed lids sending them washing over her cheeks in sheets.

“Concentrate on the flower. Do you feel the warmth? The pulse?”

Maribel nodded, holding the thought of that warm throbbing beat in her mind.

“Picture the glow, feel the warmth.” Daman cupped his hands around hers, cradling her grip around the rose. Slowly, he lowered her hands to Corrine’s wounded flesh.

Blood slicked her fingers as she pressed the flower to Corrine’s skin. The jagged edges of the slash marks had started to curl, some blood clots making the flesh tacky. Maribel swallowed a scream, concentrating on the rose, on what she wanted desperately for it to do.

Please work. Please work. Please work. Oh, Corrine, come back to me.

Chapter Seventeen

“Ssso the witch isss going to live.”

Daman didn’t take his eyes off the mirror, gaze still locked on his legs.

Legs.

“Yes, she is.” He angled his body to the side, stepping carefully. He’d dreamed of having this form back for so long, but it had never occurred to him how hard it would be to get used to walking again. He’d fallen over the first time he’d tried to stand up.

Which is to say, he would be very embarrassed, if he weren’t so overjoyed.

“You’re not very upssset about it. Consssidering you ssseemed to put sssome effort into killing her, I find that ssstrange.”

Daman had been staring into the mirror long enough now that he figured he was bordering on vanity, so he tore his attention away from his reflection and focused on the cuelebre. His houseguest was hanging from one of the wall sconces again, wings tucked neatly against its slender body. It had fixed him with the usual beady-eyed stare, tapping its chin with the tip of its tail.

“Sssomthing’sss different about you.”

“Can’t fool you,” Daman said dryly, crossing his arms. “What do you want?”

“Jussst checking in.” The cuelebre wound its head around one hundred and eighty degrees, peering at Daman from its upside-down vantage point. “You’re ssshorter.”

Daman opened his mouth then closed it. He slanted a glance at the mirror and realized the cuelebre was right. He furrowed his brow and looked down at his body, then back at the mirror. Now that he thought about it, it felt strange to have his height so…consistent. In his naga form, his height changed depending on the flex of his muscles, how much of his tail he raised off of the ground. His human legs remained the same. He didn’t bob up and down as he stood either, there was no flexing of muscles subtly raising and lowering him.

His hair remained the same, so that provided some transition. His eyes were similar, metallic grey, only with a circular pupil instead of almond-shaped. He ran his hands over his stomach and arms, tracing the skin where once there had been scales and ridges.

“I’m sssurprisssed your lover isssn’t with you.”

Daman tensed, hands stilling on his stomach. His temper flickered inside him, familiar and alien at the same time now that he was in this form. Your lover. His heartbeat echoed in his ears as he slowly faced the cuelebre. “How do you know she’s my lover?”

The cuelebre twitched, tongue flicking out and back in. “Oh, isss ssshe? I meant the word in itsss purest form, lady love and sssuch, you underssstand. But can I take your resssponssse to mean thingsss are now physssical—”

The change came to him with the enthusiasm of an old friend returning from a long voyage. Daman’s body swelled and twisted. Scales clattered down his body in a rain of thick, plated glitter and his muscles and bones stretched, broke, reformed. He opened his mouth in a wide yawn, a snout extending from his face, full of razor sharp teeth and four curved fangs the size of short swords. His claws scrabbled at the floor as he whirled to face the cuelebre, his thick tail swishing behind him. He snorted at the flying pest that seemed all the tinier next to his full wyvern form.

“No need to be ssso touchy,” the cuelebre grumbled. He perked his head up, beady gaze suddenly fixed on the door behind Daman. “Your…lover isss coming.”

Daman swirled around in a chaotic swirl of scales, muscle, and claws, commanding the same grace as he had in his half-and half form, the tail more familiar to his brain than two legs. Footsteps echoed in the hallway beyond the door and he cursed and called the change again.

Dizzy from changing twice in such rapid succession, he stumbled a bit as he grabbed the clothes he’d pulled out earlier and dressed as quickly as he could. The cuelebre snickered behind him, a pleased hissing sound that would have earned it a knock upside its tiny head if Daman had had the time. As it was, he had barely fastened his trousers when there was a knock at his door.

“Daman?”

There was a tone in the voice that came through the door, a note of uncertainty, colored with fatigue. That voice made something in Daman’s stomach clench, a tight sensation of dread tugging at his guts as if it would spill them out onto the floor.

He abandoned his shirt and rushed to the door, snarling as his legs threatened to dump him on the ground. A moment of concentration and he got them under control enough to reach the door. He flung it open and came to a dead halt.

Maribel stood there in a simple mint green dress, the cotton hugging her curves like beloved treasures. She’d bathed, and her skin was scrubbed clean of blood, along with what he guessed was a layer of skin. Her clothes were rumpled as though she’d been sleeping in them, and her face was still flushed as though she’d only just woken up. Though any thought that she may have been sleeping was disillusioned by the slight redness in her eyes and the droop in her shoulders.

“You’ve been crying. Are you all right?” Daman asked gently.

Maribel nodded tiredly. Her gaze roved over Daman, skittering over his new form as if she still couldn’t quite believe it. She hadn’t really had time to see him properly earlier, not with her hands covered in her sister’s blood, Corrine’s life force leaking away from wounds Daman had inflicted. Maribel hadn’t taken her eyes or her hands from her sister until golden light had spilled from the bloody gashes in her neck and chest, melting the wounds closed like hot wax being smoothed into perfect skin.

Daman had helped her get her sister into bed and left them together. As much as he’d wanted to stay, there had been a tightness in Maribel’s posture that…frightened him.

“How is Corrine?” he asked, unable to stand the silence any longer. He tried to keep the question light, but emotion battered his words, showed his uncertainty in all its inglorious light. He desperately wanted to ask Maribel if she’d forgive him, if she’d ever be able to forget that it had been his claws that had nearly cost Maribel her sister. But he was afraid of what the answer might be.

“Sleeping still. The rose seems to have worked.”

There was an awe in her voice that reminded Damon of how sheltered Maribel had been from her heritage, how human she had been raised. It would be interesting to see how she adapted to the knowledge that she was anything but human.

He hoped he would be around to see it.

“Would you like to come in?” Daman stepped back and to the side. His steps were still shaky in this form and he moved as though he had splints on. It was irritating, but in that moment he was grateful for the distraction it provided.

“Not yet.”

Daman’s heart hardened to rock in his chest, a painful weight that ached with every breath. He shuffled back to stand in front of Maribel again, studying her carefully.

“Corrine and I talked a lot before she fell asleep,” Maribel started slowly. She wrung her hands in front of her. “She told me about the bonding spell.” She took a deep breath, stilled her hands. “I guess she knew what I was right away—I mean, that I wasn’t…”

She cleared her throat. “The fairy says that Corrine’s illness wasn’t really an illness, that really it was some entity that had decided to grant Corrine power. She called it a ‘patron.’ She says that’s why Corrine had hallucinations and seizures, it was the power she had inside her. I guess without a familiar or anyone to properly train her, a witch isn’t able to fully process her abilities, and it can cause a lot of problems. For Corrine, she used too much energy just fighting to stay sane. The magic was manifesting itself in nightmares and things that scared her, so she was constantly trying to suppress it entirely. It weakened her body and that’s why she always felt so ill.”

Daman nodded slowly. “I have heard of that. There are many such patrons out there who bestow power on individuals at their own discretion, without telling them why. No one knows what motivates them, if it is some cosmic game or if it is done deliberately as part of a greater scheme.” His arms ached to reach out for Maribel, but he didn’t dare. Not yet. “It is unfortunate that this patron caused your sister so many problems.”

“That’s why she bonded with me,” Maribel said. “Corrine thought she was actually sick, that she was dying, and she thought that bonding with me, sharing my energy, would help her keep up her strength. As a sidhe, she thought I’d have plenty of energy to spare. The fairy said that she was using my energy to sort of heal herself, help her body handle the strain of constantly battling back so much magic.” She looked down at her hands. “I still don’t really understand it.”

“Magic is complicated and far beyond my meager experience.” Daman took a cautious step closer, searching Maribel for any sign his nearness was unwanted. The pulse at his neck fluttered like a living thing trapped beneath his skin. “The fairy will help her.”

Maribel nodded, eyes unfocused. “Yes. She’ll be fine.”

There was another long, awkward silence. Plenty of time for Daman’s imagination to torment him with images of Maribel leaving him, declaring him violent, a monster no matter his form. Putting her arm around her sister and leaving him. The images were so real, Daman imagined he could see the sunlight on her hair as she left, feel the chill in the kitchen where he would eat every meal alone. No one to talk to. No one to laugh with.

Finally, Daman couldn’t stand it anymore. “I’m sorry I hurt your sister,” he blurted out.

Maribel flinched. Her throat worked as she swallowed, nostrils flaring with a long inhalation. She was coming to a decision, and from the deep line between her eyebrows and the stiffness in her shoulders, it would not be altogether pleasant to hear. Daman pressed his hands to his thighs, wishing he had something to hold on to, something to keep his hands busy.

“Maribel, I thought I was dying and I thought once I was gone, she was going to kill you.” Desperation tightened Daman’s voice, pushed him to slide closer to her, caution be damned. “When I came into the room and saw you lying there, saw her putting her hands on you, getting stronger while you faded right in front of me…” He closed his eyes, the memory playing in sickening detail behind his eyelids. “I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving you alone with her.”

She tortured him with another long silence. Daman shifted from foot to foot, but not even that familiar, but alien motion was enough to distract him. She held his future in her hands.

“You tried to tell me about her and I didn’t listen.”

Her voice was so low, Daman almost didn’t hear her. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the short strands as if that could take his mind from the pulse-pounding trepidation eating him from the inside out. “She’s your sister and you love her. That’s a bond not so easily broken by the accusations of a stranger.”

Maribel’s blue eyes glittered at him, with tears or emotion he wasn’t sure.

“But you weren’t a stranger. I know you, I—” She looked away for a moment as if regaining her composure. Her hands toyed with the material of her skirt, bunching it up, letting it go. Finally she met his eyes again. “I cared about both of you, and I was so worried about hurting one of you that I buried my head in the sand. I could have tried to find out the truth, but I was willing to let both of you believe what you wanted to while I tried to find some way of making you both happy.” Her voice hitched, tripping over her breath. “And because of that, I could have lost both of you.”

A tear rolled down her cheek and Daman couldn’t help it. He pulled her into his arms, tucking her head against his shoulder and resting his chin on the top of her head. “Shhh. It’s all right. Everyone is all right.”

“I thought you died,” Maribel sobbed. She folded against him, hands pressed to his bare skin, roaming in small circles as if reassuring herself he was really there, really all right. “All that blood…”

“Shhh, it’s okay. Maybe you were right in the end. Corrine may have lied, but you believed that deep down she did care about you, and you were right. You offered her your energy, told her to take whatever she needed. She could have drained enough to heal herself, traded your life for hers. But instead, she took just enough for one more spell. She lifted my curse so I could heal, and I know she did that because she knew I would take care of you. In the end, she chose you over herself. I can’t think of more convincing evidence of someone’s love.”

He was somewhat taken aback at the words coming out of his mouth, more so that he could feel the truth of them on his tongue. Corrine had chosen Maribel in the end, had been willing to make the ultimate sacrifice. Even Daman couldn’t have asked more of her than that.

“Maybe if I’d given her more attention, I would have seen there was something wrong.” Maribel pressed her cheek against his chest. “Part of me always resented that she didn’t do more work, that I always had to take care of her. But maybe if I’d really listened—”

“You know nothing of the world beyond humans.” Daman rubbed small soothing circles on her back, fingers pressing into the knots her muscles had worked themselves into. “There’s no way you could have known what was happening.”

Maribel stiffened. The knots beneath Daman’s fingers grew to the size of large hailstones.

“But Mother Briar did.”

“In all likelihood, yes.” A warm, burning anger stirred in his belly, soothing in its familiarity. “She probably knew right away what both of you were, that you were sidhe and Corrine was touched by a patron. That witch hasn’t lived as long as she has without learning how to manipulate people.” His fingers stilled as his mind raced, followed the line of thought leading into darkness. “In fact,” he said slowly, “it wouldn’t surprise me if she set this whole thing in motion just to find Jeanne.”

The scent of spring wafted past his senses as Maribel stirred against him, raising her eyes to his. “That sounds terribly complicated,” she said doubtfully. “To manipulate Corrine into coming here, your curse, the Rose of the Mist, me.”

“But what if Corrine was her plan A?” Daman kept his arms around Maribel, the feel of her warm body comforting in the midst of the discomforting thoughts churning in his mind. “She knew Corrine’s weaknesses well enough after spending so much time ‘training’ her. She could have easily planted the idea in Corrine’s head that marrying me would end her misery, give her a safer life. Then after that failed, she might have seen you as a viable plan B. You would do anything for your sister, after all.”

Maribel clenched her hands into fists where they rested against his chest. “Corrine got worse after we came out here, got worse with every season that passed. You’re saying it was that witch, that Mother Briar was twisting her mind, feeding her fears so she would be desperate enough to manipulate into coming here?”

A supple lock of her hair tickled his finger and Daman absent-mindedly toyed with it. “Possibly, but Corrine may have gotten worse from being in a rural area instead of the main village.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“When you’re this close to nature, working with the land, vulnerable to any change in the weather, superstitions have a much stronger hold. Belief in creatures beyond the veil is stronger, and people are more vigilant of them, more fearful. That kind of emotion has a tangible effect on magic. Corrine may have gotten worse, because her power grew stronger out here, fed by the fervent faith of her neighbors.”

“And Mother Briar would have known about that too,” Maribel guessed.

“Most definitely.”

Maribel clenched her teeth. “She can’t get away with what she’s done.”

Daman rubbed a hand up and down her back, offering what comfort he could. As much as he wanted to dispose of Mother Briar for Maribel—taking his wyvern form and eating her seemed a viable idea—part of him was loathe to take on a witch so soon after breaking his curse. He had underestimated a witch once, it would be foolish to do so again.

“We will need to speak with Corrine,” he said finally. “She should have some say in this.”

Maribel pulled away, peering behind her down the hallway in the direction of Corrine’s room. “She’s sleeping now, I don’t want to wake her.”

The sadness and stress that had weighed so heavily on her when she’d first arrived pinched Maribel’s features, pushing her shoulders down until she stood hunched over, defeated. Daman pulled her back into his arms, tilting her face up to his with one hand under her chin. “We will make Mother Briar pay,” he promised. “There is more than one way to burn a witch.”

Maribel tensed and leaned back. “That’s a hideous thought.”

Daman flushed. “I didn’t mean—”

“No, it’s all right,” Maribel interrupted. She folded herself back into his arms. “For Mother Briar, it’s appropriate.”

Daman bit back the urge to apologize again. Witches had been evil in his mind for so long, it was going to take some time to adjust his thinking now that saying anything against witches would be saying things against the sister of the woman he…

His thoughts trailed off. He only meant to glance at Maribel, but once his gaze landed on her, he couldn’t look away. It wasn’t until she shifted, her cheeks taking on a pleasing pink hue, that he realized how long he’d been staring.

“About what happened before you went to see your sister…”

Maribel bit the inside of her cheek, but she didn’t take her eyes from his. “Yes?”

“I’d still like you to stay. If you still want to be part of my life.”

“I’d like that,” Maribel said, putting her hands on his shoulders.

“I love you.” The words hurt coming out, hanging back, too afraid of rejection to stray farther than his tongue. But he’d almost lost her, almost died without telling her how he felt. Never again.

“I love you too,” she half-sobbed.

Daman tightened his arms around her, dragging her against his chest. Happiness more profound than any emotion he’d experienced in some time nearly overwhelmed him, left him feeling as if he could fly, human form or no. He bent his head to press his lips to Maribel’s, sealing the promise of their new life with a kiss.

Chapter Eighteen

“Your sister has gone, you can stop pretending to be asleep now.”

Corrine slowly opened one eye, just enough to test the veracity of the pixie’s claim. True to the fey’s word, the bed beside her was empty, the rumpled sheets all that remained of her sister. Slowly, Corrine sat up, wincing as the skin in her neck tightened and pulled. Her wounds were closed, already pink with new skin, but the pain lingered.

As did the memory.

“I’m sure your lack of a formal expression of gratitude is merely a result of your exhaustion and emotional turmoil,” the pixie assured her. “Don’t feel too terribly about it.”

Corrine eased herself into a sitting position, resting her aching back against the firm cushion of the headboard and pressing a hand to the sensitive skin on her neck where a fatal wound had once been. The puckered skin felt strange under her fingertips, the slick texture at odds with the harsh memory of what had caused it. She stared at the door, imagining where Maribel must be. In Daman’s arms, most likely.

A small flicker of warmth eased some of the tightness in Corrine’s chest. She’d expected to feel jealousy, or resentment, at the thought of her sister finding happiness in a life she could have no part of. But there was none.

“You’re happier.”

The corners of Corrine’s mouth rose, the expression foreign to her in ways a smile should never be. She laughed and ran a hand over her face.

“I am happy,” she admitted. “Happy-er.”

“I don’t doubt it. Wounds like yours take an incredible amount of energy to survive, even with a sidhe using a magic flower to heal you. All that magic you’ve been fighting to suppress has probably been nigh exhausted.” The pixie fluttered down from her perch on the bedside table where she’d been lounging in a teacup filled with faintly steaming water. Droplets of water plopped onto Corrine’s skin as the fey marched up her arm to sit on her shoulder, running in warm rivulets to leave wet spots on the sheets.

“What?” Corrine started to roll over, but stopped, wincing at the sensation of the wet spots left by the pixie soaking into her nightgown. She craned her neck to see the pixie’s face. “What magic? I haven’t been suppressing anything. I’ve been trying to get all the magic I can.” She groped around her neck, stiffening as she discovered the amulet was missing.

Panic prickled over her nerves like a dozen sharp needles and she thrashed to the side, searching for the crystal. The pixie shrieked as she fell off her shoulder, her body twitching in the air as her wings burst into a flurry of movement to keep herself from falling.

“Careful! Warn a pixie before you go jumping about, you could have squished me.”

“Where is it?” Corrine ran her hands over the sheets and under the pillows, bunching up the comforter, feeling for any sign of the missing magical item.

“Where is what?”

“My amulet! The one Mother Briar gave me.”

“You mean that rock on a chain? I gave it to the wardrobe.”

Corrine gaped at the pixie. “You…what?”

“I gave it to the wardrobe,” the pixie repeated slowly. She crossed her arms, drumming her fingers along her rose-tinted skin. “Maybe you should go back to sleep. You still seem a bit—”

The rest of the fey’s sentence was cut off by a squeak as Corrine shoved herself out of the bed and dashed over to the wardrobe. She flung open the doors, searching for some sign of the crystal. “Where is it?” she muttered, a lump forming in her throat. She pulled open the drawers one by one, growing more frantic by the second. “I need that amulet. It’s all I have left.” The last drawer failed to yield results and Corrine slammed it and whirled to the pixie, pointing a shaking finger at the flying creature. “Why would you put it in the wardrobe? Don’t you know they’re enchanted? Who knows where it is now, I may never get it back.”

“I gave it to the wardrobe, because it asked for it.” The pixie sniffed, examining her nails as though she were bored. “I don’t like it when you shout at me.”

The floor rushed up to meet Corrine as she sank to her knees, tears burning behind her eyes. “That’s it then.” Her voice grew thicker and she put her back against the wardrobe and drew her knees up to her chest. “What do I do now?”

A small weight pressed down on her head and the pixie’s voice floated down. “Why are you upset? It was only a crystal. The wardrobe promised to give you some particularly exquisite clothes for it.” A little hand stroked her head, toying with her hair. “You like pretty clothes.”

“You don’t understand. That was the only magic I had left from Mother Briar. She’ll never help me now, not after I failed so terribly to get her what she wanted. And Maribel is staying here…”

“Why would you want Mother Briar’s magic?”

Corrine didn’t respond. There was no point. She was tired of trying to explain how she felt to people, tired of having to justify why she needed magic, why she needed help.

“When you came here, I thought you were going to try and break up your sister and Daman.”

The pixie’s voice had turned thoughtful, with an undertone of something more serious, more…calculating?

Corrine leaned heavily against the wardrobe, letting it hold her full weight. For a moment she thought her mind was playing tricks on her, making her think the furniture was shifting, trying to make her more comfortable.

“I wanted to,” she admitted, her voice as numb as the rest of her. “Part of me thought I could kill two birds with one stone. If I could convince Maribel to make Daman tell her where Jeanne was, I could give Mother Briar the information she needed, and possibly make Daman angry enough with Maribel to send her home in the process.”

“But you didn’t.”

An image of Maribel floated through Corrine’s mind, her sister’s face while she talked about Daman. The spark in his eyes when he looked at Maribel.

“Everyone thinks I’m selfish, that I use Maribel and don’t really care about her.” Corrine raised a hand, offering a perch to the pixie. The tiny fey accepted and settled into her palm so Corrine could bring her down to face her. “They’re wrong. I’m not proud of everything I’ve done, but I never wanted to hurt Maribel. I was scared, and I’ll admit there wasn’t a lot I wasn’t willing to do to feel safe, but…”

She swallowed, blinking back the tears threatening to fall. “I never hurt her. Never. I was never evil, I… Today when I… When she…” She clenched her teeth, breathing through the sudden burn of impending tears. “I didn’t mean to. I stopped as soon as I realized…” Words failed her, sounding pathetically inadequate even to her own ears. She covered her face with her free hand as though she could hold the tears in. “I couldn’t take that happiness away from her.”

A hurried tapping on her fingers made her lower her hands. The pixie’s face hovered in front of her, lit with a brilliant smile. “You have a good heart,” she declared. “That’s what we needed to hear.”

“We?”

“Yes.” The pixie jumped into the air, wings beating furiously. “Come with me.”

“Wait, where? Who’s we?” Corrine stood, but made no move to follow the pixie. Her brain was having trouble processing the abrupt change in conversation and what she really wanted to do was go back to bed. The silky sheets and thick blankets looked awfully inviting.

“She was right, you know. You have a lot of raw power. I don’t know who your patron is, but they really poured it all into you.” She pursed her lips. “Not very kind if you think about it. They didn’t give you a familiar or a mentor. Just let you go. No wonder you always felt like you were dying.” She perked up. “No matter, though. It’ll all work out now.”

The faint stirrings of a memory came back to Corrine, hazy voices she’d thought she’d dreamt up, people talking over her, about her, while she lay unconscious. Patron. Power. Evil Fire. “You’re saying I have power.”

The pixie arched an eyebrow. “You’re just now picking up on that?”

“But Mother Briar said my magic wasn’t very strong.”

“Which makes her a dirty liar.”

“But the amulet, the potions… She needed to make them for me.”

“She created them for you because you didn’t know how, but she used your blood. That’s where the power came from. That amulet was a trick of the mind, a way to pass your magic off as hers so you would think you needed her.” The pixie snorted. “That old bat doesn’t have the juice to do half of what you did today. Do you know how rare it is for a witch to work a spell through sheer willpower?” She paused. “Of course, being near death tends to give one quite a bit of extra oomph. I doubt you’d have been able to do that on an average day. Obviously I wouldn’t recommend it as a first course of action…”

Corrine’s head fell back, banging against the wardrobe. She hissed and jerked forward, rubbing the back of her head.

“You pulled energy from a sidhe too,” the pixie continued. “Pulled enough from her to hurt her. Even panicking as much as you were, that was impressive. Not sure you could have done that if you hadn’t already been taking from her for so long, but still.”

Maribel. Corrine had a flash of seeing Maribel collapse, remembered the euphoric feeling she’d been lost in, how long it had taken her to register what she was doing, what effect she was having on her sister.

“I could have killed her.” Saying the words out loud made her blood run cold.

The pixie tilted her head, eyeing Corrine from her new position on a tented portion of bedsheets. “Surprisingly, yes. Well, maybe not killed her. Sidhe are creatures of the earth, and the land around us is vital. She may have survived even if you did attempt to drain her.”

Corrine covered her face with her hands, trying to shove the memory away. “I never wanted to hurt her.”

“Witches left untrained with no familiar and no mentor often hurt people without intending to. Your patron must have had a terrible sense of humor. Not atypical, mind you, but terrible nonetheless.”

A surge of anger flared bright and hot, chasing back the pain. Corrine dropped her hands to glare at the pixie. “You’ve been dropping information like breadcrumbs, tempting my appetite, but providing nothing of substance. Is it your intention to continue to torment me, or do you plan to explain exactly what you know about me?”

The pixie put a hand on her chest. “You would accuse me of being vague?”

Corrine narrowed her eyes.

“Humph,” the pixie muttered. “That’s gratitude for you. Oh, all right. I suppose I could answer a few questions before we go.”

“Go where?”

“To Mother Hazel.”

That got Corrine’s attention. “You can’t be serious. You want to take me to another witch? After everything Mother Briar did to me?”

The pixie crossed her arms. “Fine. Figure it all out for yourself. How hard could that be?”

Corrine bristled at the sarcasm dripping from the pixie’s tone, but she bit back the scathing response that readied on her tongue. The fey had agreed to answer some questions. Best not to look that gift horse in the mouth.

“What’s a patron?”

The pixie took her time settling down, getting comfortable. By the time she finally answered, Corrine was ready to leap off the floor and strangle her.

“A patron is someone or something very powerful. It can be a god, a spirit, or a very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very—”

“Is that really necessary?”

“Very powerful person,” the pixie finished with a glare. She sniffed. “The patron might reveal herself to the witch or she might not. She might have a reason for giving the person power or she might not. She might be giving the power to the person for a good reason or—”

“She might not,” Corrine finished. Impatience licked at her and she had to clasp her hands in her lap to keep from reaching for the fey.

“Or she might not,” the pixie finished pointedly.

“Is there any way to find out who my patron is?” Corrine’s heart throbbed in her throat, her nerves singing as she felt herself getting close to the answers she needed.

“Not if she doesn’t want you to know. At least, I’ve never heard of anyone tracking down a patron. You’d have to be some sort of crazy investigator.”

Corrine slumped back against the wardrobe, but her mind continued to whirl. The pixie eyed her for a minute then continued.

“Normally, the patron arranges for a mentor, either by formal introduction or as some sort of apparent coincidence. The witch can either find a mentor, or a mentor can find a witch. It’s the mentor’s job to help you balance the power that’s making you ‘ill’ and to help you learn new spells.”

The way the fey said “ill” made Corrine study her more closely. “Why do you say ‘ill’ like I’m not really ill?”

The pixie gripped her head in both hands. “You haven’t figured it out yet?” she half-shrieked. “After all I’ve been saying?”

“What? Just tell me!”

“You were never sick,” the pixie shouted. “Your patron just decided to let you think that. All that nausea, dizziness, hallucinations, weakness—it was all raw power! You didn’t know what you were, you had no one to help you. Your power was making you mad.”

A fine trembling shook Corrine’s body. Never ill? All those years…all that time…all that fear. The pixie shifted as though suddenly uncomfortable. Then she cleared her throat and slid down the incline the bed sheets had made. She jumped off the bed and flew over to land on Corrine’s folded hands. Slowly, she leaned down and put her tiny hand on one of Corrine’s fingers.

“All this time… All the things I’ve done.” Heat swamped Corrine’s head, making it hard to think. She could only sit there, helpless as images danced across her mind. All those days she’d spent in bed, terrified of falling and hurting herself, of losing herself in one of those horrible waking dreams. The stares she’d always gotten from others, the whispers. The times an episode had left her in physical danger, cut, burned, or bleeding. The bonding spell she’d used on Maribel.

“It’s not your fault,” the pixie said softly. “I know you’re feeling guilty about what you did to Maribel, but there was nothing else you could have done. You were drawn to magic, it was inevitable with that much power inside you, but you didn’t understand what you were. You bonded to your sister because she was the only one ‘other’ that you knew. You were driven to do something to prevent true madness.” The pixie scowled. “Whoever your patron is, she’s a sick one.”

“You keep saying ‘she.’” Corrine tried to focus on the pixie. “How do you know it’s a she?”

The pixie shrugged and leaned back. “I don’t. But I resort to female when dealing with any kind of creative magic. Women are the creators, after all, not men.”

Corrine mulled that over for a while. Her hands grew clammy as an unpleasant thought unfurled in her mind. “Could Mother Briar be my patron?”

The pixie snorted. “No. Mother Briar isn’t powerful enough. That’s why she’s so desperate to get Jeanne back. She wants the girl to be her slave, to do all the work she’s too lazy to do and doesn’t have the power to do magically. If the old bat put half as much effort into her own work as she did trying to find Jeanne, it would all balance out and she wouldn’t even need the poor goblin girl. I mean, look at how much work she put into manipulating you.”

Corrine stared into space for a moment. “Maribel knows about Mother Briar’s part in…everything.”

The pixie shrugged. “Seems so.”

“Maribel will want her punished.” Inner turmoil tightened Corrine’s voice, threatening to choke her with emotion she didn’t want to deal with right now. “Maribel has always been very protective of me.”

The pixie pressed her lips into a thin line. “It would be foolish of Maribel to go after Mother Briar. She’s not all that powerful as far as witches go, but that’s still a lot farther than a sidhe who’s believed she was a human her entire life. Even Daman would do well to keep his distance unless he wanted to end up cursed into a shape significantly worse than the halfway form he’s been living in this past year. Even a poor excuse for a witch like Mother Briar could manage to change him into a wild boar or something.” The pixie paused. “Well, perhaps not a boar. Nagas are too powerful for something so mortal. But a river, that could likely be managed.”

“Is Mother Briar more powerful than me?” Corrine asked carefully, her mind parsing through different scenarios in which she might make Mother Briar pay for all she’d done.

“In terms of raw power, not likely,” the pixie mused. “Mother Briar comes from a line of witches capable of little more than parlor tricks, there isn’t much power in her bloodline. And she’s never been foolish enough to barter with a bigger force for more power. You, on the other hand, have been touched by a very generous, if cruel, patron.” The pixie eyed Corrine. “Still, all the power in the world won’t do you any good if you don’t know how to use it. You’re nowhere near ready to take on Mother Briar.”

“I can’t let Maribel go after her and get hurt. I have to do something.”

“Well, there are all kinds of ways to keep your sister from challenging the old crone,” the pixie assured her. “Why, I could teach you a spell to lay a fog around the old crone’s house that would disorient and turn away anyone who tried to go in. Or we could try wiping the memory of Mother Briar from your sister’s mind. Or—”

“No,” Corrine interrupted. “Fog would only lead unwary travelers astray. And I will never interfere with my sister’s mind again.” She tapped a finger against her thigh. “I’ll be honest with Maribel. It’s the least I can do to make up for the deception of the past.”

She slid out of the bed and searched the room until she found parchment and a pen. She quickly scribbled a letter to her sister. Her eyes watered as she penned a pathetic apology along with an insistence that Maribel leave Mother Briar to her, since it was she who had been manipulated. She swallowed hard as tears streamed down her cheeks, then forced herself to finish the letter with a plea that Maribel not try to find her.

“Pixie?”

“Yes?”

“Can you help me get out of here without being seen?”

“Oh, yes. Glamour is easy.”

Corrine hesitated before asking the next part, but there was no point putting it off. “And can you help me find somewhere to stay until I can support myself?”

“Mother Hazel will help you.” The pixie tilted her head. “Why don’t you stay here? Your sister obviously wants you to stay, the naga lord has no reason to attack you now.” The pixie glanced around. “Isn’t this exactly what you wanted? To live like a queen?”

“Not on someone’s else’s coin!” The words came out louder and harsher than Corrine had meant to say them and she pressed her lips into a thin line as she took deep breaths. After some measure of her control had returned, she addressed the pixie again. “All I want is to be self-sufficient. I don’t want to rely on anyone.”

“That wasn’t your attitude before,” the pixie pointed out. “You were quite firm on the point that you wanted to be rich and wealthy with lots of servants—”

“That was when I thought I had need of such things.” Corrine pressed her hands to the table, concentrating on the solid support of the wood. “That was when I thought I was ill, that I couldn’t do things on my own. If what you’ve told me is true, I don’t need to rely on anyone. I don’t need to surround myself with wealth and servants, to protect myself from the world. I can handle the world.” She cleared her throat and looked away, suddenly uncomfortable with the pixie’s piercing gaze. “I just need a little help to get there.”

“And you would take that help from Mother Hazel, but not your sister?”

Corrine cleared her throat, mentally threatening to dig her eyes out of her head if they dared to drop another tear. “I have taken enough from my sister.” An ache in her chest prompted her to massage a spot just under her collarbone. Where once there had been an arcane mark, the symbol of the bond linking her with Maribel, there was now only a scar. The last remnant of her link to her sidhe sibling, severed by a sheer force of will in what she’d thought would be her last act on this plane of existence. She gave the pixie a defiant glare. “Besides, isn’t it my mentor’s job to help me? Isn’t that what this Mother Hazel is offering?”

The pixie ignored her tone, not blinking an eye. She stared at Corrine for so long that the gaze gained a weight to it, bored straight through Corrine and dragged over the tender fabric of her very soul. She clenched her hands into fists, determined not to squirm. Finally, the pixie nodded.

“I will take you to Mother Hazel. But I will tell you now, Corrine. The life you’re choosing for yourself will not be an easy one. Magic is a fierce beast that can hurt you or help you, depending on how you try to use it and how seriously you take your studies. To learn that life surrounded by loved ones and comforts is one thing. To study alone…”

“Perhaps it’s time I was alone.” Corrine stood straighter, squared her shoulders. “But mark my words, pixie. Someday I will repay my sister for her kindness. I will make up for all I have done.” She stared out the window at the land. “I swear it.”

Epilogue

Kirill, vampire prince of Dacia and member of the ruling council for the New Kingdom, led Daman into the study. The castle had only recently been completed and everything was shiny and new, every golden wall sconce gleaming with perfection, every inch of the marble floor polished to a glossy shine. The art hanging on the walls had come from his own personal stock, and the vibrant colors made the images come alive. The entire castle screamed of money and power—exactly as Kirill intended. It was precisely the scene he wanted as he invited his first prospect to meet with the rest of the council.

“I’m still not sure I understand why I’m here?”

Kirill smiled at Daman, not bothering to hide his fangs. Daman was a naga, with a half dragon and full dragon form—a set of fangs was not going to startle him. “All will be explained very soon.” He tilted his head. “I trust your honeymoon was pleasant?”

The corner of Daman’s mouth quirked up in an expression that said more than words how much he’d enjoyed his vacation with his new wife, Maribel. “Indeed. Your suggestion was most welcome.”

“Glad to hear it. So few people are aware of that island. It makes it the perfect spot for a private getaway.”

“Did you honeymoon there as well?”

Kirill paused, keeping his face neutral as he studied Daman. From the way the naga had behaved when Kirill had first appeared at his home, he’d assumed the naga was unfamiliar with the royal family of Dacia. How had he known Kirill was married?

Then it dawned on Kirill and he glanced down at his left hand and the ring that matched the silver band he’d given his wife Irina. “No,” he answered finally. “My wife and I didn’t travel for our honeymoon, though I did suggest it.”

“Your wife does not like to travel?”

Kirill fought not to roll his eyes. “No. She doesn’t like to leave the kingdom. My wife is very interested in”—social reform, interfering in my political machinations—“charity work. She is quite dedicated.”

“She sounds like a lovely woman,” Daman said politely.

This time Kirill’s smile was a full flashing of fangs as he thought of his beautiful bride. Heat stirred in his body and he composed himself before his mind could travel too far ahead in the evening to the time he would once again have his wife in his arms. “She is that.”

Finally they arrived at the study. Kirill opened the door and gestured for Daman to precede him. Daman warily glanced into the room, body held loose, prepared to leap at any sign of danger. After a moment, he stepped over the threshold. Kirill followed him.

There were four men in the room, the rest of the ruling council of the New Kingdom. Kirill stepped slightly ahead of Daman to begin introductions.

“Daman, may I introduce you to my compatriots.” He gestured toward the window. “Prince Etienne of Sanguenay.”

The moonlight spilling through the window illuminated Etienne, casting his shaggy brown hair in shadow and making his dark blue waistcoat appear black. His brown eyes glinted with a momentary flash of gold, a hint of the wolf within him peeking out at the visitor. He bowed slightly. “Pleased to meet you.”

“And this is Adonis, Prince of Nysa.” Kirill paused and put a hand to his head and rubbed his temple. “Adonis, didn’t we discuss this?”

The demon standing at the fireplace crossed his arms, the smoldering cigarette tucked between two fingers filling the room with the smoky scent of cloves. “You said he was a naga. Don’t tell me horns and wings are going to frighten him?”

“That’s not the point,” Kirill argued tiredly. “Is Etienne in wolfman form? Is Saamal appearing as a jaguar or a gust of wind?”

“Patricio’s wings are out,” Adonis objected.

“Patricio is an angel, he has no choice.”

“Well, I’m an incubus. This is what I look like, to look otherwise would be deceptive. Hardly the sort of first impression you want to make when you’re inviting someone to move into your kingdom and take up a position of power in the court.”

“Move? Position of power in the court?” Daman leaned back from the other occupants of the room. “What court? What kingdom?”

Kirill clenched his teeth, struggling not to bare his fangs. “Thank you for that subtle revelation, Adonis. And here I was worried about how best to broach the subject.” He straightened his clothes, counting his weapons as he kept a careful eye on Daman out of his peripheral vision.

“If I may continue with the introductions, all else will soon be revealed.”

Daman studied Kirill for a moment. Finally he inclined his head once. “Very well.”

Kirill noticed that he remained with his back to a corner, keeping all five members of the council in view while remaining close to the door. Silently, Kirill congratulated him on his choice.

“Now where was I? Ah, yes. The gentleman standing next to the table is Prince Patricio of Meropis and the gentleman seated in front of the fireplace is Prince Saamal of Mu.”

Daman nodded to the towering angel, surprisingly unintimidated. Not many men could look at the over seven foot angel with his massive wingspan without taking a step back out of sheer instinct. The massive sword hanging at his side didn’t help him appear any more approachable. Saamal, despite being the most powerful being in the room, was also the least intimidating physically. It wasn’t until the god chose to use his powers that he could be seen for the terrifying being he was.

“A pleasure to meet you.”

Saamal’s voice was gentle and calm as always, and not for the first time, Kirill found himself wondering how much of the god’s placid exterior was genuine and how much was an attempt to put others at ease.

“The pleasure is mine,” Daman answered amicably. He glanced back to Kirill with an expectant expression on his face.

He has Adonis’ patience. Kirill muffled a sigh. “All right, let us get down to business then. Daman, you will no doubt have noticed that the land you now find yourself in is as yet untouched by civilization, other than the palace around you.”

“I have.”

“Well, due to circumstances that are unimportant at this time, my fellow council members and I find ourselves in the rather unique position of populating this new land by invitation.”

Daman’s eyebrows rose. “You’re looking for settlers?”

“In a manner of speaking. It is important when taking on an endeavor such as this one that—”

“We’re willing to let you relocate abused changelings here in exchange for your willingness to relocate as well and help us govern as part of our new court,” Patricio interrupted.

Kirill pulled one hand inside his cloak, closing long fingers around the hilt of his favorite dagger. The texture of the blade’s grip soothed him, helped him keep hold of his temper in the face of the angel’s blatant disrespect.

Patricio crossed his arms and faced Kirill down without a sliver of apology in his blue gaze. “Some of us would like to get home at a reasonable hour. Not all of us are nocturnal.”

“What do you know about the changelingss?” Daman’s pupils narrowed to draconic slits and his fingers twitched, tips sharpening into claws the color and shape of a crescent moon.

“Thank you for putting our guest at ease, Patricio,” Kirill said tightly. “Done with your usual flair for comfort. Marcella would be so proud.”

“Leave my wife out of this.” Patricio’s wings rose in the wind of his agitation.

“Who wouldn’t want to join this family?” Adonis joked. He blew a smoke ring at the ceiling, blue-white tendrils curling outward as it rose. He winked at Daman. “Our winter solstice parties are unrivaled.”

“Winter solstice…” Daman blinked.

Not for the first time, Kirill was impressed with Adonis’ ability to put others at ease. His political guile was deplorable, but his genuine likeability was lethal.

“Daman,” Kirill said, facing the naga. “The angel, in all his ham-fistedness, is correct. We are building a society here from the ground up. I have heard much about you, many stories from grateful changelings who have found happiness with the families you find for them. I have seen for myself how dedicated you are. You are precisely the type of man that could help us build a court to be proud of, respected. In exchange for your guidance, your participation in our endeavors, we would be pleased to let you bring changelings here. Surely there is no place they would be safer than a land accessible only by invitation?”

He didn’t look around the room at the other princes, silently willing them not to contradict him. After all, for the most part, it was true that this new kingdom could be accessed only by invitation. Though it was possible for the unwary to accidentally stumble through the portal if they passed close enough to the world tree.

Daman glanced from one man to the other, but Kirill could see his mind working behind his silver eyes. The naga’s first responsibility was to his charges, his changelings. This land was safe for them, open to them.

“What do you want from me?” Daman asked finally.

Kirill smiled. “Etienne? Won’t you escort our guest to the map room so he can pick a location for his new home?”

“I’m not your lapdog,” Etienne snapped.

The handle of his dagger was soothing, as it always was. For what felt like the hundredth time that night alone, Kirill toyed with the idea of burying the blade somewhere in Etienne’s thigh. Not to kill him, or even lame him—lycanthrope physiology would protect him from any lasting damage—but just to let the beast know that his dismal attitude would have consequences. With a sigh, he pulled his hand from the weapon.

“Saamal?”

The god’s lip quirked as he pushed away a smile. “It would be my pleasure.”

Daman, who had watched the exchange between Kirill and Etienne with a sharp silver-eyed stare that was far too discerning for Kirill’s taste, amiably followed Saamal out. Kirill waited until the door closed behind them and their footsteps faded away down the hall.

“Etienne, for the love of all gods and demons everywhere, must you always be so disagreeable?”

The lycanthrope folded his arms, muscles bunching with the movement. “Must you always be so manipulative?”

“Manipulative? I thought we’d all agreed to invite Daman into our realm? What, pray tell, have I done to deserve such ire from you on this matter?”

Golden eyes darkened to hard amber. “Do you think I don’t know about the pirate? Tyr, I believe he’s called? Aging pirate with one hand?”

Kirill paused, careful to keep the tension from his face and shoulders. “What about him?”

“Do you intend to tell Daman that it was you who arranged for pirates to steal Maribel’s family fortune? That it was your scheming that sent her family from their home at court to the farm where her poor sister suffered so?”

Damn his eyes. “You’ve been talking with shady characters, my friend. Who would tell such stories?”

“Wow, that’s a long game even for you,” Adonis piped up.

Clove-scented smoke wafted past Kirill as the demon spoke, and he waved it away with a sharp flick of his hand. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“How many seers do you have working for you?” Patricio demanded, feathers rustling as he straightened to his full height. “Who is giving you such information that you can arrange events so far ahead of time?”

Three. Kirill gave Patricio a blank stare. “What seers?”

“He won’t tell you,” Adonis informed them. “Kirill plays his cards close to his dagger-laden vest.”

“This is never going to work,” Etienne muttered. “Some high council we are. How could Eurydice ever have thought we could rule a kingdom together?”

“Oh, don’t be so sour, my wolfish friend,” Adonis insisted, sauntering over to clap a clawed hand on Etienne’s back. “We’re all getting along swimmingly. Just a few growing pains, that’s all.” He took another puff from his cigarette and patted Etienne on the head. “You just need to accept our vampire companion for who he is. Fangs, weapons, seers, and all.”

“This kingdom is doomed,” Patricio muttered.

“Oh, take heart, angelic prince,” Kirill soothed. “Wait until you see my next candidate…”

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The Keepers

Alchemy Series Book One

Donna Augustine

Two days ago, Jo Davids was a waitress by night and a college kid by day, with the unnerving problem of objects floating around her.

One Day ago, Jo’s sexy boss, Cormac, noticed her for all the wrong reasons when she witnessed a man transform into a monster in the basement of his casino.

Today, Cormac ordered her shot.

If he’s real lucky, she won’t die. Because if she does, all hope is lost.

Chapter One

“No, I can’t wait until tomorrow. You need to take her tonight.” I heard Maxine’s voice in the kitchen. I’d been living with her and Charlie for the last two months, and as far as foster homes went, it was one of the better ones. Charlie would watch Sesame Street with me in the morning, and Maxine baked cookies sometimes. She had even made me a cake for my seventh birthday.

They lived in an apartment, but there was a park across the street that had a swing set. As far as homes go, it was the best I’d ever had, but now it was over.

“I won’t have her here another night. There is something wrong with her,” Maxine continued. She spoke in a strange breathy tone that I’d never heard her use before.

I peeked around the corner, keeping myself in the shadows of my still dark room. Maxine and Charlie were standing in the kitchen together. Charlie held one of Maxine’s hands as her other hand held the phone in a white knuckled grip. I’d just read that phrase in a book the other day and been looking for a fitting situation to use it. This seemed to be perfect. Only problem was, there was no one to say it to.

“Tell them,” Charlie urged Maxine. Charlie was the one I usually liked to try out my flavorful verses on. He called me a savant the other day and smiled. I knew whatever it had meant had made him happy, but now he seemed to want me gone, too.

Maxine covered the phone piece and then replied to him, “I can’t tell them everything. They’ll think we’re nuts. How are we going to ever get a child then?”

It was nice while it lasted. I had liked them.

“Fine, but if you’re not here by tomorrow morning, I’m bringing her to you.” I watched Maxine hang the phone back on its cradle on the mustard yellow kitchen wall.

“Thank god, they’re coming. This kid is freaking me out,” Charlie said, and then hugged Maxine. “I’m sorry, I know you thought maybe she was the one. There are lots of other kids.”

I knew what they meant. They wanted a normal kid, not me. I pulled my worn green suitcase out of the closet and grabbed Henry, my stuffed penguin off the bed. “It’s okay Henry, we don’t need them. We don’t need anyone.”

Fifteen Years Later

The knocking at the door awakened me. Squinting one eye, not having the energy to open both yet, I looked at my alarm clock. One of the minute lights had burned out, so I had to round to the nearest ten minutes. Who in their right mind would be banging on my door at ten to six in the morning? I groaned because I knew the answer already. It was Mrs. Harvey; no one would ever accuse her of being in her right mind.

“Hang on!” I yelled toward the general vicinity of the door and started looking for pants. Even though I was sure it was Mrs. Harvey, answering the door in a t-shirt and underwear didn’t seem like a good idea. Leaning down, I groped along the cluttered floor in the dark trying to find a pair of sweat pants. I kept forgetting to buy light bulbs, so I had rotated the bedroom light bulb to the living room light, where I liked to do all my studying. After accidentally stepping on one of my textbooks and stabbing myself with a pen, my hand finally landed on familiar cotton.

The knocking started up again and it felt as if my whole wall shook with the force of the old woman’s pounding. “I’m coming,” I said, as I made my way to the door of my small rented trailer. Swinging the door open, before she could lay her little fists to the paint chipped surface again, I greeted my neighbor.

Mrs. Harvey was of an unknown age somewhere between eighty and a hundred, if I had to guess. She was very fond of baby blue eye shadow and bright red lipstick. She also liked to wear her hair in a bouffant. She owned the next trailer over with her husband, which looked like the Royal Palace compared to mine.

“Mrs. Harvey, what’s wrong?”

“Josephine, Mr. Harvey’s hip is still bothering him, can you come by later today?”

“Mrs. Harvey, I told you, I’m a premed student, not a doctor. I don’t know how to do any of that stuff, yet.”

“Can you come by later, anyway? It makes Mr. Harvey feel better.”

Her sweet voice and the pleading look in her eyes were hard to turn down.

“Okay, sure, I’ve got the breakfast shift at the diner, and classes after that, but I should be able to swing by around seven?”

“I’ll make you a nice dinner.”

“That sounds good,” I said, and I wasn’t lying either. It sounded great. Mrs. Harvey was one of the best cooks I’d ever met. I knew that this wasn’t so much about Mr. Harvey’s hip, as much as that I reminded them of their daughter who had died many years ago.

After she left, I plopped down on my bed again. I lay there for about ten minutes before I looked at the clock, and I debated how many hours of sleep I could get. Problem was I hadn’t been able to fall asleep last night until I had lain there for two hours. I didn’t think my prospects were much better now.

I gave up and took a quick shower, instead, then grabbed the cleanest work clothes I could find and my chemistry book. I headed toward the bus stop three blocks away, figuring I could get the morning cook to give me a free omelet for breakfast while I studied before my shift.

Hours later, when I was sitting in my final lab class for the day, I felt like I was dead on my feet. My lab partner, Lacey, stood next to me. She was the one person I knew whom I considered almost a friend. Not because I saw her outside of school, because I didn’t see anyone outside of school, I didn’t see anyone outside of work, either, for that matter. I wasn’t your typical twenty-something year old. When people realized I was a freak of nature, they usually didn’t stick around for long. And when they couldn’t run, they found a way to push me out. I’d learned that over and over again as a child, being shuttled from one foster home to the next. Every now and then I’d become friendly with someone like Lacey, or the Harvey’s, but I always knew somewhere deep inside it wouldn’t last.

When I was a child, I used to think that every new home would be the one. My case counselor told me that it was just a matter of finding the right fit. I still remembered the day when I realized that this time wasn’t going to be any different. The day I’d lost hope.

I had been six and living with one family for five months, an all time record, when the counselor picked me up at school. She had a list of excuses why they hadn’t wanted me, but I knew she lied. I always knew a lie when I heard one. That wasn’t why I was a freak. It’s not some sort of gift, I think I’m just perceptive, and people always give a tell. That’s what they call it in poker when people give up their hand. A tell.

“Jo!” Lacey was hitting me in the side. “I’m not doing this shit all by myself!”

Lacey’s voice jolted me out of my half sleep just in time to see my pen floating in front of my face. I grabbed it and shoved it in my pocket before anyone else noticed.

“What?” I asked, now fully awake.

“You aren’t helping.” Lacey never lied. She might be a little hard on the senses sometimes, but she was painfully honest.

“Sorry, I’m just beat. I had the breakfast shift.”

“Why don’t you let me get you in with me at Lacard? My uncle got promoted to pit boss. I’m positive he can get you in as a cocktail waitress. He already got me in and is going to get me some shifts in the high rollers pit. I bet he could get you in too.”

The Lacard was the newest and most expensive casino on the Vegas Strip. When I did have free time, which was almost never, I liked to stroll through their high-end mall and imagine all the things I’d buy when I was a doctor one day.

“You wouldn’t have to work as much then,” Lacey added.

“I don’t want…”

“Don’t even start! I know! You hate favors. You can do it for me then, because when you work the morning shifts, you’re barely human, and I find it to be a hostile work environment.” Lacey had started prelaw before she switched to premed. According to her, she would’ve been a brilliant lawyer, but she decided her genius was better spent curing cancer.

I sat back and looked at her big pleading brown eyes. They were strikingly dark compared to her bleached blond hair, a combination that might have been harsh on someone else but somehow worked well for her.

I’d had classes on and off with Lacey for the last two years. She had gotten to know me pretty well, or as well as anyone could. She was right, I did hate favors, but I’d be stupid not to take the opportunity. I was holding on to my three point eight GPA by the skin of my teeth, and med schools were fiercely competitive. If I slipped even a little, it would be hell trying to get in a good one, and I could forget about a scholarship of any sort. I had always been a fast learner, rarely having to read something more than once, but I couldn’t keep up with the class work, and the diner to pay the bills, without something taking a hit.

“Are you sure?” I asked hesitantly.

Lacey let out a sigh of relief and smiled a Marilyn Monroe smile. I knew she had been practicing those. “Are you kidding? My uncle is going to be thrilled. The casinos are always looking for pretty girls. It is going to be fantastic. You’ll see.”

Chapter Two

“Lacey, I don’t know about this.” I smoothed my hand over the black satin of my new uniform. Lacey, true to her word, got her uncle to get me a job. She’d pulled some strings with her boss, who had a crush on her, to get me on her shift.

“You look stunning, what’s wrong?”

“I’m naked.”

“No, you aren’t, silly.”

“I feel like I’m going to be serving drinks in a bathing suit.”

“You don’t wear heels and stockings with a bathing suit. Now smush your boobs in a little so I can zip this up for you. I always thought you wore a push up bra. I can’t believe how big your boobs are.”

“Lacey, if you keep talking, I’m never going to be able to leave this room.”

“Sorry. Come on. We’ve got to get out on the floor. Just try to be nice, okay?”

“I’m always nice!”

“Uh, yeah.”

I couldn’t have been more out of my comfort zone if I’d been wearing a big red rubber nose and a rainbow wig. My diner uniform was black pants and a white blouse and I blended perfectly into the background. I didn’t want the attention an outfit like this would attract.

“It feels weird to have my hair down while I’m working.”

“You’re serving drinks, not food. Plus, we are supposed to be attractive, not look like milk maids. And if I had hair like yours, I wouldn’t put it up in that ugly ratty pony tail all the time.”

“It’s irritating, and it’s getting too long. I’m just too cheap to get it cut.”

“You’re lucky you’re a natural blonde and don’t have to dye it all the time. God only knows how bad you’d let your roots get. You have no idea how expensive this gets to be, too,” Lacey said as she pulled a lock of hair forward over her shoulder. “Now, Jonny, the bartender, is kinda creepy, but he gives me free shots when it’s slow, so be nice to him.”

“I know; I’ve got to be nice. You told me five times already.”

“Ugggh.”

“What? I said I’d be nice.”

“No, not you. See over there?” I looked where she was pointing to the corner of the bar where the bartender, a nice looking dark Italian guy whom I guessed was Jonny, was leaning forward talking to another waitress. She looked to be in her early twenties, with black hair and a slightly Asian appearance, and was dressed like us.

“Yeah, why?”

“That’s Vicky. She doesn’t normally work this shift. She must have switched. She thinks she’s boss because she’s sleeping with the owner.”

“She’s the owner’s girlfriend?” I thought it a little odd that the owner’s girlfriend would be pushing drinks with the rest of us.

“No, she’s not his girlfriend. She just doesn’t seem to realize that, or doesn’t want to.”

“She’s pretty. She looks kind of like Lucy Liu.”

Lacey jumped in front of my path and held her hand up, eyes round as saucers. “Whatever you do, don’t say that to her. She’s already about to explode from the size of her ego.”

“Lacey!”

We both swung around to where a bear of a man was standing about ten feet to the side of us. His hair was crazy thick and bushy, even cropped as close to his head as it was. He wore a nice suit, but he looked like a thug. He was also a complete softy and my new boss.

“Hi, Arnold,” we greeted him together.

“You’re both late.”

“I’m sorry, Jo felt funny in her new uniform.”

I gasped in indignation at being thrown under the bus so blatantly, then followed up with an elbow to her ribs.

“Like it wasn’t true? You were being prudish.”

I didn’t say a word, not wanting to prolong the subject.

He just shook his head and sighed. “Show Jo around. And, Lacey, you have to start showing up on time.”

“I’m sorry, Arnold.” Lacey smiled her Monroe smile and the big bear looking thug visibly melted.

“Just try not to do it, again,” he said. Lacey was late every day of the week. I knew this because she told me in the locker room just thirty minutes ago. “I need someone to run Mr. Hawking up a bottle of the scotch he likes. We’re slow, so you can bring Jo with you while you show her the ropes.”

“Where’s Perry?”

“Lacey, can’t you just do something when I ask you?”

“But that’s not my job. Make Vicky do it, you know she’d be quite happy to.” Lacey put just enough extra inflection on the word happy to make it more than obvious what she was insinuating.

“If I send Vicky, she won’t come back tonight, and I can’t exactly call the boss and complain. I’m already down a girl.”

“Fine.” Lacey stalked off in a pout, and I had no choice but to follow her having no idea what else to do. I started to remember quickly why I had no friends. I hadn’t wanted any.

“What’s the big deal if we run an errand?” I asked her after we had gotten out of earshot of Arnold.

“Because Mr. Cormac Hawking is the owner, and he makes me nervous.”

She stepped up to the bar, made a face at Vicky, and introduced me to Jonny. He smiled flirtatiously, and I had the distinct impression that he would have made a move on me if Lacey hadn’t sent him off quickly to go fetch the scotch for Mr. Hawking.

“Is he sleazy or something?” I asked Lacey, still wondering how somebody made her unsettled. No one unsettled her.

“No, he’s actually really hot. He’s just… I don’t know how to explain it.” She hesitated and looked back at me. “It’s hard to put into words. If he’s up there when we bring this, you’ll see.”

Jonny plunked down a bottle of scotch on the bar and threw me another smile.

“Stop looking at her like that. It’s just creepy!” Lacey said as she grabbed the scotch in one hand and my arm in the other. “Don’t sleep with him. He gets around and from the tally I’ve got, has given at least four waitresses an STD,” she told me as we headed up to the private elevator that went to the private top floors. The door men that kept the general population of the casino out, held the doors for us.

We got out at the fiftieth floor. A large sumo wrestler look alike, with his sparring partner by his side, was standing in front of the elevator doors when they slide open. They nodded to us as we passed.

“This floor is Mr. Hawking’s only. If we were strangers, Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum back there, would have ripped us to pieces. I’ve heard there are about fifty more of their type lurking around this floor.”

My heels sank into the thick cream carpet surrounded by tan walls. It was set up like a gallery, with paintings on either side, lighting above each piece of artwork.

“Is that a real Monet?” I asked, as I paused in front of oil painted water lilies. I was far from a connoisseur of art, but on my eleventh birthday, Rick, one of the foster kids who had been living at the same house I was, had given me a used book of Monet prints. I’d had to tape the binding back together last month, but I couldn’t bring myself to throw it out.

“Probably, he’s a huge art collector.”

When we reached the end of the hallway, we came to a massive, carved wood door. The grain swirled underneath a thick coat of clear lacquer that accentuated the warmth and highlighted the skill of the artisan who had made it. Lacey reached her hand up to press the doorbell to the right, and I saw a slight tremor as her fingers hovered over the button for a moment. She pressed it, and the doors swung open before her arm had dropped back to her side.

“You have his scotch?” A tall thin blond man asked.

“Duh.” She held up the bottle as if he needed visual proof. Just like the scotch, Lacey tended to be an acquired taste.

The man eyed Lacey, and then me, and stepped aside to let us in. “Put the scotch on the bar in the other room.”

The moment we walked in, I felt a tingle of electricity flow over my skin, and my hair stood on end. A prehistoric remnant, left over from thousands of years ago, issued a warning that my evolved brain could no longer decipher. Combined with my lack of direction, it was hard not to wonder if evolution hadn’t cut some corners along the way.

I looked over at Lacey, and when she met my gaze her eyes doubled in diameter with a blatant, I told you I didn’t want to come here. Now do you get it?

I simply nodded and gave a silent reply to her with my eyes that said let’s drop off the bottle and get the hell out of here.

The entire far wall of the foyer was glass, and it offered a spectacular view of the Vegas Strip. At night, like it was now, with the lights dimmed low, you could see the light going on for miles. I had a hard time breaking my gaze away from the stunning view.

I followed her into the next room that looked to be the living room. It had the same outer wall of windows, with a large screen TV that somehow floated in the center. A matching set of tan suede couches faced each other and a full-length bar made of black stone ran along the back wall. My eyes searched out the view again. All I could think of was how wonderful it must be to live high up here with the world at your feet.

The apartment was eerily quiet, and we instinctively honored the silence. Somehow afraid if we uttered a word, we would draw the attention of whatever was lying in wait, the eerie presence hovering nearby that we couldn’t quite define. Lacey was just about to place the bottle on the bar when we heard a rustling from the other room.

“Hello.”

The deep gravelly voice sent a shiver down my spine. I looked over at the doorway to see a pair of the palest blue eyes I’d ever encountered, set like aquamarines in a frame of dark black lashes. His dark tan skin, and black wavy hair framing them, just made them even more unusual. I knew instantly that this had to be Cormac Hawking. I would have known him even in a crowded room, surrounded by hundreds of others. Lacey wasn’t the type to avoid attractive men, and he was incredibly handsome in a deeply sexual way. He was nicely over six feet, with broad shoulders encased in a white tuxedo shirt that hung slightly open. But it was the power that seeped from him, not his size that made him alarming to even my senses, not that I’d ever show it, but I felt it in spades. It rolled off him in wave after wave until it practically smothered all my other senses. He was the kind of man who dominated a room without even trying. The primitive part of my brain was screaming for me to leave, but the female in me wanted to get closer, even as I knew that this man was dangerous.

I looked at Lacey to see if she was ready to make an exit, but at the current moment, she stood so still she would have made a deer in the headlights look animated.

“We were just dropping off your scotch,” I stated, as Lacey remained where she was frozen.

“Thank you.” He looked sparingly at Lacey, but quickly dismissed her and returned his gaze to mine. “Would you mind?” He held out his hand that had a pair of cuff links resting on his palm. “It’s easier with two hands.”

“Sure.” He stood where he was, making me walk to him as he waited, and I think maybe assessing me. I took one link from his hand, trying to make as little contact with his skin as possible, afraid that somehow he’d discover my unease. One thing I’ve learned from a life of shuffling from place to place, never let them know you’re nervous. Then I blew it and dropped the second link on the carpet.

“Sorry,” I said, as I reached down and grabbed it.

“No problem,” he replied with a smile on his lips.

I felt like he was playing a game with me, but no one had bothered to fill me in on the rules.

“Your eyes are very unusual, such a vivid green.”

I met his stare fully now. I didn’t like being toyed with, and some part of me knew he was playing my reactions like a fiddle.

“Thank you,” I replied, and continued to hold his gaze.

“Do they run in your family?”

I hesitated, which probably seemed weird to him, being such a straightforward question. “No,” I lied. Some kernel of preservation in my brain was screaming the less he knew the better. Another part of me, maybe the larger part, didn’t want to admit to not knowing my parents.

He lost his smile and looked at me intently, but not aggressively. He knew I was lying. By that simple answer, I had just somehow cemented my position on his radar. He knew something was off.

He lifted his hand slowly toward my face. This game I knew well, he was playing chicken, seeing if I’d stand my ground or pull back. I stood my ground and he ran his index finger along my cheekbone.

“Pretty.”

His smile was back. It was a smile of a man used to winning.

“Thank you,” I countered in the blasé tone of a woman used to being pursued. He was going to have to up his game if he was going to try to storm this castle. Men had chased me for months, let alone weeks, and had gotten nowhere.

The clanking sound of Lacey banging into a glass drew our notice and broke the tension.

“Sorry,” she muttered softly across the room, a few shards of glass lay at her feet.

He looked unfazed. “Leave it; I’ll have one of the maids get it.” He turned his attention back to me. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you, again.” He turned and left.

The minute he was gone, Lacey had her hand clamped around my wrist and tugged me out of there, as quickly as she could drag me.

Lacey came back to her normal self once the elevator doors slid shut, leaving the two of us alone, again. “Oh, my god!” she said. “He was so into you! I’ve never seen him act like that with anyone. He barely acknowledges Vicky and he’s slept with her!”

“It’s only because he’s never seen me before. Those kinds of men are always like that.” I hoped that was what it was, because I didn’t want his kind of attention. I was all about keeping my nose clean, getting into med school, and hopefully figuring out what the hell was wrong with me before NASA came and decided to find out for me. Getting derailed by some thirty something playboy, in his expensive penthouse, who wanted a little amusement wasn’t what I needed. I was well past the point in my life where I believed in happily ever after. My reality didn’t include castles and gallant knights, and I didn’t need them. I handled my own problems. Romance and men were a luxury I couldn’t afford, right now.

Chapter Three

“Hi, Jonny, I need a Bombay martini straight up with olives.”

“Hi, Darling, what are you doing here?” Jonny gave me the smile he used on the girls he was working for tips, or other more personal pursuits as Lacey had informed me. He did always seem to be preoccupied, that was for sure.

“Lacey asked me to cover. She had a date tonight.” I’d been there for only two weeks, and I’d already filled in for Lacey three times.

“How come you don’t?” he asked shifting into full gear.

“Jonny, I don’t have time to date. I told you that.”

“I could take you to that nice steak house that just opened up in the Bellagio.”

I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but it was hard not to laugh at his persistence. It was starting to become a routine with us. He asked. I declined. Rinse and repeat.

“Jonny, aren’t you getting tired of asking?”

“Tired of asking what?” Vicky laid her tray down on the bar as she came and stood next to me. “To go out with you, again? Don’t look at me all shocked. Everyone knows he’s been sniffing around you nonstop for weeks.”

“Why are you standing over here? Didn’t you see the boss come in?” Jonny struck back at her.

“Where?” Vicky, too interested in Cormac’s possible arrival, didn’t even blink an eye at the dig, but instead scanned the casino floor like a hawk trying to spot her prey. “Where? I don’t see him.”

“You need glasses. You’re as blind as a bat. He’s at table seven,” Jonny replied with barely concealed dislike.

I couldn’t help myself, and turned to look as well. I inwardly cringed when I realized he was sitting in my area, talking to the high roller who was betting fifty thousand a hand at black jack for the last hour. Knots instantly formed in my stomach and reached all the way up to my throat. I had seen him coming and going since the night in his penthouse but always at a distance. I’d caught him watching me a handful of times, but he’d never approached me.

From what I had noticed, other than Lacey and I, most of the women here flocked to him. The very danger that made me steer clear of him, seemed to have the opposite effect, and pulled them in like magnets.

“Can I take your table? I’ll give you table three. The guy’s been giving me a ten every round. Please!”

She whined for a moment while I hesitated, not wanting anyone to know that I was actually relieved to relinquish the table. “Okay, but you owe me.” She was gone before I’d finished speaking.

“Now, back to dinner.”

“Jonny, you’re a nice guy, but I’m not interested. Doesn’t matter who you are or how great you are, I don’t date.” I added the last part to try to smooth his ego. Truth was, I couldn’t date. Even if I had the time and wanted to date him, which I didn’t, I’d never be able to explain the weird things that happened around me. Sometimes I got tired of being alone, but that didn’t change anything. I had tried dating before. Sooner or later it would get serious, and they would want to stay the night. I knew from my childhood, I couldn’t risk having anyone around when I slept. That’s when it got the strangest, but I couldn’t think about that right now.

As I got back to checking on my section, I tried to keep my distance from table seven as much as I could. That was hard since that table sat in the middle of my area. Luckily, Vicky offered a distraction and draped herself over Cormac like a cheap suit anytime I was near. I had the distinct feeling it was because he kept watching my movements, and I wasn’t the only one who had noticed. After about an hour, I started to get a little high-strung about being under constant surveillance. But, just when I’d about had it with being visually stalked, he was gone.

I was grateful; I wanted to keep this job. I’d finally been able to watch a couple of movies and have some downtime. I’d been sleeping more and even baked cookies with Mrs. Harvey. I felt like a human being again.

By time the night was done, my feet ached and I couldn’t wait to get my shoes off. I hated heels and couldn’t wait to get my sneakers on. Tomorrow morning, I would go for a run, another thing I had time for lately. I hadn’t put on weight. I was curvy but thin. Running was simply my release from the world.

When I looked up at the bar, I saw Cormac Hawking had reappeared and was now sitting at the far end with the high roller. They looked like they were having a disagreement of sorts, and they didn’t even notice me. I let out a sigh of relief that I was done for the night, and could go hide in obscurity.

“Hey, Jonny, this should be all of it,” I said, as I handed him the change from the last round and a pile of singles he was going to change in for larger bills. I’d done amazingly well tonight. I’d made almost enough for half a month’s rent.

When the high roller that Mr. Hawking had been sitting with approached me, I pretended to be preoccupied. The guy had been hitting on everything with legs, and I didn’t feel like being the next.

“All done?” he asked

He definitely wasn’t the type to take a subtle hint. I turned to see him.

“Yes,” I said in a slightly clipped voice and went back to what I was doing. That was my second level rejection. In my experience, that only had a fifty percent success rate, so I wasn’t surprised when he continued.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

“I don’t drink.” I did, but it was none of his business. He wasn’t a bad looking guy, a few inches taller than my five feet four inches and solid looking with longish light brown hair. He clearly had money as well, the way he was betting, but even if I could date, and I wasn’t a freak, something about him reminded me of nails on a chalkboard.

“How ’bout a coffee?”

Ugh, the guy just wouldn’t take the hint, or maybe you could call it a sledgehammer in this case. “I’m not interested.” I could smell alcohol and a recent smoke on his breath as he moved in closer.

“I don’t think you know who I am. You’d be lucky to date me.”

“Right now, I’d feel lucky if you would back off, because you smell like a burned out brewery.” I took a deep breath, knowing I was about to really step over the line with a customer, but the guy was starting to really piss me off. I looked up wondering where the hell Jonny had gone. I wanted to get my tips so I could get out of there, and he was nowhere to be found.

The guy reached out and grabbed my upper arm in a tight, but not painful, grip. He pulled me closer and leaned in my face, “You better ask around and learn your place quick.”

Something in me snapped. I knew how I looked to people because I went out of my way to perpetrate the image. Everyone assumed a pretty little thing like me was innocent, that without a man, I was helpless. But, that was only to those who weren’t looking closely enough, which luckily for me, were most. I’d spent enough time taking care of myself to handle a jerk like this.

I held his stare. “I don’t know who you are, and I’m certainly not going to ask around.” I leaned in as close as I could stand and whispered in a voice so low only he could hear. “And you know why? Because I don’t give a shit. Now get your hand off of me, or you’re going to be crawling out of here.”

His grip tightened just enough to be uncomfortable. “What do you think you’re going to do?” he asked.

I knew what I wanted to do, but I couldn’t do that here without people knowing something wasn’t right with me, but I’d learned how to get around that over the years. I’d couch what I wanted to do for something that would be almost as effective.

Kneeing a guy in between the legs works much less often than people think. Men aren’t stupid about that area. It’s the first place they block, so as I jerked my knee up, I knew I wasn’t going to get a clean shot, but I also knew I wouldn’t need one. I just had to connect to his body in that ultra sensitive area to shoot a little pain his way. No one would ever guess that anything abnormal was happening. They’d simply think I’d managed to connect better than I had.

He had no idea it was coming. One second he was leaning over me as the aggressor, and the next he was crying at my feet like a baby.

I took a step away from him, looking for Jonny, knowing it was time to flee the scene before the guy made it to his feet. When I looked around, I found quite a few people, including Jonny, had witnessed the scene.

“Thanks for the help,” I said sarcastically to Jonny. I knew the next time he offered to walk me out, I’d laugh in his face.

“Didn’t look like you needed any,” a deep voice from behind me answered for him. With my back still to him, I grimaced slightly, then turned around, and waited to see if I was going to be fired.

I looked into Cormac’s chiseled face and had no idea what he was thinking. His eyes were intense as he looked at me, and I had a fleeting thought that maybe it wouldn’t be a bad thing if he fired me. Just his presence affected me more than any other man I’d ever met. “Am I fired?”

“Why would you be fired?”

Without a hint of emotion shown, I wasn’t sure if he was baiting me or being obtuse. I doubted he was obtuse but I stated the obvious anyway, “Because I attacked your customer?” It was a bit awkward while the man was still lying on the ground, practically at my feet, and still occasionally moaned.

“Yes, I saw. Looked like he had it coming.” He waved over a couple of men whom I hadn’t noticed. “Help Tracker to his car,” he told them, and they each grabbed him under the arm. “Where did you learn to take care of yourself like that?”

He was eyeing me intensely, and even though he couldn’t know that there was something wrong with me, I felt like he did. I don’t know how, but he knew I wasn’t who I pretended to be.

“I took some self-defense classes.” I’d never taken a self-defense class in my life.

He didn’t say anything, just nodded his head. He knew I’d lied… again. I’d done my fair share of lying because of my secrets. I knew the tells people gave and I knew I didn’t do them. I was a good liar. I was pretty confident I’d even pass a lie detector test if I had to. How did he know?

We stood there for a moment appraising each other. I waited, on the inside I was sweating bullets, waiting for him to call me a liar or ask where I’d taken a class, but on the outside I was completely poised. I stood my ground like his equal. He was the owner of the hottest casino on the strip. I’d heard whispers of him having holdings in half of the other casinos in Vegas, which was stunning for a man in his thirties. Me, on the other hand, I worried how I’d pay my rent for a trailer that looked like it’s best years had come, gone, and then been forgotten. But, I didn’t care.

I’d watched people tip toe around him for the last three weeks. If that was the type of employee he needed, better to fire me now. I bowed to no one.

He slowly looked me up and down. He was testing my mettle, trying to get me to shrink back, to break the silence first or bend in some telling way that would prove my inferiority. I wouldn’t. What would normally be an insignificant amount of time dragged by, second after second, until he raised his eyebrows and tilted his head toward me in a silent acknowledgment. I’d passed. I didn’t know exactly what I’d passed, but I’d passed. It wasn’t surprising to me that I wasn’t fully cued in on what had gone down. This was the second time I’d had real interaction with him. Whatever rules he lived by, I decided, were not the run-of-the-mill existence.

“I’ll have someone walk you out.”

“I don’t need an escort.”

“Buzz, walk Jo out.”

I didn’t ask how he knew my name, let alone my nickname. I worked for him, along with hundreds, likely thousands of others. Maybe he made it his business to know everyone. I wasn’t going to make a big deal over it. I’d let his guy walk me out if he wanted to. I wasn’t going to be greedy with my victories.

“I’m fine.”

“I know.” And as quickly as that, I was dismissed. He walked off in his own direction while his big blond brute followed me in mine.

I left Buzz at the bus stop on the strip, but I didn’t feel alone until I was in my trailer, hours later.

Chapter Four

The church was deathly quiet when I walked in the next afternoon. I’d started looking for my parents the day I had turned eighteen. No one had been willing to talk to me before then. I never understood that. It was my history; I had a right to know. Turned out, there wasn’t much to tell. The only thing I had found out was that a priest had dropped me off at the hospital, but no one had bothered to write his name down at the time, or perhaps they had simply lost the record.

This was the thirtieth church I’d visited. My steps echoed off the high ceilings as I walked down the aisle. I was running out of churches to go to in the area. I’d have to expand my search radius again, soon.

“Can I help you?” I turned to find a middle-aged nun behind me.

“Is your priest in? Or do you know where I could find him?”

“I’m sorry, but we aren’t holding confessionals, today.”

“No, I’m not here for that. Is there any chance I could speak to him?”

“I’ll go see if he’s available. Wait here.”

I wished that my life could be simple enough to just give a confession and move on, that I could fix my problems that easily. This was one of the oldest churches I’d been to, about twenty minutes outside of Vegas. I sat down on the hard wooden pew and gazed at the afternoon sun streaming in through the stained glass windows. I could smell the age of the place, the scent of incense that had been burned over and over again still lingered in the air and I wished I could just let it all go.

I didn’t even want to know these people who had given me up. They had abandoned me to a cruel world, and I had no love in my heart for them. When I had been a young girl, I would daydream of them coming and saving me. Those days were long gone. If I could walk away from this chase, I would. I didn’t have that option. Every year, things got a little stranger. I was afraid of what I was becoming. The only thing I wanted from them was answers, and they’d better be ready to give them.

“Miss?” I turned to see an elderly man, probably in his mid seventies, with thin white hair. “You asked to speak to me?”

“Yes, if you have a moment? I had a couple of questions.”

“Sure, what can I do for you?”

He smelled of soap and detergent, as he sat down next to me on the pew. If I hadn’t been through this so many times, I might have actually felt awkward. I had initially. I’d even gotten butterflies the first few times, thinking that I might finally get the answers I craved. Now, I just felt jaded, but I started my questions, anyway.

“Did you find a baby about twenty one years ago?”

His face changed instantly, and I knew I had finally found the priest who had brought me to the hospital. He reached down and took my hand in his. I swallowed back my unease at being touched but didn’t pull back.

“You’re her? I remember it like it was last night. Your eyes were so unusual. I’d never forget them.”

“Could you tell me what happened?”

“Yes, I still remember the night. It was a late Sunday evening in the middle of January and cold. I think it actually even broke a temperature record that day. I had just locked the doors not fifteen minutes before, and was gathering a few things, when I heard a light banging at the door. When I opened it, there was a beautiful young girl there covered in blood, with a small child not more than a year old. I let her in immediately. She was bleeding heavily from her side, so heavily that I was worried about even waiting for an ambulance. They aren’t always so quick to get out this far. I left her to go grab car keys to drive her to the hospital myself. When I got back, she was gone and you were sitting on the bench crying. You were swaddled in a blanket covered with your mother’s blood. I called one of the nuns, Loretta, to help me and I drove you to the hospital.”

“Do you remember what she looked like?”

“She looked like you. You could’ve been twins.”

“And she just disappeared?”

“There was so much blood, but when I looked for her outside she wasn’t there. Even after I returned from the hospital, I couldn’t find a trace.”

“Did she say anything to you?”

He shook his head. “No, but I did find something that night. Come with me and I’ll get it for you.”

I stood and followed him into a back office. Shelves packed to the brim lined the walls. I was surprised they were still even clinging to the walls and hadn’t crashed down from their awesome burden.

The priest was surprisingly spry for his age as he dragged a step stool across the room.

“I think it’s here. Ah, yes! Here it is.” He climbed down with a single sheet of paper in his hand. “It was lying on the pew right beside you.”

I took the sheet and looked at it quickly.

A golden child born and left will be the hope of those bereft. When eternal lilies bloom after a torturous night, the giver of gifts will stand for the right. The one who’s sought is suddenly found, it will come time to stand their ground. So comes the reckoning where many fall. Tis not the end, but the start of it all.

“Odd, right?”

The priest’s voice distracted me and I looked up at him. “Yes. You really think this was left by her?”

“Yes. It was left right beside you. In the excitement of the moment, I left it behind when we went to the hospital. I kept it, figuring I’d give it to you at some point. Then days turned into weeks and years. I’d forgotten about it until you came here today.”

I nodded, absorbing the fact that maybe she hadn’t wanted to abandon me. For some unknown reason, it hurt worse knowing that. It had been easier to wall off those emotions behind anger than to consider perhaps I had been wanted. The strange note added to my bewilderment. It was hand written, but looked as if it had been pulled from a book.

“Would you like to come have a cup of tea? I’ve always wondered what happened to you.” He reached out and grasped my hand.

I pulled back, and I saw understanding in his face. Logically, I knew he hadn’t had a hand in how my life had unfolded from that point, but in my heart, I felt just as abandoned by him as by everyone else. I had no desire to retell the story of neglect and abuse, and I felt no obligation to paint a pretty picture to ease his conscience. He had been one of many who passed the buck and left an innocent child to fend for herself. Not once in the many years of my life had he come by to see if I was okay.

“Thank you for your time.” I felt a twinge of remorse when I saw his face sadden, but I ignored it, just as he had ignored the baby he had dropped at the hospital.

I tucked the mysterious note into my purse and I walked out into the dry heat that came at the end of spring, but I didn’t mind. I closed my eyes as I looked up and let the sun’s heat sink into my skin before I walked back to the only bus stop in the area. I didn’t own a car, not wanting the additional debt on top of tuition bills and rent, but I was doing so well in tips lately that I had started to consider it.

I took the bus to Lacard, not home, because I had a shift tonight. Even with all the passengers and lots of stops, I still got there an hour early, so I went to have a coffee and stroll the mall. My nerves were raw, and the priest’s words buzzed in my head like an angry swarm from a disrupted hive. Was my mother dead? I’d grown up believing I was abandoned; now I didn’t know what to think. The note made no sense at all other than the golden child born and left. I was light blond, naturally golden tan and one hundred percent left.

I was gazing at the storefront, feeling akin to an emotional zombie, when I caught a glimpse of him in the reflection off the glass. He stood across the aisle, was in his early twenties, and the epitome of average, not too tall or short, not good looking, nor ugly. He was the perfect tail, or would have been if I hadn’t noticed him on the bus ride over here.

I’d learned to take care of myself. That meant being aware of any possible physical threat, even if it was someone who blended into the background. There was still a chance it was a coincidence. The Lacard had the best mall on the strip nestled in its enormous walls, and it drew all sorts of foot traffic.

Trying to confirm my suspicions, I walked down a wing that carried only two stores, one lingerie and the other shoes. I discreetly glanced around and found I was alone. I ducked into the shoe store for a few moments, and pretended to be interested in a pair of boots, all the while eyeing the hallway out front. When he didn’t follow, I relax a bit and then made my way back out and into the main thoroughfare. I scanned the area with my peripheral vision and inwardly cringed. I spotted him as he lingered in front of the dress store I had left. Walking slowly, I stopped and paused at a cart in the center selling earrings, and I saw him start to move in my direction again but stopped when he got within twenty feet.

I looked down to check the time, I had to head in to work, or I’d be late for my shift. I held my phone up, and I tried to catch the reflection of the guy on the screen. I walked briskly and tripped. My legs swung out up in front of me and I landed in an undignified lump right in front of Godiva Chocolates. I heard a few young giggles that attested to my audience. Little jerks. What were they doing in a casino mall anyway? Didn’t their parent’s ever hear of Disney World?

“Are you all right?”

A male palm hovered a few feet in front of me, waiting to assist. My eyes followed the arm up to look at the well-groomed man attached. He was tall; even from my current vantage point his height was obvious. His polo shirt and khakis did little to hide the trim lean build of someone who exercised regularly, and probably had a few marathons under his belt. As a runner, I could always spot another. I waved his hand away and jumped to my feet quite smoothly.

“Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.”

“I’m Vitor.”

“Thanks again. Sorry, but I’m in a bit of a rush. I’m going to be late for work.” I hurried off before he had a chance to ask my name. From the expression on his face, I knew it wasn’t a reaction he was used to getting. It wasn’t how I would normally treat someone just trying to help me, either, but my unease was growing by the minute. This was the second day in a row I felt like I’d been followed. It was becoming a bit too much for me to ignore or excuse away. I didn’t want another problem, and I certainly didn’t need one.

As I hurried into the back staff rooms, I felt a little of the tension release. No one but casino staff could follow here. I only had a few minutes left now before I was due on the floor, so my respite was short lived. I’d barely stepped onto the casino floor before Arnold was already calling me.

“Can you do me a favor?”

“Sure, Arnold. What do you need?” I tried to play nice with Arnold. He was the gate keeper to the best shifts, plus, I thought he was a nice guy everyone walked on.

“I’ve got a new girl training tonight and some guy just threw up on her. I know, gross,” he said replying to my silent but strong reaction. “She’s hysterical in the women’s bathroom. I’ll call down for it, but I need you go to laundry and inventory and pick up a new uniform for her.”

“Sure, but I don’t know where it is.”

“Go to the basement level one. Take a left out of the elevator; make a right at the first corridor, and then the third door on the right. Thanks.” Before I could ask another question, Arnold pulled out his phone and walked away, heading toward the bathrooms.

Left, right, right I repeated to myself, wishing I had a pen to jot it down on my palm. I’d always been direction deficient. Leaving the floor, I walked to the staff elevators in the back and got in. I looked at the buttons and hit B One, that had to be it, I figured. The elevator doors opened at my selected floor to reveal all cement pathways, in stark contrast to the lush gold and red carpeting of the casino upstairs. Cinderblock walls coated in a dull grey utilitarian paint and dim fluorescent lighting above that flickered slightly gave me an eerie feeling, similar to the opening of a horror film.

I had expected to see some sort of signs, maybe a couple of arrows taped to the floor, but there was nothing. I turned, turned again, and started to count the doors to the right. When I got to the third it was locked. Maybe it was the one on the left? I counted the ones on the left and bingo, the third door opened.

All I could see were tall, box-filled shelves that climbed all the way to the ceiling. It looked like storage. There had to be some uniforms somewhere around here. “Hello?” I called out, but there was no answer, so I went farther in the room and tried to find someone. The aisles went back farther than I would have imagined, and the immense scope of the room impressed me.

A voice across the other side of the room drew my attention, so I went in that direction. “Hello?” I repeated but with no reply.

When I turned the corner, the area opened up and I could see clear to the other side of the room where a dark haired man was pinning a guy up against the wall with his forearm pressed against his throat. The guy that was pinned was the same guy I’d kneed the other night. He wasn’t having a good run.

“Stay out of it! I’m going to handle it. I told you!” The dark haired man was a mere inch from the other guy’s face as he spoke.

It wasn’t exactly clear to me if the guy was going to choke him or if it was just a threat. The guy was a creep. Maybe he deserved what he was going to get. After I mentally debated it for a moment, I didn’t think I could watch the guy kill the man who attacked me. I’m not sure what that said about me, that I’d had to think about it. Some people would have just leapt to his defense. I guess I wasn’t one of those people. Nope, not really a shocking revelation.

I started looking around for a weapon of some sort to hit the one guy over the head with, when I heard a horrible growl and paused. Just wonderful, they brought a dog, too, I thought to myself. I turned to locate the furry critter, but there were only the two men still there. Then something flickering near the pinned man’s face caught my eye. Bumps were breaking out and growing out of his skin. I stood and gaped at what happened next. The creep I didn’t like morphed into a tall fur covered monster, complete with a muzzle full of pointy teeth.

If I hadn’t been in shock, I might have just quietly run, as I didn’t think either of them had noticed me. Unfortunately, that’s not how things worked out. Once I saw those horrific teeth snap and growl, I screamed bloody murder. Both men instantly turned and stared at me, forgetting their own fight in the process. I belatedly turned and ran straight into what felt like a brick wall. I tried to pull away, but I was held firmly.

I looked up at the living mountain and saw that it was Buzz. He was Hawking’s man; it would be okay. He was tough. Between the two of us, we could probably take them.

“Come with me,” was all he said.

I eagerly preceded him from the room and didn’t look back, just walked quickly away with Buzz at my back. I was too relieved to press my luck. As long as I didn’t feel sharp teeth piercing me, all was right in the world.

When I headed toward the elevator, he grabbed me quickly and motioned toward the other direction. He let go of my arm as soon as I turned around so it didn’t set off any alarm bells. He had been sent to protect me last night, perhaps Hawking had been the one having me followed?

“What was that thing?”

“I can’t speak about it.”

“You know what? That’s completely okay with me. I’m just glad you showed. Those guys looked like they wanted to rip me to pieces.” He didn’t respond, and I didn’t care. I was just happy I wasn’t a bloodied mess chewed up for dinner. The one guy, or creature, or whatever he was, looked like he’d have been a tough fight in his new form. I wasn’t sure my little trick would work through a thick coat of hair. I’d never zapped an animal before.

I turned to make sure we weren’t being followed.

“They aren’t following us. I locked the door. They won’t get out until I send someone back there.”

“Where we going?”

“To the top.”

I looked and saw the elevator at the end of the hall. Boarding the elevator, I suspected he meant we were going to Hawking. I watched the buttons light up until it blinked on the top level, Hawking’s level. I didn’t realize it initially, but this must be Hawking’s private elevator.

The doors opened to the familiar tan hallway of art, but this time the penthouse door opened for us as if on cue. The butler type person didn’t speak, just shook his head, shut the door after us, and left the room.

A muscular man in his mid thirties, the type you would expect to see at Gold’s Gym, came out of the living room area. He was tall and muscular like Hawking, but without any of the refined feeling to offset it. He seemed a bit brutish, closer to the impression Buzz gave. He had very dark hair, but it was brown, not the true black of Hawking’s.

“What’s this?” he asked Buzz.

“She saw Tracker change,” Buzz replied.

Right then and there, I got a sinking feeling in my gut. He hadn’t been saving me at all. On the outside, I played it cool, but on the inside, I was shooting off a list of expletives that would do the most jaded streetwalker proud. After all these years, I knew better.

“Can I use the bathroom?” I asked, trying to act dumb. They both looked at me and shook their heads in unison. Okay, so they weren’t as stupid as they looked I guess. I scanned the foyer, but there was nothing I could use as a weapon. I’d never had to take on two men at once. I guess today I’d see how special I really was. Was I X-Men special, or just a little different? You know, in the movies they always learned about their powers slowly. God my life sucked.

“Why did you bring her here?” the guy asked.

“Cormac had me watch her the other day. I didn’t want to just handle it without checking. I got a weird vibe that he liked this one.”

Okay, whatever they planned, they wouldn’t do it without Hawking. I’d gotten the same vibe. I wasn’t sure if wanting me in his bed was exactly something to take to the bank, but it was better than nothing. Cormac was in charge. He wouldn’t let these people kill me, even if he didn’t want to sleep with me. I mean, that would just be insane. No one does that.

“You better bring her in, then. I’ll go get him.”

“Thanks, Dodd,” Buzz said to the other man’s retreating back, and then he waved me in the direction of the other room.

We were alone in the foyer. It might be the best odds I’d get. I’d never be able to get away from three of them, so I lunged at him and concentrated on my hands. I didn’t know exactly what happened when I did this, but it was usually painful for the other person.

I stood there, hands on his chest but he wasn’t moving. Looking up, I saw Buzz looked down at my hands. I felt a deep rumbling in his chest before his laughter broke the silence.

“Not going to work,” was all he said.

I dropped my arms to my side, a tad embarrassed. “I had to try.”

“Of course.” He held out his hand and pointed me toward the next room.

Hawking entered the room less than a minute after us, and our eyes met and held.

“Mr. Hawking?” I asked, the question clear in my voice. I didn’t say the words, but the need was there. It was as close to begging as I would ever get in my life.

When he broke eye contact first to look at Buzz, the knot in my stomach grew larger. I didn’t know if he would do it, but he could, and that scared the shit out of me.

“Are you a hundred percent sure?” he asked Buzz.

I eyed the distance to the doorway and Buzz repositioned himself in front of it. They knew I’d never get past them. Not alive, anyway. I looked around the room, searching for any possible escape route.

“Sorry, boss, but I’m a thousand percent.”

The room fell deadly quiet as Hawking walked toward the wall of windows and all three of us watched his back. I knew my life, or death, was being decided as we waited.

“I don’t know who you are, or what, but if you kill me, there will be a herd of people coming for you.” Other than the Harvey’s and Lacey, I wasn’t sure anyone would even know I was gone, let alone a bloodthirsty horde seeking vengeance.

“If we don’t do it, you know what we’ll have to deal with. Not to mention, it might be kinder this way,” the man named Dodd interjected, sensing the wavering in Hawking.

“Could my day get any worse?” he said to the room in general.

“Really? You’re complaining about your day?” I responded.

Hawking smiled at me, but it was more of the bittersweet variety. “You’ve got a lot of spunk,” he said.

He turned his back and stared out the window, his body going deathly still, then a burst of motion as he punched a perfect hole through the glass window. I knew my fate had just been sealed, as I looked at the bloodied hole he’d left behind. He didn’t say anything, and he wouldn’t look at me, just nodded his head and walked from the room.

“Sorry, but this is much larger than you,” Dodd said apologetically in my direction.

“Fuck you,” I replied calmly.

He didn’t seem fazed at all, just gave me a sad smile, like he regretted this as well, but not enough to save me from the fate I’d just been dealt.

He shook his head, as he eyed me up and down. “What a waste. Make it quick Buzz.”

I looked at Buzz and saw the gun he now aimed at my head.

“You better hope that there isn’t an afterlife because I’ll haunt your every last step.” I refused to cry or grovel. If this was the end, then so be it. I’d lived a tough life, and there was no way I’d spend my last minutes groveling to these assholes.

The last thing I heard was a gunshot. My last feeling was exploding pain, like nothing I’d ever experienced in my life. And then nothing.

Chapter Five

The crippling pain was the first thing that made me realize I was alive. I refused to believe there were headaches like this in Heaven. Unless I’d ended up at a more southerly locale? Could happen. I had been far from a saint.

Then I felt Hawking’s couch beneath me. No, I was alive. Did that idiot just graze me? At least they could have given me the courtesy of killing me correctly. The pounding in my head was beyond severe, I didn’t even want to open my eyes, but I couldn’t ignore the shouting that was happening around me.

“What do you mean she’s alive? What’s the matter with you? You can’t even shoot straight?” Thank you, Dodd. That’s exactly what I would have said to the big dope. “Just shoot her again, you idiot.”

“You think I didn’t try that? That I’ve been sitting out here whistling Dixie? I shot her five times! She goes dead for about two minutes then the god damn bullets push out of her head.”

Blessed silence fell over the room, for all of two minutes.

“Oh, my god, you moron, she’s one of us. She’s a Keeper! Humans don’t spit bullets back out! I gotta go get Cormac. This isn’t good.”

I wondered what wasn’t good, that I’d made it? Or that they’d shot me? And what on earth did they mean by saying I was a keeper? It sounded like a name, not just like, eh, let’s keep her.

I’d never had such a headache in my life. I tried to squint my eyes open slightly, but the light did me in, and I shut them quickly. The contents of my stomach churned with the pain.

“Get me a bucket,” I whispered. I wasn’t sure why I cared about throwing up all over their rug. Maybe it was habit. I felt too sick to think about my motivations.

“What?”

“Bucket!” I said, as I leaned on my side, my arm hanging over the edge of the couch.

I felt the coolness of the metal slide next to my hand a second before I leaned over and emptied my stomach. The pain shot at the backs of my eyes, and then I leaned back and moaned. I prayed that now they would shoot me.

I felt a warm large hand reach down and grab my wrist, and I tugged it back abruptly. I hated being touched, and I certainly didn’t want to have any of these men touch me. He grabbed me again and held firmer. I wasn’t sure how I knew, but I was positive it was Hawking. I felt his fingertips feeling for my pulse.

Even as my head pounded, I couldn’t stop the sarcasm from dripping out, “Clearly, I’m alive.”

He ignored me, and kept his fingers at my pulse.

“I want a blood sample done, and I want the results back within the hour,” Hawking said.

“Who do you think did it?” Dodd asked.

“Whoever it was, they probably didn’t know. Why would they hide it? There would have been no reason not to register her.” I felt a pinch at my elbow but couldn’t pull away, because Hawking had a firm grasp on my wrist.

“Stop pulling. You’re just going to make the needle jab you.”

I pulled even harder.

“Stop,” Hawking said. I opened my eyes as I felt a weight press on my chest to see Buzz sitting partially on top of me.

“Get off of her,” I heard Hawking say, or perhaps growl might be a better description of the tone, and Buzz quickly jumped off.

“How old are you?” Hawking asked.

“None of your business.”

“That’s all right. I’ll find out anyway.”

I didn’t bother replying. Just pretended he hadn’t spoken.

I looked over and saw Hawking remove a needle from my vein and I yanked my arm back again, and this time he let go.

“Dodd, look up Josephine Davids on our system,” Hawking ordered.

I tried to push myself upright, but had to stop midway as the searing pain that the movement brought crippled me. If I wasn’t so miserable, I might even laugh. Let them look me up. I sat there and waited.

“There’s nothing here,” Dodd said.

Thank you, Oslo. Once I turned eighteen, the first thing I had done was buy myself a new identity from Oslo. I’d needed a clean break from my past. I’d met some unsavory people in my life and a few of those people had known something was off. I didn’t want to leave a trail. Oslo, I didn’t know his last name, had created a new identity for me. It had been worth every saved penny I’d had.

Cormac left the two guys hunched over the computer, and sat next to me on the couch. Wearing black slacks and a dress shirt, partially unbuttoned and rolled up at the wrists, he looked as handsome as he had the other night, but now instead of admiring his looks, I wanted to stab him in the heart with the first thing I could find that would get the job done.

“I know you’re angry.” He was speaking to me as if I were a wayward child, not a person he had just ordered killed.

“You’re a bright one, aren’t you?” The loathing was clear in my voice.

“When Buzz shot you, we didn’t know you were one of us.”

Which was what? Here was someone that could finally give me some answers, and I’d kill him before I’d admit I wanted anything from him. I sat there silently and refused to even to look at him.

“I didn’t have a choice.”

That shocked a response from me. “That’s a cop-out. You always have a choice.” I looked at him now and hoped my disgust was as clear and evident as I felt it.

His pale blue eyes looked back at me. I’d never seen eyes of such a pale blue. I also saw hardness, or perhaps cynicism, in them.

“You see things in black and white because you’re young.”

“Don’t you even try to lecture me. You just had someone try to kill me for doing nothing. If not understanding that is a fault of youth, then you can keep the wisdom you gained in that extra ten years, Mr. Older and Wiser. You’re a joke.”

Any softness I thought I had glimpsed quickly disappeared. He stood and looked at me now with harshness. “I wish I had the option of making choices only for myself. I can’t be that selfish. Maybe when you grow up you’ll understand that.”

“Yes, when I hit thirty and I know it all, I’m sure I’ll understand, then.”

“Don’t you even want to know what you are? Or are you too stubborn to even admit that you’re clueless?” he asked. He was staring at me intently and it was making every cell of my being feel more alive and intense than I’d ever felt in my life. That made me hate him even more.

“I know exactly what I am.” I looked across the room, staring at the expanse of Vegas in its fully lit glory.

“You have no idea. And what’s worse, you’ll sit here in ignorance rather than temper your pride,” he said scornfully, still watching me. “Your records before age eighteen are nonexistent. What’s your real name?”

I started to fidget and stopped myself, but I couldn’t stop my palms from sweating or from breathing erratically. I’d always had nerves of steel, but I had just reached my maximum. “I’m not staying here all night with you. Either shoot me, again, or let me go. Since you people can’t even seem to kill a person correctly, it might be easier just to let me go. Unless of course you want to try bungling it a few more times?” I could feel my control slipping. I needed to get away from here before I lost it completely.

The jerk had the nerve to laugh at my last comment.

“I can’t just let you walk out of here. I can’t have you repeat what you saw.”

“I won’t.” I jumped at the sliver of hope and was instantly annoyed with myself. He was probably just toying with me. I stood uneasily, and slowly made my way over to the window on shaky legs. I stared at the lights of Vegas that always called to me. I needed to get my nerves under control. My head was pounding so hard, it was difficult to think straight.

“Perhaps you won’t. I have a feeling you don’t say much to anyone. I’m having your blood run now to confirm what I think you are. When that comes back, we’ll discuss what is going to happen.” He turned back to Buzz and Dodd who were still standing next to the computer on the other side of the large room. I didn’t know if they’d been listening, but I suspected they had.

“Dodd, get the sample taken care of. Buzz, go make sure that the other issue is handled and make our apologies,” Hawking told them.

I watched them leave, and I knew I was alone in the place with Hawking. I wasn’t sure if this improved my odds, or worsened them, because of all the people I’d ever met in my life, he rattled me worse than anyone. That said a lot. I’d met some pretty bad people.

“Do you want to take a shower?” he asked now that we were alone.

My knee jerk reaction was that he had just sexually propositioned me. Then I caught a glimpse of a bloodstain in the reflection of the window, and I realized what I looked like. I lifted my hand to my hair and felt clumps matted together. I looked down and saw that my blood had caked on the skin of my chest, and for the first time, I realized that they had really shot me. How was I even alive? I felt for a gash in my head, but there was nothing. I clearly remembered the shooting pain right before I blacked out. My hands started to tremble uncontrollably, and I felt like I couldn’t catch my breath.

“Josephine, come, sit down.” He started toward me with his palms up and outspread, trying to keep me calm as he approached.

I moved farther away from him, and whirled around, panicked. Then I saw the couch I had just been sitting on, it was covered in blood, my blood. I heard screaming and realized quickly it was coming from me, but I couldn’t stop.

Hawking’s arms wrapped around me from behind as he pulled me back into a hard embrace. I tried to pull away, but he didn’t budge. He just held me tight against his chest and turned me away from the bloodied couch, the final trigger of what appeared to be my emotional breakdown.

“It’s okay,” he whispered in my ear, over and over again.

I don’t know how long we stood like that, but as I started to get a grip on myself, I realized the absurdity of being comforted by my executioner. His embrace loosened as my breathing became controlled, and I pulled out of his arms.

“Don’t touch me.” I wrapped my arms around myself and stood with my back to him, wiping my nose and eyes, as I tried to rid myself of any trace of a breakdown.

“You’ll feel better if you shower. I’ll get you a change of clothes.” He sounded like he was a few feet behind me, but I didn’t want to look.

“I don’t need anything from you, and stop telling me what you think I should do.” I turned back to him now and put as much weight behind my next words as I could, “Because I don’t care what you think or who you are.” My situation was a disaster, but at least I sounded calm and in control again. “You ordered my death. I don’t even want to hear your voice. I don’t care why you made your choice. You did, that’s all that matters. You say your world is complicated, that’s an excuse. You are a monster.”

He slowly stalked me across the room, and I found myself taking several steps backward until I felt the wall at my back. He stopped just short of touching me, but close enough that his shirt grazed my chest, his hands braced on either side of my head.

“My choices are larger than you,” his voice was deadly soft as he spoke and a chill spread across my skin. “If by killing you, I protect thousands of others, then that’s the choice I’d make. Every. Single. Time. And I won’t apologize for it. You’d better wise up real quick, because you don’t want to go toe to toe with me. You won’t stand a chance.”

“We’ll see about that.” It came out before I even knew what I was saying, but my pride had taken enough of a beating. I was done backing down.

His whole body tensed as it hovered around me. I could feel the energy pouring off him and I sucked in a breath, afraid to move an inch. Afraid of what I would unleash if I so much as grazed him. It took every ounce of nerve I had to hold my ground and not back down. We stood frozen, the tension thick. He lifted his hand, slammed it against the wall, and then he left. I stayed exactly where I was, afraid if I left the support of the wall at my back, I’d fall to the floor.

Chapter Six

It took me all of five minutes to gather my wits once he left the room and to run for the door. The tall lanky man that had let us in was back in place. He was standing firmly in front of the door, and we eyed each other.

“I know what you’re thinking, and you’re probably right,” he said. “You might make it past me, but there are about twenty other men that look significantly scarier than I do that you’d have to get past, so good luck with that.”

I stared at him, undaunted by what lay before me. Okay, maybe not undaunted exactly, but it was my only shot of busting out of there.

A chirping sound suddenly echoed through the hall and I realized it was his phone ringing. “Could we put this attack on hold for one moment?”

“Oh, yeah, sure, take your time. I wouldn’t want to interrupt your phone call with our fight to the death or anything,” I replied, as I made a show of leaning against the wall and crossing my ankles.

“Thank you,” he said to me as he answered. He must have said yes five times before he ended the phone call, his eyes never leaving mine. “Mr. Hawking has asked me to inform you, that you are not to leave this apartment, and most certainly not covered in blood as you are. That he has five men outside of this door who will drag you back in if you try. He suggests you try to be rational for a moment, and let me show you to the guest suite, where you can shower and change. If you refuse, he will have to force the issue, as he cannot have you walking around his casino as is, and given his current temper, he prefers not to do that at the moment.”

He could be bluffing, maybe there wasn’t anyone outside the door, but I doubted that. I’d seen his men appear out of nowhere more than one time on the casino floor. This was his private domain. He had priceless works of art hanging on the walls in the hallway; of course there would be security. I wanted out of there, but I couldn’t be stupid about it either. There was no way I’d make it out right now.

“Show me the way,” I said resignedly.

“If I may say so, I believe you are making the correct choice,” he said as he walked past me and in the opposite direction of the living room. I was happy I’d at least be on the opposite side of the apartment.

“Considering that you are working for a man who kills innocent people, I don’t care what you think.”

“I can understand that, but no matter how Cormac appears, he is an honorable man”

“I said I’d stay, not that I’d listen to you tell me what a great man he is. If you say another word about him, I’m walking out of here, five big goons or not.”

To his credit, he didn’t mutter another word and didn’t seem to take offense either. I didn’t hear the lock click when he shut the door, but what was the need?

The bedroom suite was stunning, and larger than the trailer I lived in. It was all muted tans like the rest of the apartment. A huge king sized bed sat in the middle of the room, with a tufted suede headboard, incredibly thick carpet underfoot, and an enormous flat screen TV. The far wall was all glass, like it was in the rest of the apartment, with the Vegas Strip on display. It had everything you could want, but I still didn’t want to be there.

I walked into the private bathroom, decorated in polished tan marble. It was beautiful, with a large vanity, and a Jacuzzi I would have died for on any normal day, unfortunately, today had been anything but normal.

I couldn’t avoid my reflection in the large mirrored wall that sat over the vanity area. I looked worse than I had imagined. There was blood caked so thick it was obvious even against the black satin of my outfit, and my hair, also, was caked in blood. I had grey smudges of mascara streaked down my face. I guess that’s what you get for buying the cheap makeup. Next breakdown I’d be sure to wear waterproof.

After I checked that the bathroom door locked, I stripped down and I turned the shower on until the heat of the water sent shivers through me. I worked as quickly as I could to get the blood from my hair and body, jumping every time I thought I heard a noise, constantly waiting for someone to barge in trying to shoot me, again. But when I got out, I dreaded putting on my bloody outfit.

I was still trying to wrap my head around what had happened. Being shot in the head is traumatic, even if you walk away unscathed. Plus, I didn’t feel unscathed. I felt battered. My head had finally stopped pounding, but it didn’t seem to help me think any clearer. I’d known horrible people, oh hell, I’d lived with horrible people, but I’d never been shot in cold blood like that.

Wrapped in the largest bath towel I’d ever seen, I listened at the bathroom door, making sure no one was in the bedroom before I went in. When I stepped into the room, there was a pair of designer jeans, a cream-colored sweater, undergarments, and even shoes laid out on the bed, everything new with tags.

I didn’t want to take anything from this man, but I didn’t want to put my bloody clothes back on, either, and think of what they represented. I’d also make a much easier target in clothes covered in blood. I mean, really, how loud did I want to scream, “Here I am”, as I was trying to flee.

The clothes were better quality than anything I’d ever owned. The jeans alone cost more than my rent for a month. The sweater felt like cashmere and the boots were Italian leather.

After I finished dressing, I slowly opened the bedroom door, walking on tiptoes to avoid making a sound; I made my way across the foyer. His doorman, or whatever he was, was gone. This was just too easy I thought, as I pulled the front door open.

“Can we help you?” There were four wrestler-looking men all staring down at me.

“I thought there were five of you guys?”

“Jimmy’s down the hall. Would you like us to get him for you?”

“Nope, just wanted to make sure you weren’t slacking.”

I shut the door and leaned against it. I wanted to bang my head against the wall, but the headache had just started to subside.

Then I heard a tongue clucking, as Cormac’s doorman came strolling around the corner, shaking his head.

“What?”

“Mr. Hawking is waiting for you in the living room.”

“Let me just run right in there, then. I wouldn’t want to keep my killer waiting.”

As I walked away, I swear I heard him chuckling.

Cormac stood at the bar. His pale blue eyes met my green as I walked into the room. Dressed in the same black slacks, but a new pewter grey shirt, it made me wonder if some of my blood had gotten onto him. He stood with a sheet of paper in his hand.

“You summoned?” I said, as I threw myself onto the couch that wasn’t covered in my blood. I avoided looking directly at the one that looked like a crime scene. I’d gotten myself under control, and I didn’t want to chance another breakdown.

“I see you’re faring better?” he asked with a raise of an eyebrow.

“Now that I don’t have someone shooting bullets in my head, yes, I do feel better,” I replied in a calm and controlled voice. “Now, what do you want?”

I saw what I thought was the beginning of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. I couldn’t be sure, but I got the impression I amused him.

“I’m going to let you leave here, but there are conditions that are nonnegotiable.”

“Which are?” There had to be a catch. I was having a hard time believing that he was going to let me just stroll out of there after everything that happened. Then again, maybe he would? Who’d believe I’d been shot in the head five times and was fine? That certainly wasn’t something I wanted to own up to, but if he was willing to kill me for seeing some freak turn into a monster, what had changed?

“You will not speak a word of what happened. I made excuses to your floor manager, Arnold. He won’t ask what happened to you tonight. You will continue to work here and go on with life as usual.” He walked over and laid a piece of paper on the table in front of me, with a fancy pen beside it. “This is a letter of nondisclosure. It also states that you will not leave the Vegas area without giving notice.”

“And that’s it? I sign this, and you let me walk out of here?”

“Yes.” He sat down on the other end of the couch and I could smell the scent of him as he passed me.

This had to be a set up. It was too easy. I scanned the sheet, which was simplistic in its wording and style. It only had two lines. The first stated I wouldn’t disclose any of the actions that had occurred in the last twenty-four hours. The second statement explained that I would agree to accept whatever consequences if I did break the contract.

I had nothing to lose and everything to gain at this point. I reached down to sign the paper quickly, and he grabbed my wrist and halted me. The connection tingled where our skin touched and I wondered what exactly he was, and for that matter, what that made me. I had a bad feeling it wasn’t something I was going to like.

“This is a binding contract. If you renege, there will be repercussions.”

“Like what? Are you going to shoot me a sixth time?” I’d always had a hard time with sarcasm. People told me I used it as a defense mechanism. I disagreed. I just thought I was funny.

I pulled my wrist free and signed. “Red ink, fitting. Considering the situation, I’m surprised that you didn’t make me sign in blood.” I laid the pen down near the paper.

He didn’t answer, just took it off the table, folded it and put it in his pocket.

“I can leave now?”

“You’re free to go.”

I hesitated, now that I could walk out the door I knew I left behind any possible answers about my origin that I might have been able to discover. I stood, taking longer than what I naturally would have. Angry that I hadn’t gotten the answers when he had offered.

“Did you need something else?” He looked to me, his face blank, but I could sense amusement again. He knew what I wanted but clearly wasn’t going to make it easy for me.

My spine straightened. I’d figure it out on my own. “I don’t need anything,” I said, as I walked from the room.

My hand was on the knob closing the door when I heard him. “By the way, you’re an alchemist.” The door clicked in place.

So I’m an Alchemist? What the hell did that mean?

Chapter Seven

I groaned when I heard Mrs. Harvey knock the next day. Looking at my beat up clock it was four in the afternoon, give or take ten minutes. I’d slept over twelve hours. Sometimes I couldn’t sleep for more than three, so I was shocked. I guess even though I had healed, getting shot multiple times still took some recuperating.

When I finally made it home last night, I’d spent a good few hours researching Alchemists. All I’d found was a bunch of rubbish about changing base metals into gold and the fountain of youth. Nothing even came close to jiving with what I’d experienced. Plus, I hadn’t been able to lose the feeling I’d been followed, even though I hadn’t seen anyone.

Standing up, I was in boy shorts and a thin t-shirt minus a bra, but I didn’t think she’d care, so I went to go greet her as is, but it wasn’t Mrs. Harvey when I opened the door. I knew his face. He had introduced himself as Vitor. It was the man who had asked me if I was okay after I’d fallen at Lacard.

“What are you doing here?” I held the thin aluminum door firm, ready to slam it in his pretty face if I needed. It would probably buy me all of two minutes.

He held up his palms in the universal sign of surrender. “I mean you no harm. I just want to talk.’’

“You’ve been following me.” I didn’t need it confirmed, but he nodded anyway. He wasn’t as large, or filled out as Hawking, but he still had a powerful build. If he were immune to my tricks, like Hawking’s men had been, I wouldn’t stand a chance at a one on one fight against him. “Why?”

“Can I come in and talk to you?”

If I let him in, he could do god knows what to me. If I didn’t let him in, he’d probably still do god knows what to me. I glanced over at the Harvey’s and saw there wasn’t a single light on. They had bad eyes, so even in the middle of the day they would keep a light on. They were probably at bingo. No one else would even call the police if they saw me dragged off, not in this neighborhood. In this place, you minded your own business, or you would be next on the list. I decided at the last minute to try to play nice, or as nice as I was capable of being. I stood back and waved him in.

“Wait here, I’ll be back in one minute.” I walked down the hall to my room and found a pair of sweat pants and a sweatshirt. I took it as a good sign he hadn’t tried to follow me.

When I walked back into the living room, it was almost funny how out of place he looked, in his expensive shirt and slacks, sitting on my plaid hand me down couch that had holes at the ends of the arms. Some people might have been uncomfortable about it, not me. I didn’t ask him to come. If he didn’t like my place, I was quite happy for him to leave. I stayed standing near the door, and eyed him warily.

“Well? What do you want?”

“Josephine, I was hoping to get to know you slowly. Give us some time to establish a relationship and trust, before I had to broach this subject with you, but after last night, I don’t feel like I have that luxury anymore.”

“What do you know about last night?” I asked.

“I know that you were on your shift and then disappeared, later to be seen leaving the penthouse elevators. I can only assume that you were with him.”

“And why is that a problem?”

“I’d like you to hear my side of things before you choose.”

I let that soak in for a moment. Why would he think I’d be on Cormac’s side? Why would Cormac even want me on his side? But, at least this meant he wasn’t in cahoots with Hawking. “And what is your side?”

“I would think my side would be obvious.”

I watched my words as I answered. I wasn’t clear on what constituted a break in the contract, and I didn’t know what the ramifications would be. Not that I was sure I was going to honor it, but if I did break it, I thought it might be a good idea to know. “Why don’t you just humor me,” I said.

I watched him as I waited for his reply. He wasn’t just handsome, he looked kind. He might have been more handsome than Hawking, but where Hawking’s presence put me on edge, Vitor had a face that put me at ease. That wasn’t necessarily a good thing. I knew Hawking for what he was. He didn’t make any apologizes. Vitor was still an unknown. I couldn’t let angelic looks lull me into a false security.

“I’m with my people. I’d never go against the Fae. Did he tell you I would?”

Stay calm. Must stay calm and keep him calm. “No, he didn’t say anything of the sort. I just wanted to hear it from you. After all, I don’t know you or where your loyalties lie. I don’t know why you expect me to help.”

“I know you have no reason to want to.”

“But?” I asked, while my mind figured it could at least check Fae off the list.

“My people need help and Cormac Hawking refuses to allow them to come to Earth.”

Whoa, now! Earth? This dude was a freaking alien? This was even stranger than I had initially feared. Stay calm. Hiding my feelings was something I used to be a pro at but, wow, these people were giving me a run for my money today.

When I somehow managed not to give any reaction he continued, “The power he has greatly affects many lives, and where he could allow free access, he withholds it. I’d even go as far as saying he hoards it and many suffer. The resources of my people are greatly depleted.”

“And if you came here? Wouldn’t it just happen again? We’ve got our own problems.”

“It wouldn’t happen here. We’ve learned. We know how to avoid doing the same thing. We have technologies that could make your lives better.”

“Then why don’t you fix your own planet?”

“We’ve tried, but it’s too late. There are things that were done that are irreversible.”

“I still don’t see what this has to do with me? This is between you and him as far as what I’ve heard.” Which, in reality, was nothing up until now.

“It might be now, but it won’t remain that way.”

I walked toward my door and pulled it open.

His face took on a saddened appearance, and I wasn’t sure if it was an act or on purpose.

“I understand your bitterness. I know what your life has been like.”

“Go ahead, tell me what you know about my life.” I’d meant for that to sound confident. I’d meant to shut him down. I knew there were no paper trails of where I’d come from, but when the words came out, they rang of defensiveness.

“You’re right. I don’t know any of the facts, but I do know things. I know that whatever happened to you, it damaged you so much you’re afraid you’ll never be normal. That you can’t stand to be touched; so much so that you throw off a repellent you aren’t even aware of. That you are still trying to…”

“Get out!”

“Josephine, I’m sorry, I was just trying to…”

I didn’t give him a chance to finish, as I abandoned my own home. My hands had begun to shake again, and I sprinted away with every ounce of energy I possessed. I’d been holding it together for my entire adult life and most of my childhood. I refused to have a second breakdown less than twenty-four hours from the first.

Winded, my legs burned with built up lactic acid, and I paused, looking behind me. My trailer park was nothing but a glittering spot on the horizon, ahead of me, nothing but the desert dunes as the sun started to make its final decent of the day. I felt alone. It was what I needed. It was what I knew. Alone was how I would pull the pieces back together.

Chapter Eight

It was the first time I was going back to the casino for work since the infamous night of my death, or as it turned out, deathlike experience. I’d packed and unpacked my bags at least ten times in the last day, but I had too much at stake to start over, again. If I picked up and left now, I would need another new identity. I would have to redo years of schooling just when I was so close to being finished. I had to hang in there for a little longer.

Another part of me, the one who had started to calm down and think logically, realized I had finally found a source of answers and wanted to stay. If I ran now, I might never know. The whole reason I had even wanted to become a doctor was now within my grasp. Only problem was the same logical part of me knew that although Hawking might have the answers, he’d also tried to kill me. Who knew when he might think it was a good idea to do it again. In his world, I was dispensable.

Even now, I knew I was being tailed everywhere I went. I felt it, even if I couldn’t always spot it. A new work uniform was waiting by my door when I got up this morning. They all knew my address, which was not the one listed on my application or my college record. All my mail went to a post office box. Perhaps it was time to find a new residence. I’d have to check into that online after work tonight.

I dreaded going in tonight, but it seemed strangely normal once I started. I had made it halfway through my shift, and had psyched myself up enough that I started to believe I was going to be able to do this. The fact that no one seemed to know anything had happened helped me fool myself into the thought that this would turn out okay.

I saw Hawking in passing, a few times. Other than a look that seemed to linger longer than it should have, he didn’t even acknowledge me. That didn’t get me the information I wanted, but I didn’t feel like I’d have to run for my life anytime soon, either.

“Hey, Jo, since we’re slow, do you want to cut out early? If you want to stay, I’ll ask Vicky,” Arnold said to me a while later, as I hung around the service bar.

“I’ll go. Thanks.” I was relieved to get off the floor. I’d waited for something to happen all night. Even when everything had gone smoothly, I was exhausted from the anticipation of waiting for something that had never materialized. I’d go home and relax on my couch, and read up for my finals.

I quickly changed and went to wait for the bus that would take me home. I felt the tingling sensation of being watched again as I stood at the stop. This time I had the feeling it was Hawking. I’d slipped out the back entrance that only a casino person would’ve been able to see me leave. He was probably watching to make sure I held up my end of the bargain. I was, at least for now. I needed information from him, and I wouldn’t completely burn that bridge until I had it. Once I had what I needed, I planned to take a blowtorch to it. He had me shot, I might not have died, but I was still prickly about it. That wasn’t something I was going to get over. In fact, my anger had done nothing but grow in the last day. He would be lucky if I didn’t torch the whole casino down around him. I might be a broke waitress, right now, but I was resourceful. I’d find a way.

I spent the ride home thinking about how satisfying it would be to take Hawking down. I was so immersed in my thoughts I almost missed my stop. I pulled the cord and had to get out a block farther away than normal, but it was a beautiful night for a walk, and I figured the guy following me should earn his keep. Let him have to hop from bush to bush for all I cared.

I couldn’t pinpoint anyone on the bus who looked like a tail, and when I got off, I got off alone. My best guess was that whoever was following had driven behind in a car. Apparently, these thugs had higher standards then I did and wouldn’t slum it on public transportation.

The bus had just pulled away when a man stepped into my path. I looked up to see Vitor’s face. I just shook my head and walked around him.

“How are you, Jo?” he asked, as he fell into step beside me.

“I’ve been better,” I replied without bothering to look at him.

“I saw you at the casino. I think I misjudged whatever happened the other night. You aren’t on the best terms with Cormac. I’m not exactly sure why you are so opposed to hearing me out.”

“Because you want something from me, and whatever it is, I want no part of it.”

“Why won’t you at least hear me out? Maybe we could help each other.”

I couldn’t help myself; I had to laugh at that. “I don’t need anything from you that badly, and I have a feeling whatever I could gain would cost me a lot more than I was willing to give.” As we walked into my development, I headed toward my trailer. He already knew where I lived, so I didn’t see the point in evasion now. And for whatever reason, I didn’t think he was a threat.

“I have information that I think you would want to know.”

We stopped in front of my trailer, and he held his hand on my door. I was forced to pause, whether I wanted to or not.

“What?”

“There are whispers, Josephine. Something is coming, something big that will steam roll over Cormac’s entire organization. You are one of them. Do you want to take that chance?”

“What’s coming?”

“There are dangerous people aligning against Cormac and they aren’t alone.”

“Shouldn’t you be telling him?”

“He won’t do what needs to be done. I need you. ”

“I’ve told you, I’m sorry your people are having trouble, but I learned years ago that there is only one person you can depend on. Maybe it’s time for them to learn that lesson, too.”

I looked meaningfully at his hand and stood waiting for him to remove it.

“You’re backing me into a corner, Jo.”

The sound of desperation in his tone alarmed me. I looked at his face now, and realized that I might have been lulled into a false sense of security with him. It wasn’t in his nature to attack, of that I was positive, but he was desperate. Desperation made people do horrible things. I’d seen it many times in my life.

I tried to soften my face and body language. “Look, Vitor, I’m really beat tonight. How about tomorrow afternoon we sit down and talk? I promise I’ll hear you out then.”

His hand relaxed on my doorknob. I’d walked him back from the cliff just enough to buy me the time I needed.

“Okay,” he said, then paused as if figuring out his schedule in his head. “I’ll be here at three.”

“Deal.”

He nodded his head, and I watched his back as he walked away. When he was willing to take my word on the meeting tomorrow, he proved he was honest. Only honest people take you at your word. Liars and thieves expect the same in return. Unfortunately for him, I didn’t have a problem lying when it came to saving my own ass.

I went inside, opened up my laptop and typed a quick email to my professors. I wrote that there had been a death in the family. I’d dummy up the documents if it meant they’d let me finish my course at a later time. Either way, a degree wasn’t worth my life. Whatever was going on, I didn’t know, but the visit from Vitor had just tipped my hand. I needed to get out of here and I needed to do it now.

Hawking wasn’t someone I was ready to go against, and I wasn’t letting anyone pull me into a fight with him. I’d take on Hawking when I was prepared to, not because I was being forced to. I wasn’t prepared to willingly go to him for help either. That would constitute choosing sides. Me, myself, and I didn’t leave room for sides. One thing I knew for sure, if I didn’t choose, I wasn’t ready for the hell that was about to come my way if I stuck around.

I packed everything I could get into a duffle bag and waited. And waited. Finally, at three forty a.m., I made my move. I crawled out the back window of my trailer and made a slightly undignified thump on the ground. I stayed low and in between the trailers until I made my way out through the back of the development.

Constantly checking every shadow, I was pretty sure I’d made a clean break. I ducked into the twenty-four hour Seven Eleven, and bribed the clerk with a five to use his phone. Using my cell phone was out of the question. I wouldn’t put it past Cormac to have it bugged, so it was turned off, lying useless in my bag. Hawking had plenty of money, and Vitor didn’t look like a slouch in that department, either, if the Rolex he’d been wearing tonight was any indication. Money usually meant plenty of connections. Who knew what either of them might be able to gain access to when they tried.

I had the cab pick me up a block away, not wanting any witness to the taxi company I used. I thought it would be better not to take the cab too far out of the area either, more traceable that way, but there wasn’t a bus that ran along this line this time at night.

I hopped into the shabby interior of the cab. “Take me to the nearest major bus depot.”

“That’s about half hour away.”

“I know.”

He eyed my dingy t-shirt and ripped jeans with a fresh dirt mark skeptically. “As long as you can pay,” he stated in broken English, and stared at me in the review mirror. “We prosecute non-payers.”

“Go,” I said glaring at him.

We took off, passing the entrance of what was my home. It wasn’t fancy or new, but it had been mine. The only real home I’d ever had, and I felt like I’d been hit in the gut with a baseball bat. I’d been hysterical too many times in the last few days. I wasn’t going to cry anymore. I couldn’t afford to. I had no one but myself, and no one wanted to rely on a hysterical woman, including me.

Chapter Nine

I hadn’t meant to, but I’d fallen asleep waiting for my bus, as I sat on the ground alongside the building. In my hand was a ticket to L.A. It was a city with enough people to get lost, at least for now. The ticket was still firmly in my grasp as I awoke to a shoe nudging my side.

“Where are you going?”

I knew the voice instantly, and I cursed in my head. Cormac. I looked up, and expected to see his men with him, but he was alone.

“How much do you weigh?”

He looked taken aback by the question but answered, “Two hundred and forty lbs.”

Yep, no shot. “I think you just answered your own question.”

He had the nerve to laugh. “Come on. We’ll talk on the way back,” he said.

It was still early enough that the bus depot was empty, and I weighed my options. I knew I couldn’t take him, but would going with him willingly be the height of stupidity? Last time I’d followed one of them without a thought hadn’t ended well.

“Don’t make this difficult.”

“Why, so you can try to kill me in the privacy of your own home? Why not just do it here?”

He squatted down, eye level with me. “If I wanted you dead, you would be. I never wanted to hurt you. I thought I had no choice. Now that I do, I have no intention of killing you.”

“What about the repercussions you talked about?”

“You didn’t go far enough for them to apply.”

I knew he was being honest with me, but my body rebelled as I sat frozen.

“I understand why you don’t trust me. I’d have to be an imbecile not to. But you have my word that I’m not going to physically harm you.”

He held out his hand to me, as a symbol of his word. I stared at it for a moment, leaving it to hover between us for a good half a minute. Half a minute might not seem like a long time in the everyday scheme of things, but when you’re talking about a full thirty seconds of awkwardness and possible rejection, it seems like forever.

He smiled as I took his hand finally, and again, that strange fission of energy seeped into my skin where we touched. I wanted to pull back from him, not because the connection felt bad, but because it felt strong. I didn’t want to feel any kind of connection to him.

He looked down at our still joined hands, and I realized he felt it, too. His mask slipped just enough that I could see that it disarmed him as well. Even so, he held my hand all the way to the car until I became self-conscious. I didn’t want to break the connection first and show any unease or weakness, but I was afraid the clamminess of my hands would reveal me, anyway.

He finally released my hand when he opened the door to a jet-black sports car. I climbed into the seat made from the softest leather I’d ever felt.

“What kind of car is this?” I asked, as he got into the driver’s seat.

“It’s an Aston Martin.”

“It’s pretty.”

“Thanks,” he said, and his lips twitched upward.

“Do I amuse you?” I asked, as I bristled. My life was being turned upside down, and this guy thought everything I said was funny.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Get all defensive. It’s not a bad thing.”

I turned my gaze back toward the road and let it drop. I had bigger fish to fry, things more important than whether or not I amused him. “So, let’s talk,” I said looking to get to the heart of the matter.

“Are you hungry?”

“I wasn’t referring to small talk.”

“What’s wrong with small talk?”

“I don’t like it.”

“It’s probably because you aren’t very good at it, are you?”

“That has nothing to do with it.”

“That’s why it bothers you.”

“No, I’m not good at it. You are?”

“I’m not a huge fan, but I can hold my own.”

“Can we talk about more serious matters, now?”

“If you insist, but it probably won’t be good.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not sure if you are aware of this, but you get a bit irritable on more sensitive subjects.”

In spite of myself I laughed. I knew I was rough around the edges but I wasn’t used to people besides Lacey pointing it out.

“So why did you try to leave?” he asked.

My gut told me he already knew the answer. He had found me within hours of my departure, which confirmed he was having me watched, no surprise there. He was testing me again. Everything with this man was a test.

“Vitor came to see me, but you know that, so, clearly I’m not going to lie about it. If you want to play games, find someone else. I don’t like them.”

He hopped on the highway and let the engine loose. The speed shot a huge surge of adrenaline through me, as if I didn’t have enough flooding my system already.

“What did he say?” His voice was calm, but I heard something in his tone I couldn’t quite identify.

“He wanted to talk. He wanted to tell me a little bit about himself. Now I have a couple of questions. Only fair I think.”

“Shoot.”

“Vitor isn’t human?”

“Nope.”

“And you are the one who helps them get around so to speak? But we are human right?”

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you want to help him?”

“What I feel about the situation doesn’t matter. It’s not my choice whether or not to allow them to move to Earth. I don’t own this planet. But, I do have to add, regardless of what he says, they’ve already destroyed their world. That doesn’t give me a real warm fuzzy feeling about asking them to move in, even if it were up to me.”

“He said they have technology that could help.”

“He says a lot of things. Do you want to let them all come on over?”

“He said people are gathering to move against you?”

“Yep, that sounds about right.”

“When does this deal end? I don’t remember reading about war activities in the small print on that contract I signed.” And when can I get the hell away from this mess. I thought my life was messed up before? This put things in perspective.

“Not sure,” he replied with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Yes, well, that doesn’t really work for me.”

“I’m not trying to play with you. There are a lot of factors at work.”

“Which leads to my next question, what are we exactly? This seems a bit beyond making some pocket change and good skin.”

“I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, but you do understand there’s no going back?” He turned toward me to make sure I understood him. “You have a couple of drinks one night and slip, no one is going to let you off the hook.”

“Didn’t we already establish the whole secrecy thing? I get it. Now look at the road if you don’t mind, and start spilling.”

“I’ll do better than tell you.”

I felt a jolt in the road and realized it was one of the Lacard driveway speed bumps. We fell quiet as he pulled over to the curb. The moment we came to a full stop the valet took his car.

“Take that to my suite,” he said to the valet, and I turned to see my duffle bag disappear. Oh shit, that didn’t bode well for my evening. He could have had the valet check it for me to pick up later, but he didn’t.

We walked to his elevator in silence, and I noticed more than a few pairs of eyes watch us cross the casino floor, including Vicky’s. I knew what it looked like, but I’d stopped caring about what people thought of me years ago. If they wanted to imagine me sleeping with the boss, let them. That was a lot easier pill to swallow than what I’d grown up with. They meant nothing to me.

When we stepped into his elevator, I thought we would head up but we dropped instead, and I had to remind myself that I had his word on my safety. Did I believe him? Yes. If he still wanted to kill me, like he said, I’d probably already be dead. Hell, any one of them could’ve killed me in my trailer. No one would have noticed me for days.

When the elevator opened, we stepped into a small square hallway. As the doors closed behind us, a panel opened revealing a keyboard. He dialed in a code, then a beam of light scanned his iris and the second set of doors opened. I followed him into a long hallway that had to be at least a mile long.

“I didn’t realize the casino was so big.”

“This area underground is larger, but it’s close.”

“When do we get to the whole top secret area?” I tried to sound glib, but I wasn’t sure I’d pulled it off.

He stopped suddenly in front of one of many doors. “Now.” He opened a door and waited for me to enter.

I heard him shut it, as I looked around. The room was the size of my high school gymnasium, but its walls, ceilings, and floors, were the polished dull grey of a pencil tip. A line of computers and equipment lined the back wall and there were two enormous monoliths of polished ebony at the opposite side of the room.

Drawn to them, I walked over to the closest one and ran my fingers along the veins that ran through the stone. When I touched them, I imagined I could feel a pulse running through them. It felt so real I drew my hand back quickly.

“What are they?” I asked in awe.

“These help us to open a portal. This is where we transport.”

I pulled my eyes from their beauty to see him standing a few feet behind me, admiring them as well. He walked forward and stopped next to me. I watched him graze the ebony surface with his fingers, like I had done, tracing the pattern across its sleek surface. An image of him grazing his fingers across my skin popped into my head. He turned his face to me and I swear he could read my thoughts. His eyes were intense as they stared at my face and lingered a second too long on my lips.

He turned his back to the monolith and leaned against it with a knowing smirk.

“Don’t look at me like that. There isn’t a chance in hell.” I took a couple of steps to gain some distance. “Now, explain this to me?” I turned my back to him and looked around the room.

“Come here.” He pushed off and walked toward a desk where a small dark stone lay. It looked like the same material as the larger monoliths but a fraction of the size. He picked it up and tossed it to me.

I held it warily, not wanting to close my hand around it. I held it far from my body with my palm open.

“Close your hand around it.”

“Why?” I asked, stalling.

“The way you are acting, I think you already know.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Then do it.”

“No, it’s stupid,” I said and tried to blow him off. I had the feeling that Cormac wasn’t put off his track that easily.

He walked toward me and went to touch my fingers, but I pulled away before he could.

“Fine.” I closed my hand, and felt the cold stone warm in my hand, then tingle. I prayed for nothing to happen. Sometimes it wouldn’t, but a bad feeling made me think this wasn’t one of those times.

“Open your hand.”

I hesitated, feeling the pressure and afraid to release it, afraid to confirm what he already knew, what I’d spent years of my life hiding. I knew that he expected what was going to happen. He was the same thing, whatever an alchemist actually was, but old habits do really die hard. After hiding something for so long, I couldn’t seem to get my fingers to relax their grip.

“It’s okay,” he said, as he stepped forward and pried my fingers open.

The stone shot through the air like a bullet and buried itself into the lead ceiling above.

“Well, that’s interesting,” Cormac said, as he stared at the ceiling in interest.

“What do you mean? I thought you knew what was going to happen.”

“It’s much stronger than I would have imagined. I should have guessed it would be after how quickly your body shot out those bullets, but Buzz isn’t the best shot. I thought he might have grazed you with some of them.”

The mental calculation he was making showed openly on his face. What I’d done truly surprised him.

“Care to clue me in?”

“You’re a half breed. I don’t understand how it’s this strong. Only full bloods usually have this much strength.” He was still staring at the ceiling. His emotionless mask back in place, so I could no longer read his thoughts. “This is interesting,” he added, but I guessed he was talking more to himself than me.

“Half breed?”

“Alchemists, or that’s how we started out thousands of years ago, before we evolved into what we are now. Now we are mostly called Keepers.” He watched me now and waited for this to sink in.

“You turn metal into gold and something about the fountain of youth?” That was the beginning and end of what I knew about alchemy and all I remembered from surfing Google.

“That was one of the original goals, but we surpassed that a long, long, time ago. What you just did was change that stone into exotic matter.”

My brain scrambled as I remembered that term from a science class. “Doesn’t that have something to do with wormholes?”

“It has everything to do with wormholes. A wormhole is a shortcut to a different place in the galaxy, sometimes a different universe. Wormholes normally aren’t traversable for two reasons, they collapse under the gravity generated by the space-time fabric, and they emit huge amounts of radiation. If you didn’t get crushed, you die from the nastiest sunburn you’ve ever seen.” He motioned toward the stone still stuck in the ceiling. “Exotic matter counteracts the gravity.”

“And the radiation?”

“It isn’t poisonous to Keepers. We can draw the radiation omitted to us like a vacuum, and we are immune to it. We simply absorb it like a sponge would sop up water. Then our bodies use the energy, similar to someone else digesting a steak dinner.”

“And that’s what I’ve been doing, turning things into exotic matter. How do I hurt people?”

“Yeah, that’s a cute trick you do. I haven’t seen anyone use our ability in that way for a long time. That’s why I didn’t recognize it when you used it on Tracker in the casino. How did you start doing that?”

“I don’t know,” I said vaguely, not wanting to give him the desperate details of the first time it had happened.

He waited for a moment, but then let it go and continued. “You’re exciting their cells.”

“I don’t understand what you mean?”

“You are stimulating them into a frenzy, which applies pressure to the surrounding areas as well. I’d imagine it would be extremely painful. You could burst bones if you did it strongly enough.”

“But I thought alchemists did things with chemicals? They didn’t change things with their bodies and minds. How can that be done by touch alone?”

“Once our ancestors learned how to distort different object’s physical natures, and how to create exotic matter, we were able to create a stable wormhole. Some of the portals that opened led to nothing but barren lands, or just space. But some of the portals led to a planet with humanoid races. Once we learned how to communicate with them, we discovered they had their own unique skill set. Where humans have a conscious brain and a subconscious, their brains are a single united process. Certain functions remain on autopilot, but they can override anything in their systems. They can consciously alter their brain patterns. In exchange for passage through the wormhole, they helped meld our skills into our subconscious.”

“I don’t get it.”

“We consciously control our energy and the energy around us. Matter on a very small scale is vibrations. Different vibrations change what the matter is. We simply change the vibrations.”

“And that is how I healed?”

“No, you healed because of your subconscious skills, although we aren’t as adept as they are at it. Their brains are a single consciousness. Our subconscious has some reasoning abilities, but it can’t communicate freely with our conscious. Your brain knew you were about to be shot, so your cells simply were prepared. They concentrated in the outer parts of your head to limit entrance and then forced the bullets out.”

“But once I was shot, how would my brain keep doing that if I’m passed out?”

“Your brain doesn’t stop working, your conscious brain just isn’t aware of it. When your alarm clock goes off, your subconscious wakes you. It’s always aware of what’s around.”

“You know that sounds insane, right?”

He pointed upward toward the stone still lodged in the ceiling above us. “But that’s normal? With the bullets, it was simply a matter of changing your body’s density temporarily.”

I wasn’t completely shocked. How could I be? I’d lived my whole life knowing things weren’t the way people believed. I’d gotten shot in the head and walked away. That didn’t mean I was at ease with this reality, either. I now had confirmed proof, and thinking something and knowing something can be worlds apart. I leaned a hip on the table he had taken the stone from, as I tried to act as if I was taking this in stride, even though my insides felt like a churning mass of mush.

“I saw that man, Tracker, change. What was he?”

“For lack of a more sophisticated term, you would know him as a werewolf.”

“And this alien werewolf person, he is one of the races that helped merge your abilities?”

“No, Tracker isn’t that skilled. He and his kind are on the lower rungs of their civilization. Vitor’s race, also known as Fae here on earth, are the kind that helped us. In essence, Tracker’s race just came along for the ride.”

“And who are these people gathering against you that Vitor warned of?”

“Vitor himself.”

“Why would he warn me about him?”

“He’s playing you.”

“And how do I know anything you say is true?”

“You don’t.”

“Why did you shoot me that night? Because of this?” I waved my hand to encompass everything in the room.

“We thought you were a human. There is a binding agreement between our races that all human witnesses are eliminated. When you saw Tracker change that night, you were in a private area of the casino, a safe zone. Your life was forfeit. If we didn’t kill you, he’d have tracked you down and done it himself. A quick death at our hand was a kindness.”

A shiver passed through me. “Spare me your kindness in the future. I’d rather take my chances.”

He ignored my sarcasm and continued. “Once your body forced the bullets out, we knew you were one of us. Now that we know what you are, it’s different. You’re a Keeper, and as such, you fall under my domain. They would have to get clearance from me to touch you.”

“And who keeps me safe from you?” I nailed him with the frostiest stare I had. He talked to me and explained things as if we were on good terms, but I wouldn’t be lulled by his relaxed demeanor. “You didn’t think bygones would be bygones after you had me shot in the head five times, did you? We’d start singing Kumbaya?”

He shrugged his shoulders and walked across the room and I found myself admiring his grace as he moved. I was annoyed at myself. If my subconscious supposedly had some reasoning ability of its own, it was a real masochist. I thought hard, trying to send it the message that it was a complete idiot. He was the enemy. You don’t find the enemy attractive, it didn’t matter how hot he was, you moron.

“I get that you’re pissed, but I had to do it. Now I don’t.”

“And when that changes?”

“It won’t.”

“Great. That’s very reassuring. Cause things never change in life, right?”

“Why did you try to run?”

“Why wouldn’t I? I’ve no desire to get messed up in whatever you have going on.”

“It’s a little late for that. This day’s been coming since the day you were born. For a half-breed, you have way too much power flowing through your veins. Strolling around, untrained as you are, it was only a matter of time before you started to cause a problem for us. I can’t fathom how you managed to avoid detection for this long.”

“I’ve managed. When freaky stuff starts happening around you all the time, you’d be amazed at how easy it is to remain alone.” I didn’t add how lonely I’d been, but I’d gotten by. People had much worse lives then I had. I wasn’t going to cry in my sleep over being alone.

He was watching me with all too knowing eyes, and I didn’t like the pity I thought I read in them.

“Stop,” I snapped.

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to pity me, you’re the murderer,” I accused him, trying anything to shut down the entire exchange that was hitting me way too hard. I looked at him, hoping to see anger. Even violence was preferable to this. I could handle anger and violence. I was used to those things. “Are you letting me leave or not?” My voice was starting to rise. I never raised my voice. It declared how upset you were, a satisfaction I didn’t like to give to anyone.

He reached down on the table near me, toying with a few papers and I jumped up and moved across the room.

“I was hoping to give you a little time to acclimate, bring you into the fold slowly, but it’s not working out like that.”

“So what does that mean?”

“It means that I need you to be on the grounds here at the casino full time. You can still go wherever you choose, but you’ll need to take an escort.”

“No, absolutely not.”

“I don’t have a choice. Vitor, and whoever else is involved, is determined to destroy the portal. It’s bad now. If they were to get their hands on you, it could be much worse. I’m trying to make this as easy for you as I can.”

“So what if they took me? What if they took you or one of your guys?”

“Not all my men are Keepers. The ones who are, they wouldn’t be able to take alive.”

“So we can die?”

“Yes.”

“What if I were trained?”

“You’d have to swear loyalty to me. Are you ready to do that?”

“Sure!” I said with the most enthusiasm I could muster. All this, without ever taking a single acting class. I thought I sounded pretty believable.

He laughed and walked closer to me. “It would have to be sincere.”

“How about you train me, and we’ll see how the loyalty thing works out?”

“I can’t turn you into a weapon that could be used against me.”

“So then, what? I live in your casino indefinitely?”

I watched him closely, and saw his façade cracking just slightly to reveal what looked like uncertainty. “I don’t know,” he said finally. We’d hit a stalemate.

As we left the room, we fell into silence as I followed him back upstairs. My mind ran wild thinking of the implications. Alternate universes were straight out of my sci-fi shows, and knowing that perhaps I could control the opening to such a thing made me heady with possibilities. Having that power was almost enough to make me want to swear loyalty. But not quite.

As we stood in the elevator together, I knew we were heading to his penthouse, and I remembered I had a shift tonight.

“I need to go get a few things from my place. I need my uniform for tonight. Lucky for me, my job is in the casino. Maybe my goons can just blend in with the regular ol’ casino goons.” I said this with fake optimism.

“You do realize that an alchemist can change base metals into gold. If you swore allegiance, you’d never have to work another day in your life.” He looked at me with eyebrows raised.

I stared at the walls and crossed my arms over my chest. I hated being alone in close quarters with him. He smelled too good, he looked too good and it was just completely unfair. Villains were supposed to be ugly. Just another way I was getting screwed in this deal. My villain didn’t even look like he was supposed to. “I’m sure I’d just get bored.”

“There are also other ways to be entertained.” The look on Cormac’s face left little doubt as to what he was referring.

“From what I’ve heard, you’ve got enough entertaining to do.”

“I can always make time.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose. I’ll just stick to the waitressing for now so I don’t clutter up your schedule.”

He looked back at the elevator doors and sighed. “If that’s what you prefer, but you don’t know what you’re missing out on.”

We walked down his long hallway and I admired the paintings, like I did every time I saw them. If nothing else, I was starting to like the hallway.

We stepped in as Ben held the door.

“Ben, our little porcupine here will be staying in the spare bedroom.”

“I’ve already put the contents of her bag away.”

I said thank you, but I was annoyed someone had gone through my personal belongings. I puttered around my new suite of rooms for a while, digging through the closet and the drawers finding all of my things. I was sure Ben made a good salary, so it was ridiculous to think he’d take some of my things, plus what would a middle aged man do with my stuff, anyway? But having to fight for years and years to keep anything had ingrained a distrust in me that didn’t easily let go. Even as I fought the feelings with logic, I still had to locate every last item.

I found my book of Monet prints still in my knapsack. I guess he hadn’t been sure what to do with that as it looked out of place here with its binding held together with duck tape. I knew it was foolish to pack it, but I couldn’t seem to leave it behind.

I’d just finished counting my bras, Ben could turn out to be a pervert after all, when Cormac called me into the foyer to tell me lunch was coming up. Ben had left to go get us food from the casino kitchens, so it was just me and Cormac in the room and it felt beyond awkward.

I was just about to make some excuse that I hadn’t thought of yet, to go back in my room, when Dodd barged in. He paused inside the door breathing heavily, his eyes looking frantic.

“What is it?” Cormac asked immediately.

Dodd’s eyes darted to me for a second, then back to Cormac. “We have a problem.”

“How bad?”

Dodd didn’t speak, just shook his head.

“Come on,” Cormac said, as he walked out the door and Dodd followed him immediately. I stood watching them leave and wondered what had happened to make Dodd look so bad. These weren’t the type of men that became rattled. “Come on!” Cormac said again, and looked straight at me.

“A simple please would suffice.”

He rolled his eyes and didn’t say please, but I went with them, anyway. As much as I wanted to be left alone I didn’t mind going with them. I wanted to see what would affect them this much.

I followed quickly behind, glad that I was a runner and could keep up with their larger frames. We climbed into the private elevator, and plummeted an unknown number of floors, until I found myself in the hallways we had just left not more than a couple hours before. But, where the area had felt abandoned then, now it bustled with people. They all gave Cormac a wide berth, and a few threw a passing glance at my presence, but no one spoke a word. I wouldn’t have either, with the energy Cormac was throwing off.

He stormed into the room with the portal, and as I entered behind him, I saw a crowd in the center. Everyone was gathered around something I couldn’t see, but they parted quickly as Cormac approached.

Once I saw, I wished I hadn’t. A man was lying in the center, his clothes in tatters and his flesh was raw. On the skin that was bare, blisters oozed and wept. Any area that wasn’t blistered was a raw and angry red. He didn’t appear to be conscious, and I was glad. The pain would’ve been unbearable.

Cormac kneeled by the man’s side. “What happened?” Cormac barked into the room. No one spoke, and the room became deathly quiet. I realized people weren’t even moving, afraid to draw attention to themselves. “What happened!” Cormac repeated as he stood to his full height.

A young, small, brunette stepped forward. “We don’t know sir. We had started everything as planned, all seemed to be going well. We didn’t know anything was wrong until he stepped out.”

“Who was on point?” Cormac asked.

A blond man in his thirties raised his hand.

“Kever, do you have any idea what went wrong?”

The man just shook his head. He looked close to tears.

“Were you taking in the radiation?”

“I was pulling at it, the same way I always do. I’m so sorry Cormac, I don’t know what happened.”

The man was clearly beyond distraught at what had happened, and I could physically see the aggression leaving Cormac as his limbs relaxed slightly. I, on the other hand, was glad we hadn’t had our lunch yet. I found myself looking for a trashcan nearby in case I got sick.

“Get him set up in a bed. Give him as much morphine as you need to keep him comfortable, if it’s even possible. Dodd, call Tracker right away, tell him to get here. Send him up to me when he arrives.” Cormac stormed out of the room.

Looking around the room, I decided to follow Cormac rather than stay here. The tension hung thick in the room, and I was better off waiting it out in my room, in solitude, while tempers calmed. Plus, I’d already seen more than I’d wanted.

I kept my distance, as I followed Cormac back. A fleeting thought ran through my head of trying another break out, but a quick glance at Cormac’s stoic face, and still quite tense frame, made me think this wasn’t the best time to push the issue. My confidence in making it out unseen had fallen to an all time low.

It wasn’t until we walked into his penthouse that he finally spoke.

“Come into the living room for a minute. I would like to talk to you.”

I paused. I didn’t want to be near him right now with how volatile he seemed, and I tried to decide which way to turn; my new room, or follow him into the living room. I considered ignoring his request. I didn’t owe him anything. He owed me.

“Please.”

That word told me one thing. He was desperate, really desperate. I walked into the living room. I could tell he was upset about the man but I wouldn’t feel bad for him. I refused to. He wasn’t my friend, ally or anything else. He was my enemy, or a nuisance if I felt like being generous. I followed him because, as I might have mentioned before, I don’t like desperate people. They tend to do desperate things. Desperate people should be placated until you can get as far away from them as humanly possible, because desperate people had a bad tendency of blowing up and taking you with them.

I sat down on one of the now pristine matching couches, while he remained standing by the bar, and wondered if they kept spares in a warehouse somewhere. A quick glance showed the glass had also been repaired, not a scratch remained. It was as if the night had never happened, and it made me mad. As easily as that, nothing was left. If I had died that night, not even a stain would be there as proof of my slaughter.

“I need a favor.”

I laughed, but it wasn’t a laugh of joy. It told him, without words, what I thought of his request.

“I wouldn’t ask if it was for me.” He was a hair away from groveling. In theory, having this man grovel for anything should have appeased me, but in reality, it did nothing.

“And who is the favor for? Buzz? Dodd? Do you think I would be willing to help them either?”

“I told you about the portal. What I didn’t explain is why I need to keep control of it. Most involved view this as simply a business. I provide passage in and out of this universe for a price, but the reason is much larger. Only a select few and I know the entire truth. If I can’t keep control of this operation, this entire world is in danger.”

I snapped my head in his direction as I watched him go to the bar. The somber tone of his voice lent authenticity to what he said. He might be crazy or wrong, but he believed what he said. I watched him throw back the contents of an amber liquid I assumed to be scotch. He silently offered me a glass, which I declined, and he refilled his own.

“There are only a handful of portals. That is all that can exist at one time because of the distortions they create. We, the Keepers, are the only ones capable of controlling them. There have been defectors over the years, Keepers thirsting for more power who have joined with others. They’ve all been low level, none of them strong enough to open up and maintain another portal.” He came and sat down across from me on the other couch, the one that had replaced the bloodied one. Even with this supposedly heavy burden hanging over his head, he was a striking looking man.

“What happens if others control a portal? Why should you have all the power?” My question was argumentative and bordered on confrontational. I couldn’t help myself, the more attractive I found him the more I felt compelled to fight against him. In truth it wasn’t him I was fighting, it was my conscious brain, struggling with the workings of my subconscious desires that truly pissed me off right now. A subconscious that had a masochistic streak and wouldn’t listen to reason.

“If someone like Vitor or Tracker gets control, there will be no end to the influx of other beings. One on one, they are much stronger than humans are and there will be no end of them in sight. Even if they don’t rape this earth for all it has, they will be more powerful. It’s only logical that they’ll try a power grab. Right now, the only thing that keeps them in hiding is that if they were found out, they’d be so outnumbered they’d lose. Also, if this one has been opened recently, and another is opened too soon after, it creates turmoil in the space-time fabric. This area could possibly explode.”

“Possibly explode? Would it explode, or not?”

“It would all depend on how large a portal was opened, and how recently this one had closed. There are too many factors to predict accurately.”

“Worst case scenario?” I asked. In my life, that’s what I’d come to expect.

“The entire Vegas Strip could be destroyed.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I leaned my head back on the couch and rested my arm over my eyes.

“Afraid not.”

“What do you want from me?” I asked, but I was afraid to hear the response.

“Today’s incident isn’t the first time something’s gone wrong. Someone is messing with the portals, someone strong.”

“So, go get Vitor and kick his ass. You don’t need me.”

“I would’ve if that was an option. I can’t. Even if I was positive it was him, I need to know what Keepers are betraying me or it won’t end. Someone else will step up and take over. There is at least one very strong Keeper involved in this, possibly more, and I need to take them out.”

“Still don’t see why you need me.”

“I want to teach you how to control a portal and I need you to operate it with me.”

“You’ve got other Keepers. Trained ones remember?”

“I already paired them up and I thought that would control it. As you just saw it didn’t. You’ve got a lot of natural ability, and I can’t take any more chances of being outgunned.” Cormac’s phone rang and interrupted our conversation, cutting off the reason why I was so important. “Thanks,” he said then pressed the end button. “Tracker is going to be here in two minutes. We’ve got to finish this later. The guy who got cooked in the portal was one of his men.”

I got up without being asked and walked to my room, I had no desire to see Tracker, and try as I might, I wasn’t cold enough to ignore such a loss.

Cormac followed me into the foyer, and then left through the main door. I waited about ten minutes, before I checked to see if anyone was in the hallway. There were two today. I sighed and went to go shower for my shift tonight. If I was going to be stuck here, I might as well earn some cash. I didn’t plan on being stuck for long, and when I left, I was going to need the money.

Chapter Ten

“Let me through!”

“Not until Cormac says so,” said one of the burly door guards.

“What’s the matter?” I heard Cormac’s voice before I saw him.

“My shift started five minutes ago. You said that I would be able to come and go as I please, but I guess not,” I said accusingly and waited for his reaction.

“Let her through,” he said to them. The moment they moved to the side, I headed down the hallway toward the elevator that would take me to the casino. I’d almost been out of earshot when I heard him tell them, “But keep your eye on her from a distance.”

I wasn’t surprised at all. I’d expected it. I would play by his rules for a while. Maybe even agree to help, while I learned how to control this thing I could do.

I put it to the back of my mind, as I got to the high rollers section where I waitressed. I saw Lacey leaning on the bar laughing at something Jonny said.

“Where have you been? You missed class,” she said as soon as I came to stand next to her.

“Hi, beautiful.”

“Hi, Jonny. I was really sick. I think it might have been food poisoning.”

“That’s the worst!” Lacey responded and Jonny cringed. The moment Jonny walked to the other end of the bar, Lacey leaned in close to me. “I heard you came back with Cormac? What’s the deal? Did you hook up with him?”

“No!” My face scowled when I said it.

“Really? Everyone here heard about you walking in with him at the crack of dawn, well, everyone but Jonny.” She nodded her head in his direction. “I don’t think anyone wants to tell him.” She finished with a little giggle.

“Shut up,” I said quickly, as Jonny walked back over to us.

“Jo, don’t look, but that creep that was bothering you the other night is back,” Jonny said.

“Where?”

“He’s in my section.” Lacey offered. “I heard about that too. They shouldn’t even let him back in the place.” She shook her head in indignation.

I looked over and saw the man named Tracker at a black jack table and my skin crawled. All I could see was fur and a large muzzle with pointy teeth now. It had been gruesome. Cormac said that he would have killed me violently if given the chance. Looking at him, I believed it. I had gotten the worst kind of vibe off him the night I had met him, but I had to let it go and just get to work. It would paralyze me with fear if I didn’t.

Once I got into the swing of things, it was strange how the routine made me feel a little bit normal, even with everything else going on. The casino was packed, and so I had been going nonstop since shortly after I started. I saw some of Cormac’s door thugs lingering here and there, but they blended into the background and kept their distance.

I’d been so busy, I’d barely noticed when Tracker got up and went to leave, but I caught the movement of the garish candy apple red leather jacket he was wearing as it moved across the room. I was relieved he was leaving, as I watched him cross the floor, wanting to confirm the moment he was gone.

“I hear you moved into Cormac’s?”

I rolled my eyes before I turned to face Vicky. Right now, it was just a rumor of me being with him. If she knew I was staying there, it was only a matter of time before the whole casino knew.

“Where I’m staying is none of your business.”

“You’re a whore. He’s just using you because you’re easy, so enjoy it while it lasts, because he’ll get bored and throw you away like the trash you are.”

“Get out of my face,” I said. She was in my personal space. That was almost as bad as touching me, in my book. “Or I’ll move you.”

“You think you can?” she sneered.

Vicky had pure ghetto running through her veins, but she was too stupid to have learned how to tone it down, like I did. She was also too stupid to recognize that I wasn’t a stranger to the streets myself.

I pulled myself to my full height, just a few inches shy of Vicky’s, and instead of holding back, and I let every ounce of my own harsh upbringing show through. The nice, innocent, girl-next-door façade I usually wore slid from my features like butter across a warm skillet. I could see the shock on her face before I even uttered a word.

“You don’t know who you’re messing with. Back off before I lose my patience and drag your skinny ass out of here, then beat you to within an inch of your life.”

“You’re a sicko,” she said, but then she walked a little too quickly back to the bar and the safety of others.

“Very nice.” It was Cormac’s voice from behind me. I was annoyed on so many levels. First off, I was tired of people sneaking up behind me. It showed how off my game I was. Second, I wanted to cringe at what he had just witnessed. I didn’t like anyone to see that side of me. The side I had developed out of desperation from being a young girl in a mean world and having no one else to depend on.

Just then, a group of women walked past to the left, which only highlighted the differences. They wore heels and had pretty hair and nails. They laughed over something that was probably light and frivolous. They were soft and feminine, everything I wasn’t. I could fake it all day long, but I’d never truly be one of them. That was what men wanted, not someone like me. I felt jaded and dirty compared to them.

I didn’t care though. This man was my enemy. Why should I care what he thought of me?

He walked up and stood next to me, close enough that I could feel the heat of his body. I could see him stare at me, out of the corner of my eye, but I busied myself looking down at my order pad instead of meeting his gaze.

He leaned down close to my ear and said in the softest whisper, “Am I making you uncomfortable Jo?”

His warm breath on my ear sent a shiver down my spine. I wanted to instantly take a step away, but that would be almost as bad as admitting it, so I held my ground and forced myself to meet his eyes. “No, why would you?”

“That’s good. I wouldn’t want to make you nervous.” He ran a finger along the length of my arm. “Are you cold?”

“A little,” I lied, knowing he had noticed the goose bumps on my skin.

He smiled down at me. He had a beautiful smile, dimples and all. “We’re going to be spending a lot of time together,” he said. “I really do want you to feel comfortable.” His hand came to rest on the small of my back.

“Maybe it’s better if we aren’t too comfortable, considering that you are my boss.”

He laughed. “Why? Do you feel sexually harassed?”

“No.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to try harder next time.”

My heart was beating out of my chest as he walked away.

Chapter Eleven

Cormac, true to his word, had given me free rein. I always had a shadow, but my movements hadn’t been restricted in the least. He had also disappeared. I wasn’t sure where he went, but I hadn’t seen him in almost a week.

I tried to go back to school, but when I did, I was called down to the Dean’s office. When I got there, I was told I was being given special permission to finish all my classes, including my finals, via email. It seemed Cormac’s influence extended pretty far. I told him it was unnecessary, but the Dean insisted.

Other than my waitress shifts, I had nothing left to do but hang around the apartment while I researched alchemy. The first couple of days I stayed mostly in my room on my laptop, but then as no one seemed to be around, I started to venture out more and more. I was starting to wonder if he actually even lived there. Maybe it was a front? Maybe he didn’t want people to know where he really lived. I hadn’t even seen Ben, the door-guy-butler or whatever he was.

I’d just showered, and I hated getting dressed right after. My clothes would stick to my still damp skin. So, instead, I lounged in my room wearing the nicest black lace push up bra and matching underwear I’d ever owned.

A day or so after Cormac left me, one of the thugs by the door handed me a note. In it, he told me I had been provided with an account, and I could pick up anything I needed in Lacard’s mall since he knew I only had what I had jammed into a knapsack, and he asked that I not venture back to my trailer until he returned. I had tried to stay on the conservative side at first, and then remembered that the guy had ordered me shot. That’s when my shopping spree had turned ugly, or awesome, depending on your viewpoint. It’s why I was now strutting around in lingerie that would make a Victoria Secret model jealous.

If I hadn’t gone shopping, I would have been in grandma type underwear and a sports bra. If I hadn’t gone shopping, Cormac might not have been staring at me like he was now. I had the stereo so loud I didn’t hear him come in. Wound up for days, I’d decided to grab a wine glass and a bottle of wine from the bar. So there I was; perusing wines with my breasts practically grazing my chin. The tiniest swatch of lace with some small ribbon-like strands, were serving as underwear.

He cleared his throat, and that was when I finally realized he was there. I wasn’t sure how long he had been standing there and my mind raced back over the last few moments and the poses I had probably presented him. I’ve never been one to blush, and I didn’t then, either, but I was as close to it as I had ever been in my life.

I went to rush out of the room and that’s when I looked in his eyes and saw the heat there. I’d seen it before, but I hadn’t realized how much he had held back. My knees went weak, and I got a lump in my throat. There was no denying it anymore. Of all the men I’d met, I’d never been this sexually attracted to any of them. And it had to be this man? It didn’t matter how I felt. I’d never let this happen. Ever. He stood still in his spot in the doorway, as I squeezed around him trying to avoid all contact and ran from the room.

I didn’t leave my room again. I tossed and turned all night, and when I finally fell asleep, I dreamt of him. I dreamt of all the things I would never do.

When I finally poked my head out in the morning, he was there sitting on the couch with a room service table in front of him, eating breakfast.

“I ordered you pancakes,” he said, not bothering to look up.

“Any coffee?”

“Full pot of hazelnut.”

And just like that, we silently agreed to ignore last night. But something had changed. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to describe this difference if I had to, but it hovered, like an electrical charge in the air before a lightning strike. There had been flirtation before, but it had seemed slightly playful, now it felt dangerous.

“You ready to finish our conversation from the other day?”

“Sure.” I was more agreeable than normal, as I clung to anything that was nonsexual in nature.

“I had started to tell you, I need your help.”

“But you didn’t tell me why you needed me in particular.”

“Keepers are born with different levels of power.”

I nodded my head for him to continue, as I sat across from him and settled a plate of pancakes on my lap.

“We can’t all alter physics. Some of us can’t do it at all, some to a small degree. Each individual’s capabilities are hindered or enhanced by the abilities they are born with.”

He placed a steaming cup of coffee on the table next to me. I loved the smell of coffee in the morning.

“I don’t get it. If you can alter physics, why can’t you just alter their physics so they can do it?” I asked while I watched him over the rim of my porcelain cup.

“It’s a part of our brain that controls it. The brain can be very tricky. Several generations ago, several Keepers dabbled in trying to amp up people’s abilities.”

“And?”

“It didn’t go so hot. I’ve met a couple of the people who volunteered for the experiment. They aren’t quite all there anymore.”

My mouth formed a silent O, and he just nodded in agreement.

“You still haven’t explained how I’m going to help you.”

I put my plate of pancakes down on the side table and tucked my legs up underneath me. He sat forward on the couch, already dressed in his standard black slacks and crisp white shirt. His sleeves always rolled up, baring his corded forearms, and the button at his neck was always undone. It was as if he tried to don the outfit he felt he should wear, or perhaps the one society expected to see, but found it too constrictive for what he really was.

“You are uncommonly strong. What happened the other night, when the portal went wrong, it wasn’t the first time. It has happened to me as well. Something, or someone, is blocking our absorption of the radiation.”

“And you can’t fix it?”

He leaned forward, resting his arms on his legs. “No. Meanwhile, we need to open the portal at least once a day. This is what prevents other portals from opening. The shorter the time frame between openings, the stronger the Keeper needs to be to open one anywhere else.”

“Why can’t you just stop transporting people?”

“If we won’t transfer people in and out, it will get very ugly, very quickly. It might even start a war. One I can’t take the chance of losing. Like I said before, a lot of things hinge on keeping things running smoothly. It’s also a matter of image. The weaker I seem; the more people will join against me. I don’t know how many Keepers they have now, but I can’t risk losing any more to them. I need to not show any vulnerability.”

“So, now you want my help?”

“You’re not just helping me.”

“Yes, helping to clean up a mess that your people and your men started. These wormholes were nothing before your people. Now you guys screw it up, and I’m supposed to run right in and be thrilled to help you?”

“I think you are forgetting that the people who started this whole mess are your people too?”

Shit. He had a point. “Okay, maybe you’re right. But the way I see it, I’ve got no motivation to help right now. I help you clean up this mess and I’m stuck. I don’t help and I’m still stuck.”

He pushed his sleeves up a little farther on his arms. His biceps straining beneath a refinement that didn’t quite fit what I sensed was truly there.

“I’ll make it worth your while. Whatever you want?”

“Let’s see, hmmmm, maybe getting my life back would be a good start. Perhaps, even make me want to be cooperative?”

“You know that’s the one thing I can’t do.” He leaned his head down and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Anything else, money, cars, whatever.”

I looked away from him, and took the few steps to the window. I stared at the Vegas horizon, as I liked to do. The Luxor’s black pyramid was one of my favorite sights, the lights glowing along its edges. “I want to know when you plan to let me leave, and…” I hesitated finishing. I hated revealing anything that showed softness, but this mattered to me. Deep down, no matter how jaded I had become, or what I said, I would do whatever I could to help avert the disaster that might be coming. I might as well get something I wanted. “I want to know who my parents are.”

As soon as the words left my mouth, I did something that I hadn’t done since a small child. I blushed.

“Deal. But I can’t guarantee anything.”

There was an odd tone in his voice. I took a deep breath and looked over at him. “Stop looking at me like that!”

“Like what?” he asked.

“Like I’m some lost puppy you need to help. Just because I’m curious doesn’t mean I’m soft.” I walked toward my room.

“It’s okay to want to know your parents. We aren’t meant to be alone.” His voice indicated he was right behind me, following me as I walked.

“You have no idea why I want to know.” I got to the threshold of my bedroom door and turned to block him. “Don’t start thinking I’m some little girl that is all soft in the center and needs some man to save her.”

He was leaning on the wall outside my room. He looked at me, and then slowly smiled. “I think deep down, underneath all that blustering, you’re as soft as a kitten.” His hand reached out and toyed with a lock of my long hair, then let it drop.

I couldn’t think of a single witty comeback, so I cursed him and slammed the door in his face. I could hear the bastard laughing through the door.

“We start tomorrow,” I heard him call out before his footsteps retreated.

Chapter Twelve

“Where’s Cormac?”

I turned to see Dodd stroll in the living room. “How would I know?”

“What are you eating?”

“What’s it look like? What do you want?” As much as I would like to complain about everything, there were a couple of perks to staying here that I couldn’t deny. The menu was insane. They’d make me whatever I wanted to eat, no matter what time I called it in. The turkey club sandwich I was eating right now was among my favorites. How could you go wrong with something that had bacon and mayo?

Before I knew what he was doing, Dodd’s fingers swooped in and stole a quarter of my club sandwich.

“Hey! Go get your own food!” If Dodd hadn’t been one of the men on the night of my almost murder, I would have offered him some.

“There’s no way you were going to finish that, it’s huge,” he said in between bites. Then he had the audacity to reach in and grab some fries.

“You’re missing the point. We,” I pointed to him and then back to me, “are not friends.” I shook my head emphasizing my point. “You do not get any of my fries because of that.”

“What are we watching?” He plopped down on the couch across from me and kicked off his shoes. “What is this crap?” he asked, as he looked at the TV.

“I like ‘this crap’. You don’t need to watch it. You can leave.”

“Gimme the remote.”

“No.”

“So, I heard you’re going to start training?”

“Why do you keep talking to me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because of what you took part in? I would think you would realize what that means?”

“Yeah, but that was before. You’re one of us, now.”

“I’m not one of you.” I’d always wanted to belong. What a joke of fate for these to be the people who would accept me.

“I know we started off rough, but you are one of us. Fight it all you want, you’ll see.” He fluffed up his couch pillow, threw it behind his head, and continued watching TV.

I watched him settle in, made an unattractive grunt, and forfeited the living room to him. I’d barely made it back to my room when I heard Cormac come in.

“You ready to get started?”

“Coming,” I hollered into the hallway. It wasn’t my first choice of words for him, but I swallowed those back in an effort to keep the peace for now.

Cormac was standing in the foyer looking as sexy as ever, as he turned to watch me. It was beyond annoying. My knees went a little weak, as his pale blue eyes stalked my movements across the marble floor.

“Be there in five minutes boss man!” yelled Dodd from the living room.

“Why is he coming?”

“He wanted to help,” Cormac stated mimicking my inflection.

“Fine. I guess being around one murderer or two isn’t that much of a difference.”

“I’m not a murderer.”

“Did you order my murder?”

“I told you, it was complicated.”

I could hear the aggravation in his voice and I rejoiced in pressing his buttons. “You say tomayto, I say tomahto. Same thing, isn’t it?”

“No. It isn’t.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it…I’m not doing this with you.”

“You already are.”

“No, I’m not, I’m going to rise above this and I refuse to argue with you.”

“As much as I’d like to debate how you really aren’t rising above anything, I’d rather know if you found anything out?” Ever since I found out about my mother, bloody in the church, the urgency I felt to find the truth had kicked up another notch.

“I’ve started the process. I have my lab running your blood sample against our databases. As soon as they find out anything, they are to tell me right away.”

I nodded, looked at the floor in disappointment, and I felt him lay his hand on my shoulder and start to run it down my upper arm in a comforting gesture that had the exact opposite effect on me, as I quickly stepped back out of reach. He didn’t touch me again but he did step forward, not crowding me, but giving me a strange sort of comfort nonetheless.

“What’s going on?” Dodd asked, as he joined us in the foyer.

“Nothing. Just waiting for you,” Cormac answered.

“Why does it feel weird in here?”

“Come on, we have a lot of work to do. I want her to be ready to operate a portal with me by Festiva.”

“What’s Festiva?”

Dodd answered “Once every year, we open up the portal and allow more people than normal through to join in an anniversary celebration.”

“Anniversary of the portal?”

“Yes. We are busier than normal the days before, bringing everyone over. If we don’t have this squared away by then, it could be very ugly,” Dodd continued as we left the penthouse.

“Is it a good idea to bring more over under the circumstances? I’m not a tactical mastermind of any sort, but wouldn’t you want less here?”

“And give them the impression that we are concerned? Absolutely not.” Dodd said.

I turned to Cormac to see if he had a better explanation.

Reading the question on my face, he responded, “Yes, that about sums it up.”

I just shook my head in disbelief as we headed down toward the lair beneath Lacard. It was truly startling that this entire operation was happening underneath a casino.

“Why a casino? Why not in the desert where there is nobody?” I asked them as we rode the elevator down.

“We need the people,” Cormac explained. “We need to hide the high energy levels that the portals throw off.”

“Portals? You said more than one right?”

“Yes. There are more than one, but nothing nearby.”

“So, the other portals, are they in casinos as well?” I mentally started to calculate all of the areas known for large casinos.

“No. There are other options. This was just the most convenient for this area.”

“You don’t want to tell me the other locations? Really Cormac, haven’t you ever heard in for a penny, in for a pound?”

“Maybe you should think on that yourself? Or as they say in poker, you are already pot committed.”

“What?”

“When you play poker, and you have a significant amount of your money in the pot, it gets very hard to walk away. You, whether you want to acknowledge it or not, are pot committed.”

“Maybe so, but I’m also skilled at getting out of a bad situation and simply disappearing, as my records have already proven.”

I looked at him now as he leaned against the elevator wall, and it was hard not to admire his presence. It was beyond the grace of his movements. He owned the space. People instinctively looked to him to lead, and not because he was the boss. He had an air about him that made others follow. I’d noticed it in the casino, the deference he commanded. All eyes were always on him the moment he stepped into a room.

I started to follow Dodd out of the elevator but Cormac’s arm around my waist stopped me.

“Maybe you can disappear from some people, but they aren’t me.” He removed his arm and walked out the elevator. “Sometimes we use amusement parks as well,” he said as if that little moment hadn’t even happened.

I watched his graceful movements as we entered the hallways that were now empty again, and I wondered where all the people went when the portal wasn’t up and running.

We passed the door that I knew led to the portal and he opened up a room a few doors down. There was a step down when we entered and it was bare except for a line of work boots along one side. The walls, ceiling, and floor were a dull grey lead like the portal room. Other than that, it was completely bare.

“So what do we do?”

“This is where we train. What size shoe do you wear?” Cormac asked.

“Seven.”

Dodd’s phone started buzzing. “I gotta go handle that thing we were talking about.”

Cormac nodded and Dodd headed out.

“Here, put these on. Make sure you lace them up tightly.”

“Why do I have to switch shoes?” I asked as I slipped out of my own sneakers.

“These are special. When you start messing around with gravitational pulls, these will hold you to the ground if you can’t handle it.”

“Oh. Aren’t you putting on a pair?”

“I don’t need them.” He reached down, took my sneakers and put them into a cabinet built into the wall.

“Are they comfortable?”

I looked down and cringed at the ugly brown utilitarian boots. “Yes.”

“Stand in a comfortable position.”

“I am.”

He flipped a switch on the wall and a slight humming sound started.

“What is that?”

“Try to move your feet.”

I went to lift a foot, and realized I was glued to the floor.

“Cormac, I don’t like this.”

The cloying feeling of claustrophobia was starting to suffocate me. I bent down, and started to take the boots off and he knelt next to me.

“You’re not stuck. You can undo the laces at any point. But, once we start practicing, you might want them on so you don’t end up on the ceiling.”

I stopped what I was doing, and realized he was right. It wasn’t like I couldn’t take them off at any point. I nodded and stood up again.

Once I had calmed down, he walked to another built in cabinet and tossed four plastic children’s balls into the room, the type that I always saw, but never got, in bins at the grocery stores growing up.

“Okay, I know you can convert single small items at a time. I need you to try to do these balls all at once, without touching them.”

“But I can’t reach them?”

“You have to do it without touching.”

“I don’t know how.”

“It’s the same way you did the stone. You don’t need to touch them. Just let the energy flow through your hands. You can convert anything in your immediate area.”

I held out my hands and tried to focus on letting some unseen energy flow through my fingers. Nothing happened.

“Remember when you attacked Tracker in the bar?”

“Of course I do.”

“You did something extra, didn’t you?”

I just smiled.

“Try pulling from the same place. It’s all related.”

I held out my hands again, and pulled from that place. I could feel the familiar tingle, but the balls didn’t budge.

“I don’t get it. I can feel it. Why doesn’t it do what it’s supposed to?”

“I’m not sure. Usually we just do some fine tuning with control. I’ve never had to start from scratch. It’s just something that happens. With you, I think you’ve trained your body to hold back for so long, that you have a hard time releasing beyond your immediate touch. Just keep trying, you’ll get it.”

Two hours later, Cormac was sitting on the floor, holding up the wall and playing with his cell phone. I was squatted down on the floor, very uncomfortably I might add, with my boots frozen to the floor.

I gave up and completely lay down on the floor, knees still bent to accommodate the funny boots, and banged my head against the lead floor, staring at the ceiling.

“This isn’t working. I think it’s time to throw in the towel.”

“You’re holding back. Keep trying.”

“I’m. Not. Holding. Back.”

“You don’t think you are holding back, but you’ve been burying this ability for years. So, you’re holding back. You just don’t know it.”

“You don’t know, either.”

“That’s true, but we still have to do it.”

“UUUrrgghhh. I’m done.” I sat up and started undoing the funny boots. I’d walk back to the penthouse barefoot if I had to.

I looked up when Cormac stood. “We’ll take a break for today and try again tomorrow night.”

“No can do. I’ve got a shift tomorrow night.”

He flipped the switch off, and my still tied boots were suddenly free. “I’ll get Arnold to cover your shift. This is more important.”

“I understand that money might not be a concern to you, but it is to me. I’m working tomorrow.”

“I’ll pay you whatever you make a shift.” He stood in front of me.

“No. I’d rather work. This sucks. I’m not good at it and neither of us have any idea if we can even make it work.” I went to step around him, since he wouldn’t move.

“I’ll pay you twice what you make on a busy night,” he countered, as he moved in step with me, continuing to block my way as effectively as a large brick wall.

I thought about it for a minute. That was a hard offer to turn down. Even though school was a cakewalk with the strings Cormac had pulled, I still had to pay for it, and then there was still the rent on the trailer. When I finally got away from these people, I’d need a home.

But, as tempting as the money was, a large part of me was relieved that it hadn’t worked today and didn’t want to keep at it. I didn’t want to be involved in this, and I didn’t want to help other creatures into the world, that could, possibly, one day turn on humans and destroy us. Even if Cormac said a worse alternative could happen if he didn’t, I wasn’t sure I should believe him. I only had his word for it. I had to keep remembering that.

“No. I can’t do it. We’ve sat here for hours waiting for nothing. I’m going to work tomorrow night.”

“Fine, I’ll give you tomorrow night off, but the night after we need to try again.”

It bought me time, so I agreed. Maybe I’d make an exit before then. I decided that this wasn’t worth the information I was maybe going to get. It didn’t look like I was going to be any help to the situation so why hang around and get killed?

Chapter Thirteen

“Help! Cormac!” I’d woken up with something hard pressed firmly against me. It had felt like a wooden board until I opened my eyes and realized I was pressed up against the ceiling. That’s when I had started screaming.

“Jo?” Cormac said as he ran to my room. “Open the door!”

I locked it every night. “I can’t, I’m…” before I could finish, the door lay splintered half on the frame and half on the floor. Cormac stood there, in loose sleep pants and nothing else, looking like a warrior, with a physique to match, ready to do battle.

He looked up and immediately relaxed. “You scared the shit out of me,” he said. “Why the hell did you scream like that?”

“Really? You need me to explain?”

“For someone who wears the most banged up sneakers I’ve ever seen, you sure like expensive lingerie.”

I was so distressed about being stuck to the ceiling, I didn’t care I was wearing a silk black teddy that was cut very high and very low.

“You have to help me. I can’t get down.” I was trying not to sound whiney, but I was pretty sure I failed.

“You just need to relax. Once you do, you’ll drop back down,” his voice had an odd tone as he said this.

“Don’t you dare laugh at me,” I said trying to sound fierce but I missed by a mile.

I closed my eyes, did yoga breathing and imagined myself on a sunny beach. All while I remained glued to the ceiling. I opened my eyes and looked pathetically to Cormac.

I watched him, as he stepped onto the bed. “I know you get agitated when people touch you.”

“No, I don’t.” His touch did agitate me, just for a different reason than he thought.

“Yes, you do. I’m going to leech off some of the energy you’re producing.”

“Just do it.”

He reached up and ran his hand along the length of my leg, and I felt a strange sensation, like the bubbles of champagne popping against my skin. Then before I had any warning, I wasn’t stuck to the ceiling anymore.

Cormac caught me on my way down, not that he needed to with the bed beneath us. He let my legs swing down, and my body was flush to his. Sensations bombarded me. The heady feeling of being pressed to him immediately replaced the relief over not being stuck to the ceiling. I looked at him and he was staring at my lips.

“You can let me go, now,” I said. I needed to stop this before it began. If he kissed me, it was game over.

He dropped his arms that had been encircling my back, and I slowly moved away from him. Probably a little too slowly, but hey, nobody’s perfect. The way I was feeling right now, I was happy I had been able to pull away at all.

Once I got a comfortable distance away from him, I looked back to see him smirk. The bastard knew he was hot.

“Don’t be so happy with yourself. I’m young and single and it’s been a while is all,” I tried saying it as if it was no big deal.

“Really? How long is that exactly?”

“None of your business.” There was no way he knew I’d never had sex. He was definitely bluffing.

“I don’t think you’ve ever had sex. I think you’re scared.”

“Do you really think you can goad me into sleeping with you?”

“No? Not working?”

“No.”

“And here comes the attitude. You were much cuter when you were stuck to the ceiling saying ‘help me, Cormac’.”

“Maybe I am a bit rough around the edges, but whose fault is that? Your people abandoned me. I would think you wouldn’t be so condescending, considering that.”

“Jo, you need to lighten up a little. Not everything is an attack. I understand what it must have been like. I wasn’t passing judgment.”

“Really? It sure sounded like you were.”

“You don’t have to fight me at every turn. I could help you.” The sincerity in his voice made my senses reel. He meant what he said. But he was still the guy who ordered me shot. Every day I was here, the memory of it seemed to fade a little bit more. But I couldn’t forget that I’d be road kill, complete with tire tracks across my back, if I got in the way of what he thought his responsibilities were. He might mean well now, but that could change in a heartbeat. He couldn’t be trusted.

“Think about it. In the mean time, we are training tomorrow at eight. I’m canceling your shift.”

“Did you get me any answers yet?” I asked, as I tried to find any reason I could to cancel.

“Not yet, but I should have something by tomorrow night. I’ll tell you then.” He smiled, knowing he had me, and walked out of my room.

Chapter Fourteen

Ever since I’d gotten stuck to the ceiling last night, I’d been terrified to go outside. The only thing I could imagine was floating away into the clouds. No one had been guarding the door to the penthouse all day, it was the perfect opportunity to get of there, and now, instead of making a dash for it, I was afraid of turning into a helium balloon and popping. This was beyond Murphy’s Law. Lately, I felt like Murphy had written my entire life’s script.

I was staring out the windows in the living room when Dodd strolled in.

“Hey, Jo! What are you up to?”

I kept looking at the pretty clouds, wondering how far up I’d get before I’d drop. “Why do you keep talking to me like we are friends?”

“You can seriously hold a grudge.”

“Only when I’m crossed.”

“Okay, let’s just settle this already. Here!”

I turned, just as he threw a gun at me. I screamed but caught it anyway. “Is this loaded?”

“What’s the point of carrying otherwise?”

I looked at him, wearing a large sweatshirt and jeans. He looked like a kid.

“Hey, psycho, maybe you shouldn’t throw it?”

“If five right to the noggin didn’t take you out, do you really think a stray would do it?”

He made a good point.

“Now, shoot me.”

“It’s not the same. You know you won’t die.”

“Yes, that’s true. But it doesn’t make it pleasant.”

I pondered the idea for a minute, and found I liked it. “Fine, but this doesn’t make us even.”

I looked him over, deciding on where I was going to take my shot.

“Hang on, let me go stand near the bar where it’s tiled. I don’t know how many more couches Cormac has in storage.” He crossed the room and stood there, arms out, and motioned that he was ready.

I aimed and shot him in the kneecap, and he immediately collapsed on the ground groaning.

“Really? The knee? That was just mean!”

“What’s going on?” Buzz walked into the room and looked at Dodd on the floor and then to me.

“I let her shoot me to even up,” Dodd said still groaning from the floor.

Before I even thought about it, I shot Buzz in the knee, and then the other one, before he’d even had time to collapse.

“Awww! Why did I get two?” Buzz said, now lying next to Dodd.

“Because you pulled the trigger.”

“Gotta give it to her, she’s got a lot of natural talent,” Dodd said, as he lay near Buzz.

As I watched them both squirming on the floor, I realized I did actually feel better. It probably wasn’t the therapy a professional would recommend, but it worked better than I could have imagined.

Three hours later Buzz, Dodd, Ben and I were playing Texas Hold’em and doing shots of tequila. I still didn’t trust them. I wasn’t even sure if I liked them, but I decided I didn’t hate them.

We’d had a long heart to heart after they had eventually been able to get off the floor. In their minds, they had done what was needed to keep everyone safe. It was part of the contract negotiated between the Keepers and the other races they transported. Any human witnesses were to be killed. It was negotiated long before any of them had been born. If humans found out about the portal, and the other races, they’d bring in the army.

Tracker, the man I’d seen turn into a werewolf, didn’t get his name by accident, I was told. He was among the most viscous of his group and one that didn’t let anything slide by.

“What happened to everybody’s pants?” Cormac asked. We all turned from our poker and shots to where he stood in the doorway.

“Retribution, it’s not a pretty thing,” Dodd explained.

Cormac nodded, not asking anything else about it. “Jo, if I could pry you away for a moment, I need a word.”

I put my poker hand face down upon the felt of the table Dodd had ordered set up by the windows. “Don’t look at my cards. I’ll know.”

I followed Cormac into his area of the apartment, the half I’d never seen. The living room and bar area were what I considered neutral territory. My room was my sanctuary.

I’d discovered there was no kitchen the first time I was hungry, but considering that I could order anything I wanted, at any time of night and have it within minutes, I quickly understood the lack of one. Cormac seemed far from domesticated. The urge to cook had probably never struck him.

As we walked down the hallway to his area, there was a large bedroom to my left with its door wide open. From my quick glance, it was done in dark browns and navy. An enormous bed played center stage. I breathed a sigh of relief, as we walked past that room. He opened the next door on the left, to what was an office. Bookcases lined the walls, and a large, impressive, wooden desk sat in front of another wall of windows.

He pulled out a chair for me before he sat down behind the desk.

“Well?” I asked.

“We hit a couple of snags checking into things. You’re definitely half Keeper, but we can’t seem to trace who your parent is. We believe it’s because the genetics from the other side of your lineage has corrupted the line too much to be distinguished.

“There are several races that come in through the portal. Most of them you’ve heard of in some variation or form, because as much as there are rules in place for secrecy, over the centuries things have leaked out. I told you Vitor is of a race that humans would refer to as Fae, and that is what the other part of your lineage is. It wasn’t obvious at first because our blood is dominant, and for the most part, wipes out all other traits. Problem is it mingles just enough to obscure any answers. To be honest, I’m not sure how I missed it initially. You’ve got Fae eyes. I knew they were different, it just didn’t click at first.”

I leaned back in my chair contemplating what that meant for me. I felt like every day, no matter what I did or didn’t do somehow I was dragged deeper into this mess. “So, in other words you can’t give me any answers?” I asked, aggravated by the situation. Finding out I had some alien Fae blood running through me didn’t even daunt me at this point, after what I’d seen lately, nothing was really a shock. What bothered me was, if I didn’t know who my mother was, how would I ever find out who had attacked her? And I realized at that moment, my motives had changed. I had always wanted to know what I was, now I wanted to know who had hurt her. She hadn’t wanted to leave me. If she had, she would have done it as soon as I was born. She had been hurt and on the run. She’d been trying to protect me from whoever was hurting her.

The only thing I knew now was that she was Fae. If she had been one of the Keepers, she would have healed pretty quickly, maybe even before she made it to the church. The priest had also said I had her eyes, Fae eyes. So my father was the Keeper. And as of right now, he was suspect number one on my list of who hurt her.

“It just means it’s going to be a slower process. Is that a problem?” Cormac’s voice jarred me back to the present.

I knew what problem he was referring to, was I still willing to help him. “My ability to contribute seems to be going slower than predicted as well, so I guess it’s a wash.” I didn’t add that my options for getting information were limited, at the moment. He knew that, anyway. I didn’t feel the need to tell him that I was now afraid to leave the building.

“I see you’re making friends?” The chair scraped against the hardwood floor as he stood, his muscular frame silhouetted by the late afternoon sun behind him. Even in the shadows, I detected a smug smile on his face.

“Hardly,” I scoffed.

“I’m glad. It’s good,” he said, disregarding my answer.

“Don’t speak to me like that.”

“Like what?” He seemed honestly bewildered by my tone.

“Like you know what’s best for me.”

“I’m sorry, you’re right. Don’t talk to anyone and don’t make friends. It’s horrible,” he mocked.

“You are a condescending ass.”

“And I can see your claws are back out, so why don’t we just cut this conversation short and get to work. I don’t want you all prickly when you need to focus.”

I watched as he walked to the door and held it open for me.

“You have no idea what you’re even doing, do you?”

“You’re right. I’ve got no idea what your problem is, now.”

“You try to manage me. I’ve gotten along perfectly well for…”

“Yes, yes, I know. You need no one. You’re an island unto yourself.”

I walked over to the door and paused next to him before I walked out. “Go ahead, mock me, but don’t kid yourself. I’ve lived alone my whole life and playing nice for a couple of hours with your buddies doesn’t change anything. I don’t need them. And more importantly, I don’t need you!”

I saw something in his eyes harden and a muscle in his jaw twitch. I’d pissed him off. Good. I was sick of him treating me like a pawn that he could maneuver whatever way he chose. It might not have been the brightest move on my part, but god, it felt good. I had a history off chopping my nose off to spite my face. It was nice to know I was still the same girl.

When we got back to the living room, Cormac was visibly annoyed. When he asked who was coming with us to train, both Dodd and Buzz backed out.

“What the hell did you do now?” Dodd asked the second Cormac was out of earshot, having left to go change.

“It’s not my fault he’s all pissy, and why are you walking so funny?” I couldn’t help but notice his odd gait across the room.

“It’s totally you, and you’re the reason I’m walking funny, too. I think my kneecap fused back funny. Now, I’m going to have to go get them re-broken by the doc.”

“You can’t get mad now. You said I could shoot anywhere.” Before I could defend myself any further, Cormac was back.

He didn’t speak, just walked toward the door. I didn’t care. I didn’t want to talk to him anyway. Cormac and I spent the rest of the night not speaking, while we stared at rubber balls that wouldn’t move.

Chapter Fifteen

“What do you think of this?” I asked Buzz, holding up a charcoal grey cashmere sweater dress. “Do you think it would be flattering? I hate trying stuff on.”

“It’s great. Can we go soon?”

“Why, is this boring you?”

“No, I love it.” I’d never known Buzz was capable of such sarcasm. It made me laugh.

This was the fifth shopping trip this week. Every since I’d had words with Cormac, there had been more tension than ever. Now we seemed to be wrapped up in a tit for tat battle. He’d canceled all my shifts, saying that training was more important. I’d retaliated to his power grab by dragging his men shopping and spending thousands on clothes daily.

Only problem was, the expenditures didn’t seem to bother him. I’d changed tactics two days ago. I’d always been told I was beautiful and I wasn’t beyond using what I had. I knew that he found me attractive, so I’d stopped wearing jeans and sneakers every day. Skirts and dresses, stilettos and perfume were my new arsenal. I could see him watching me, and I acted like I barely knew he was in the room.

He was a man with a large ego. I couldn’t really blame him for it. He had classic chiseled features, coloring to die for, and a body that would win competitions. It was just plain gluttony that he was rich and powerful too. He was used to women falling at his feet, and I knew that it drove him a little crazier every time he saw me that I seemed to be over any attraction I had felt. Not that I was, but boy, was I getting good at faking it.

“Oh, no! You’re not getting that one!”

I looked over at Buzz, then back at the silky red dress in my hands. “You’re right, this one is perfect. Do you think the red shoes I got on Monday would match?”

He didn’t answer, just groaned. All the guys seemed to be aware of what I was doing, even though I held to my denials. Every guy but Cormac, that was. It was strange, considering he seemed like he was a bright man in every other matter.

“I can’t take this anymore. I’ll be on the bench.”

“Yes, you should relax. I need some new lingerie after this, and I don’t want to tire you out.” I watched Buzz shake his head, as he went to sit outside the store. Cormac always had someone tailing me everywhere I went. Sometimes I liked to mess with them and make them go shopping with me. None of them ever said no. Cormac must have told them they had to be nice to me.

Try as I might, I couldn’t seem to stay mad at Buzz. He was sort of a likeable oaf once you got to know him. Buzz sat himself on the bench outside, opened the newspaper that he always seemed to have handy, and settled himself in.

He was so engrossed in what he was reading he was oblivious to Vitor when he sauntered into the store. I knew it wasn’t a coincidence. I could read it on his face as he strolled over to me. He didn’t rush at me, but his attention was focused like a laser, unwavering from my direction.

“You are looking quite beautiful,” Vitor said in his cultured voice, as he looked me up and down.

It was an appreciative look from a handsome man. This is what I imagined normal felt like. Too bad he was an alien, and I, the half-breed who was the key to opening up other dimensions.

The page I’d gotten from the priest suddenly popped into my head, Golden child born and left, will be the hope of the bereft. Was Vitor the bereft? What if the page actually meant something? Was I supposed to be helping him? I turned toward him now with even more questions burning in my head, but simply said, “Thank you,” not sure exactly how to broach the subject.

“So, how have you been?”

“Good.” Besides the recent case of agoraphobia, not being completely human, having just recovered from five bullets in the head, and possibly being the subject matter of a very dire sounding prophecy, it was roughly accurate. It was odd, considering the circumstances, to be talking to him as if we just happened to be casual acquaintances. “And how are you?” I didn’t add, are you feeling especially bereft today? Even though I wanted to.

“I’m doing well. I’ve heard that you are residing with Cormac?”

I nodded.

“I’m sorry if I scared you last time I saw you. It wasn’t my intention.”

“I know,” I said and meant it.

“I want you to understand, I’m not trying to hurt Cormac. I just believe that it isn’t right for him to hold all the cards.”

“I think you misunderstand my relationship with Cormac.” I hung the red dress back up on the rack.

“I need you to know, I don’t want this for myself. I just want to help my people.”

I felt the fabric of another dress, as I pondered his words. He was sounding pretty bereft. “I really don’t know what I can do.” I might be the key for him, but I had no idea how to open the lock.

“I don’t know how much he’s explained to you, but for reasons you may or may not know about, he’s unmovable. There is no talking to him. I need someone that can operate a portal.”

“My skills in that area seem to be stunted.” I walked to the next aisle, and glanced over at Buzz.

“He’s not paying any attention,” said Vitor. “Are you afraid of me? Do you want me to leave?”

I turned back and could see the sadness in his eyes. “No, you don’t scare me. I don’t know why.” I shrugged my shoulders. “Maybe you should, but you don’t. That doesn’t mean that some of the things you tell me aren’t always so comfortable.”

He smiled slightly and the tension relaxed in his shoulders. “Good. I wouldn’t want you to be. I’m not a bad guy, Jo.” He lifted his hand and pushed a wayward blond strand behind my ear.

Just as he was pulling his hand back, a movement by the door caught my eye just in time to see Cormac walk in. Walking actually might be too sedate of a word, storming was more like it. His face was set in stone, his eyes as cold as I’d ever seen, the kind of cold that burned.

Cormac didn’t stop until he was at my side. He slipped an arm around my waist and pulled me into his side. I instinctively moved to pull back, but his arm didn’t budge. I then noticed Vitor’s face. I had to give the guy credit. He had guts to be willing to stand up to Cormac.

Cormac wasn’t the type of guy other men wanted a problem with, but Vitor would do it. I relaxed into Cormac’s embrace and hoped that would ease the quickly growing tension. The moment I did, I regretted it, not because it felt bad, but because it felt too good.

“I thought it wasn’t like that?” Vitor asked looking at me.

“Doing a little shopping?” Cormac asked Vitor.

“You could say that.” Gone was the gentleman as Vitor eyed me from head to toe.

I knew Cormac didn’t want Vitor around me but he was acting like a jealous boyfriend. The tension was so thick I was about to choke on it. Trouble was about to break out any moment. I’d seen violence in my life, but the idea of Vitor beaten into a bloody pulp hit me in a soft spot that I didn’t know I had.

“I’m done shopping. Let’s go.”

I looked from Cormac to Vitor. Neither of them budged.

I spoke again in harsher tones, “You both want something from me, you do this here and now, and neither of you will be getting anything.”

Cormac’s arm loosened, then fell from my waist as he stepped closer to Vitor. I watched in horror as I tried to decide how much I really did care for Vitor. In reality, I barely knew him. Did I feel for him enough to step in the middle of these two? No, probably not.

I watched Cormac get within an inch of Vitor’s face.

“You don’t have a shot in hell of taking me on and you know it. You got lucky. Remember that. You won’t get lucky again.”

He turned toward me and I quickly walked toward the store exit. I didn’t need to check to see if he was following me because I felt his hand rest at the small of my back.

Buzz finally looked up from his paper to realize something was wrong and Cormac waved him off without a word. We walked briskly through the casino. I knew how this would look to all who were watching. We screamed couple with him at my side. The gossip would kick into high gear now, it didn’t matter if it was correct or not. Once you could blow off. Twice? Nah, not likely. No one would buy it after being seen a second time like this. There was nothing to be done about it.

Cormac and I stepped into the elevator that would take us to his penthouse, and I watched the doors close. The moment they closed, I felt Cormac’s hands grab me. The elevator wall was suddenly at my back and his body pressed full length against me. I opened my mouth to say no, but his mouth was on mine before I got the words out. By the time he moved downward toward my neck, the only noises coming from me were unintelligible, with no resemblance to anything close to no.

I knew we should stop, and I was going tell him to any second. His strong masculine hands ran up my legs toward my hips, and dragged my dress up with them. I should have told him to stop at that point, but I didn’t and he started kissing me again. Then his hands circled around and grasped my ass, pulling my lower body closer to him as his leg moved in between mine. His thigh press intimately against me and instead of pushing him away, my hands pulled him closer, as my fingers intertwined in his dark locks.

One hand climbed upward and cupped my breast, the other reached around the back of my thigh lifting it to his side as he ground what felt like a very large erection against me. I arched my back, sighed in pleasure and pressed myself into him.

I wasn’t aware the elevator doors opened until he pulled back and grabbed my hand as he walked forward. I watched his back as we walked toward the penthouse and panicked. If I didn’t stop it now, I’d never stop it. The door loomed ahead of me and I pulled my hand out of his. I knew if I didn’t stop this now, I wouldn’t once he was touching me, again.

He stopped instantly, and turned toward me. “What’s wrong?”

“This isn’t a good idea,” I said, then steeled myself for his reaction. He stood silent and unreadable, and I held myself firm, consciously avoided the urge to fidget.

“Okay.”

Was that it? He was going to let it drop that easily? I watched his back as he opened the penthouse door. He gazed back at me, as I stood frozen for a moment. Was he bluffing? Was he going to maul me the moment I walked in the door? That made no sense. He could do it in the hallway. Even if his men showed up, they wouldn’t stop him.

“You’re not upset?”

“You’re scared. I get that. I’m not some monster who’s going to rush you.”

Anger gave me the momentum to get my feet moving. “I’m not scared. It’s just not a good idea.”

“Why are you angry? I’m trying to be understanding about this. You don’t need to be defensive.”

“I’m not defensive. I won’t sleep with you because it’s a bad idea.” I threw my purse on the couch in a slight huff.

“That, I could understand, but that’s not the reason.”

“And you know my reasons better than me?”

“I know you want me as much as I want you and I think you are clinging to any reason you can find to… hey, where you going?”

Ignoring him, I slammed the door to my room. He was completely off base.

I sat in the huge Jacuzzi in my bathroom until my skin pruned, but it still didn’t relax me. When I finally crawled out, I found a turkey club, a bag of salt and vinegar potato chips, and my favorite flavored latte sitting on the table near my bed. A little note lay on my pillow.

Be ready at eight. Make sure you eat.

Cormac

Nothing worked. It wasn’t as if I could operate anything, but he still wanted to keep trying. Nothing stopped that.

I considered ignoring it. The idea of sitting with him alone in a room all night made me distinctly uneasy. Anger prickled at me and I couldn’t seem to contain it. Who was he to set the rules? I threw on a robe and left my room, ready to do battle.

“Did you find anything on my parents?” I demanded after I tracked him down in his office. When I felt uneasy, I did what came naturally. I picked a fight.

“No, but I’ve got men on it.”

“That was the deal,” I said. I leaned both hands on the desk where he sat.

“And I’m going to get you answers, but I don’t remember telling you it would be quick.”

I watched as he stood up and circled the desk, and I turned with him as he walked around to my side until he stood in front of me, his desk at the back of my legs. He stood so close his clothes brushed the front of my robe. I couldn’t help but breath in his scent. He was wearing a dress shirt, like always, and I found my eyes drawn to the skin at the top of his chest. I could clearly see the definition of his chest. An image of him standing shirtless flashed in my brain, and my breathing hitched.

He stepped closer still. With no room left to back up, I ended up half sitting on his desk. His hands gripped my hips, sliding me farther onto its surface as he stepped in between my legs.

He leaned his head down toward my ear and took my lobe into his mouth, then nipped at the sensitive skin below. “Hmmm, I think I just discovered a way to…”

Ben yelled his name from the other room before he could finish.

His eyes stared into mine for a moment, then he leaned back from me and rested his hip on his desk. I jumped off, fearing I’d look guilty standing anywhere near him.

“I’m in the office,” he called out.

Ben’s tall lanky frame filled the doorway. “Dodd told me that Tracker is insisting on having his man come over tonight.”

“No. I told them no one through this portal until next week. They have to use the other portal.”

“Tracker is insisting. He said he’s got the choice of portals. That his man is coming over at nine p.m. What should I tell Dodd to do?”

Cormac pushed off the desk and silently walked the length of the room for a minute.

“Are you ready?” he asked me as he turned back around.

“That’s a joke, right?” His face remained stoic. “You couldn’t have missed the fact that I haven’t been able to do anything?”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ve got an idea.”

“An idea? That’s certainly reassuring. What if you do it and kill this guy like the last one?”

“I told you, I can’t reveal that I don’t have control of the portal. It could make things worse.”

“I’m not doing it. I want nothing to do with this.”

He crossed the room to stand in front of me. “I can’t show weakness. If I do, this will only get worse. I can’t risk losing any of my people because they are scared.”

“Why can’t you just say no?”

“Because there is a contract in place set up a very long time ago and it’s not one I can break. If they insist, I have to do it or I’ll never be able to keep things under wraps. I need to know who’s working against me and get to them before this blows up.”

“What is it with you and these contracts? It’s a piece of paper!”

“If I don’t keep it open, there will still be bloodshed, and more than one person might die. I need to bring the guy through and I need it to work.”

“I’ve worked very hard to get my life on a normal track. I don’t want to be involved in your mess!”

“You keep saying that like this isn’t your heritage, just as much as mine. I don’t have a choice and neither do you. Just because you didn’t know about it, and I did, doesn’t make it any more mine. This is who you are. You need to stop running at some point and own it.”

“If I do this, I want the tails off me and I’m moving back home. I’m tired of being followed everywhere I go. I’m done with your rules. You want me to be a team player than you better start treating me like one.”

“They aren’t there to watch you. They’re there to protect you.”

“I don’t care. I want them gone.”

He stood there unmoving, and I didn’t know if it was going to go my way or not.

“Fine, but you stay here.”

“No.”

He leaned in, taking a large chunk of my personal space up. Cormac was good at intimidation tactics like that. “I don’t have to negotiate.”

“Considering that you need me, I think you do.” I knew it, and I’d press for all I could. It was now or never.

He took my chin in a gentle grasp as he tilted my face to his and said in a near whisper, “Don’t push it. I can do this without you being willing.”

“You can?” I asked in a surprised tone not much louder than his.

He nodded.

“Then why haven’t you done it already?”

“That doesn’t matter. Just know that I can.”

I jerked my face out of his grasp. “Fine, but we lose the guards.”

“Fine.”

He picked up the phone on the desk and dialed a number into it. “Tell him that we’re bringing his guy over.” The phone clanked loudly on its holder in the silent room.

Chapter Sixteen

“Where is everyone?” I asked Dodd as we entered the empty portal room several hours later. Last time we had been down here, the place had been hopping.

“If this goes bad, I want as few witnesses as possible,” Cormac answered for him. “It’s only going to be us three.”

“How ‘bad’ can this go?” It was a little late to ask, but what the hell. I looked at both of them but suddenly they seemed to be too distracted to pay attention. “Oh yes, now I feel good. So, how does this work exactly? Since I never got past getting the balls in the air, I’m not sure what I’m going to be able to do for you guys.”

“Oh, don’t sell yourself short there darling, you could…” Dodd fell deathly quiet, and I looked over to see the stare Cormac was leveling at him, his veins twitching. “Oh come on! I was only playing.”

Cormac looked back down at the computer in front of him. “Dodd and I are going to try to channel some of your ability.”

“Does that work?”

“Sometimes. I think it will this time. When you were stuck on the ceiling the other night, I drained you, that’s how I got you down.”

I heard what sounded like a giggle from Dodd, and I leveled my own death stare at him. “I’d shut up before I shoot out your knee caps, again.”

“Really? This is how the night is going to go? You guys need to lighten up. Maybe if you two…”

“Dodd!” Cormac didn’t give him a chance to finish.

“I canceled a date tonight with Vicky for this,” Dodd said.

“I thought Vicky was with you?” I looked over at Cormac.

“She’s mad about you staying at the penthouse,” Dodd now answered for Cormac, who stood silently.

“Why would you date her if she’s involved with Cormac?”

“Cormac gave me the thumbs up. He wasn’t interested in her seriously, and now I get some revenge sex.” I must not have hidden my thoughts well.

“Hey, no judgment! You don’t know how hard it is for a guy to turn down revenge sex.”

“Let’s get in position,” Cormac said, as I still grimaced over Dodd’s comments. “Dodd, hold her other hand,” Cormac said as he held my right.

“Got it, Boss.”

There we stood, lined up in front of where I imagined the portal would open, Cormac on my right and Dodd on my left.

“Jo, just try to stay relaxed. I’d imagine it’s going to feel slightly odd.”

“You’d imagine? You mean you don’t know?”

“No, we’re flying blind here.”

“Great.”

Cormac closed his eyes and I watched around the room, not sure what I was waiting for. Then I saw it, it looked like a flicker of an electrical charge, the kind you saw when you drag your foot across the carpet or touch something in the dark. But, it didn’t go away; it stayed centered between the monoliths of ebony, flickering. Then it grew, and grew. As it got larger, a gentle breeze filled the room, and blew my hair from my face.

I turned and looked at Cormac whose eyes were wide open now and focused ahead. Dodd had a similar look upon his face. I watched as this weird entity opened larger and larger, until it took up almost the entire wall, stretching from monolith to monolith. It was actually quite beautiful, and then the oddest thing started to happen, its surface, which had looked sparkly before, started to clear. A shade of lavender shimmered behind the flickering. Then I realized that the portal wasn’t lavender, but the sky of the world I was seeing into. There was a thing I would describe as a moon if I saw it hanging here, but it was enormous compared to Earth’s. A silhouette of a man appeared against the strange sky. He walked toward us, and I felt the room heat up. The heat poured at us in waves. I felt like it was seeping into my bones, like I’d been roasting on the beach with the sun hanging in noon position for five hours straight.

The man slowly emerged clearer into view. He couldn’t have been more than twenty. He looked like a surfer with shaggy blond locks hanging over one eye. He stepped through the portal and greeted us with a brilliant white smile that could have been on a Crest toothpaste ad.

The portal closed quickly once he stepped through, snapping shut into nothing, but I could feel the energy rolling through the room. Then it hit me like a punch in the gut. Sweat was streaming down my face and it was an effort to remain upright.

“Did you feel the close?” Cormac asked Dodd.

“No,” he replied a bit ominously, and they both turned and looked at me.

“Get him out of here,” Cormac said stiffly, and Dodd escorted surfer dude out while I struggled to stand.

“How do you feel?”

“I’m fine,” I replied through gritted teeth.

“No you aren’t. I think you got the full blast.”

“Huh?” The feeling of running my intestines through a meat grinder made it hard to concentrate.

“I need to get you upstairs.”

“I’m fine.” Even as I said it, I knew what I must have looked like. I could feel the cold sweat on my face. With the way I was feeling, I knew my skin had probably gone from golden tan, to ashen white. The feeling of vulnerability was suffocating me.

“I know you don’t trust me, but I’m telling you now, you can.”

He put an arm around my waist and tried to help support my weight. I used the last of my strength to pull away. I managed to walk a couple of steps to lean against the nearby wall, feeling too sick to stay upright without some help. I watched him take off his dress shirt and then the white undershirt, and then he shrugged back into his dress shirt. He grabbed his discarded white undershirt and approached me.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t have anything else. It’s clean. I just put it on right before we came down here,” he said before he used it to wipe the sweat from my face. “Let me help you. I promise, no matter what, I won’t let anything happen to you.” He looked into my eyes then, “You don’t have to believe me. Time will tell.”

“No, it won’t. I’m not going to be here long enough.”

He didn’t respond, just patted my face with the soft white cotton. It smelled of him, and I liked it. I pushed his hand away.

“You ready? I need to get you out of here now, the longer we wait the worse it will be.”

“Why?” I asked, the pain seemed to subside slightly, and before he could answer, another round struck me that doubled me over and made me gasp for air.

“That’s why.”

He leaned down and slung my arm around his shoulder, taking practically all my weight. This time I didn’t have it in me to fight. The hallway outside the room was empty, so was the elevator that would take us up several floors, but I’d have to make it out of that one and through the casino hall and into the penthouse elevator, all while appearing normal though my insides now felt like someone had shot napalm into them.

“The doors are going to open in ten seconds. Are you ready? Can you do this?”

I nodded, took a deep breath, and stood up straight.

The walk took forever, or in real time, about three minutes. I just concentrated on not crumbling to the ground, one foot in front of the other. Cormac had his hand on my back, slightly steering me and it was a godsend. Even though my eyes were open, my entire attention was on not passing out from the pain.

We stepped into the elevator, and I felt Cormac’s arm go around my waist again and I slumped against him.

“You did good,” he said, and I thought he kissed my head but I wasn’t sure, in my current state.

“What’s wrong with me?” I asked into his shoulder.

“You got too much radiation.”

“I thought radiation was no big deal?”

“Too much of anything can be bad. All three of us were pulling at it, but you absorbed it all. You’ve got an unusually strong pull. I’m so sorry, I had no idea that could happen.”

“Is this going to kill me?”

“No.”

“You don’t know do you?”

“I won’t let it.”

“How long will this pain last?”

“A day or so, I think. You’re a lot smaller than the guys it has happened to. I don’t know if body weight plays into it.”

When the elevator doors slid open, he reached down to pull me into his arms.

“No, I can walk.”

He didn’t argue with me, just scooped me up into his arms anyway. I didn’t pay attention as we walked into the penthouse, just leaned against him with my eyes closed, as I tried to ride out another wave of pain.

I felt the bed against my legs as he laid me down and then curled onto my side. I felt Cormac’s hands as he pulled off my shoes, and I pulled my knees inward and tucked them up against my body. Curled into a ball in the center of the bed, I opened my eyes when I heard him talking in hushed tones. That’s when I realized I wasn’t in my room, but his.

I tried to sit up, I needed to get to my own room, but hands pressed me back into the mattress before I made any real progress.

“Jo, I’ve got someone coming to check on you. Just lie back and relax.”

I didn’t want to lie back, but the pain gripped me with an iron fist so tightly that I didn’t have a choice.

An undistinguishable amount of time later, I heard a soft female voice whisper near me. I opened my eyes to see a beautiful brunette with a kind smile hover over me before I shut them again. I felt her soft touch upon my head as she felt for the pulse in my wrist. The hallmark cold metal on my chest told me she was listening to my lungs.

“She’ll be fine. It’s just going to be an unpleasant night for her,” the feminine voice said.

“Isn’t there something you can give her?” Cormac’s voice asked.

“No. It’s not safe with the overload of radiation. Try heating pads or a warm bath. That might help with the muscle spasms.”

“Thanks for coming so quickly, Sabrina.”

“No problem. Call me if anything changes.”

Opening my eyes again in the dim room, I saw Cormac shut the door. It was just the two of us, now.

“How do you feel?”

“Like I’m on my deathbed?”

“You’re not dying.”

“I know, but right now, I almost wish I was.”

I closed my eyes and tried to ride out the pain with as much dignity as I could muster. I felt the mattress near me sink down, strong arms wrapped around me, pulling me into Cormac’s side.

“Just try to relax,” he said.

Even with the pain, my brain was still aware of his hard muscular body lying next to me. His hand was slowly rubbing my back and the pain lessoned its hold slightly.

“Are you doing something?”

“I’m trying to. I can’t take it all from you, but I might be able to take the edge off.”

The last thing I remembered was my cheek resting against an impossibly hard chest. I’m not sure how long I passed out, but I woke as excruciating pain radiated through the length of me.

I felt Cormac’s heat pressed against me, and I realized he must have stayed with me the whole time, however long that was. My body tensed with the next wave of pain, and I felt Cormac move out from under me. My fingers gripped his shirt without meaning to.

“I’ll be right back.”

For the first time in a long while, I was truly scared to be alone, and I really started to wonder if I was, indeed, dying. I heard the water running in the adjoining bathroom, and I couldn’t help but resent that I while I lay in pain caused by helping him, he was showering.

My resentment was short lived, as he walked back in the room shirtless, with just a pair of gym shorts on. He looked like a dark angel come to collect me.

“What are you doing?” I asked, as he picked me up in his arms.

“Heat, the doctor said the heat would help.”

The bright lights of the bathroom hit my eyes before he dimmed them quickly. I heard the humming of what sounded like a hot tub. He lowered us both, and I felt the hot water soak through my clothes as he sat down with me still in his arms. The water felt like it was almost boiling, and it was fantastic, reducing the intensity of the spasms within minutes.

As the cramping started to subside, I became acutely aware that much of Cormac’s naked skin pressed against me; the way the material of my shirt clung to my breasts detailed every curve. I turned to look into Cormac’s face, just mere inches away, and I could see I wasn’t the only one who was becoming very aware.

I grabbed the edge of the tub, splashing water everywhere with my sudden movement and pulled myself out. I barely stopped long enough to grab a towel in my rush from the room, leaving a watery trail behind me as I ran into my room and collapsed on my bed.

“Jo?” Cormac said as he stood just inside my door. “I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“I’m fine. The pain is subsiding.” I rolled on my side and looked away from him. I didn’t want to be alone anymore, but I couldn’t trust him. I’d been getting sloppy. I’d relaxed my guard. I couldn’t afford to do that. I still had no idea who my parents were, what had happened to my mother that night long ago. Cormac had his own priorities. It didn’t matter what he said. He’d had me hurt once; he’d do it again. Actions were what were important.

“No, you aren’t.” I felt the bed dip as he climbed in next to me. His arm pulled my body close to his, and I didn’t fight it, but just lay there nestled alongside him.

Chapter Seventeen

I woke alone the next afternoon to a beautiful Monet painting leaning against the wall, opposite the bed. It was beautiful, with red lily clusters. I wasn’t sure why it was sitting there but I wasn’t going to complain.

The need for a strong cup of coffee propelled me toward the living room in hopes that Cormac might have a pot of hazelnut floating around.

“So, what are we going to do?” I heard Dodd ask as I neared the room.

“I don’t know, but she’s not doing it anymore. Not like last time. Not until I know it won’t happen again. It could have killed her,” Cormac replied.

“But we’ve got the Festiva. What are we going to tell them when we can’t get them over?”

“I’ll figure something else out.” He spoke in a tone that made it clear he was done discussing it.

As I walked in, I saw Cormac standing by the windows while Dodd and Buzz sat on the couch.

“Hey, how are you feeling? Heard you had a rough night?” Dodd asked.

“I’m fine.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Dodd asked.

Cormac didn’t say a word, but walked over to me. He looked me over a little too intensely for comfort. Even though it wasn’t a sexual perusal, I was glad I’d opted for jeans and an oversized sweatshirt.

“How are you going to run the portal?” I asked him.

“It’s not your problem.”

“If what you said is true, then isn’t it everyone’s problem?”

“I’ll handle it.” He turned back to Dodd and Buzz. “I’m going to go see if I can track down Hammond.”

“Is he even alive anymore?” Buzz asked.

“Yes, and I’m going to find him,” Cormac replied. He turned back to me. “I don’t want you going out today. You need to rest.”

I tilted my head toward the foyer and motioned for him to follow me.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, once we stopped in the foyer and out of earshot.

“I know this isn’t the best time to talk, but I have to get this off my chest. I think I’ve been throwing you some mixed signals, but I just want to make it clear, we are just business. I’ll help you through this mess and you’ll get me the answers I need, then we go our own way. I’m not looking for any other kind of relationship.”

“Sure.”

“That’s not a problem for you?” I guess he hadn’t been that interested then.

“Believe it or not, I’ve got other options.”

“I mean, obviously you do. I just think that this is the way it should be.”

“Like I said, no problem.”

Completely nonchalant, like it didn’t mean a damn thing that I was rejecting him. He did know I was rejecting him, right?

“So, strictly business.”

“Yes, and I’ve got some of that to attend to. Was this all you needed?”

“Yep, that was it.”

“Great, see you later!” he said as he walked toward the door, but then paused. “I almost forgot, did you like the painting?”

“It’s beautiful. Were you going to hang it on the wall there?”

“Is that where you want it?”

“It’s your painting. Hang it wherever you want it.”

He smiled. “It’s for you.”

“I couldn’t! It’s a Monet! Isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is. No strings. I knew you had a rough night so I thought you would like it. It’s called Red Lilies. I’ve got to go. See you later.”

I stood, still staring at the door as words from the page sprang to mind. Eternal Lilies bloom after a hard night, the giver of gifts will stand for the right. Nope, it was just a coincidence. I wasn’t going to start reading into things thinking there were cryptic meanings. There was some strange stuff going on, but I refused to buy into fortune telling, too. A girl had to draw the line somewhere.

I walked back into the living room where Dodd and Buzz still sat.

“Who’s Hammond?” I asked, as I refused to let my mind get swept up into crazy thoughts.

“He’s an old timer. Crazy strong. He trained Cormac. He was his mentor.” Dodd answered.

“And you really think he’ll have some answers on how to fix what’s happening?”

“He’s our best bet.”

“Why aren’t there anymore older alchemists? Someone with answers? I mean really, you can’t die? What happened to them all?”

“We can die. It’s just hard to kill us.”

“You put five bullets in my head, and I didn’t die.”

“Okay, so it’s really hard, but it can be done. We had something akin to a civil war about twenty years ago.”

“And that’s when Cormac took control? He must have been barely a kid.” It wasn’t a question. He was a leader born. Some people lead, but in him it was instinctual. “What were you fighting about?”

“Some of us wanted to use the portal for power over the other races. They felt that we should rule everyone who came over. And then some of the people who did manage to circumvent the system, well, that got ugly.”

“Ugly? What was uglier than a civil war?”

“The Fae cursed some of them. They died slowly and painfully. Nobody could do anything because they voided the contract first. That’s why nobody messes with the contracts.”

“When do all these people for Festiva have to come over by?”

“The next couple of days or it’s gonna start getting awkward.”

“I still don’t understand what exactly is going wrong? Do you guys know?”

“When a portal is opened, it produces a large mass of radiation. One of the things we do is pull that radiation towards us. For some reason, it’s not pulling forward like normal and we don’t know why. It’s lingering within the portal and frying anyone who goes into it.”

“What about if someone were to go into the portal while another person operates it. Instead of just pulling from the outside? Would that give you more control?”

“It might, but it’s hard when you’re in the portal. It screws with your abilities. The person would have to be awfully strong, otherwise they’d fry up.”

“Do you think I could do it?”

“Oh, no! Don’t even think about it.”

“Dodd, just answer me. Do you think I could?”

He made a loud aggravated sigh. “You might be able to. I’ve seen the power you put out. But Cormac said you couldn’t do anything else.”

“If we don’t fix this, from what I’m being told, all hell will break loose. Is that correct?”

Dodd and Buzz looked at each other hesitantly and then both looked back at me and nodded.

“And then it’s not going to be just your world but mine, too, that is in danger.”

“You’ve been kicking and screaming this entire time. Now you want to step up and save the day?”

“Do I want to? Absolutely not. But I’m starting to think I have to. I’ve met Tracker. Him ruling the world holds no appeal to me.”

“Who said it’s Tracker? Cormac thinks it’s probably Vitor.

“I don’t. I want to try and run the portal while I’m inside. Will you help me?”

“You’re asking us to go against Cormac. He just said he didn’t want you going anywhere near it,” Dodd replied.

“Yes, I am, but if Cormac doesn’t find Hammond or some other solution soon, we need to try it.”

“I don’t know,” Buzz said looking completely panicked at the idea of going against Cormac.

“You both need to man up,” I said. “Cormac will go down with the sinking ship. What good are you doing him? You need to think for yourselves and stop being babies. You aren’t hurting him, you’re possibly saving his ass.”

“She’s right. It’s not disloyal. There’ll be more defectors if we don’t get this worked out, and you know Cormac will go down dying before he steps aside,” Dodd said.

“Okay, but we give him the week?” Buzz asked.

“And it’s got to be the last resort,” Dodd added.

“Yes. We give him the week.”

Chapter Eighteen

It had been five days and no sign of Hammond. Cormac had only been at the penthouse to sleep. I wondered if he was trying to avoid me, but he hadn’t been at the casino either. Dodd and Buzz, my new coconspirators had told me he’d been on the hunt for Hammond every minute of every day.

When I did see Cormac in passing, either late at night or the crack of dawn, I could see the stress was wearing on him. He looked exhausted. Like the weight of the world rested upon his shoulders. From what I had heard, it might be the truth.

Concerned that we would have to enact my plan, I’d woken that day with a new determination. It had taken me about three hours, but I finally found Dodd downstairs near the slot machines. He was in the middle of trying to work a cocktail waitress I didn’t recognize, and I wondered if she had been hired to fill my spot.

“We’ve got to talk,” I said to him as I approached the couple.

“Sure, give me a couple of minutes.” He turned so that only I could see his face and used his eyebrows to signal he was in the middle of working the new girl.

Rolling my eyes right back, not caring if the girl saw, I went and stood at the end of the aisle as I watched him try to close the deal with the pretty brunette. She handed him a slip of paper that I could only assume had her phone number and walked away while they both smiled.

“I’ve been trying to crack that one for a week,” he said, when he came to me. He held up the paper she had handed him, waving it at me. “Sooner or later, they all succumb.”

“We’ve got bigger issues than your sex life.”

“Nothing’s bigger than my sex life. Sex is very important to me. I won’t have you belittling it.”

“Dodd, can you stop? We need to plan.”

He made a point of sighing loudly and dramatically. “Okay, let’s plan.”

“Not here.”

“Obviously. Let’s go to my place. I don’t want anyone walking in on this. Cormac will rip me a new one if he hears.”

“Lead the way.”

We took the penthouse elevators up to the floor beneath Cormac’s. His entire place was dark browns, and the biggest TV I’d ever seen dominated one wall.

“We need to do this.”

“You know it’s very dangerous, right?” he asked, all the earlier playfulness gone.

“Yes, but what’s the alternative?”

“And you know you could die doing it? From what I’ve heard, you already came close last time.”

I’d known it was possible, but it still chilled me to hear. “I figured as much.” I sat on his couch as my knees became weak.

“Why are you so set on this? I thought you considered this our problem. You haven’t made any secret about the resentment you have toward Keepers.” He handed me a shot of what smelled like tequila and sat across from me in an armchair.

“For whatever reason, I’m the only one who might be able to do it. How do I not, knowing what the alternative might be? I didn’t want it to be my problem but I don’t feel like I have a choice.”

“You could just let the whole thing work out however it does, go off and live your life. Even if Tracker took over, it might never become an issue. If it does, you would still have your life. Things might be different, but at least you would be alive to know how it turned out. Your way, you might not see next month.”

I just shrugged my shoulders.

“The way I see it, you either have a soft spot for Cormac,” he paused to chug back his shot, “or you’ve got some sort of death wish. I’m not sure which.”

I opened my mouth to speak but he held up his hand and interrupted me before I could. “Don’t bother arguing. I’m beyond stubborn in my opinions. I can see the way you look at Cormac, so there is no sense denying that. I can also see you’re a very unhappy person. We’ve all got skeletons, but I’m afraid you might have a whole goddamn cemetery. I’m going to go through with your plan, mostly because I don’t know if we have a choice. What really bothers me though, is that my gut feeling tells me that as much as I sense the fight in you, I’m not so sure you’d run away from death. Making plans with someone like you is dangerous.”

I sat there and pondered his words for a moment. If I was the type to self evaluate, I might agree with him. Lucky for me, I wasn’t that type. I knew I was an emotional wreck. Problem was I didn’t see the point in dwelling on the past. It had already messed me up. Why keep going back for more?

I swigged back my own shot, which I could now confirm was tequila, and asked, “So, does that mean you’re in?”

He shook his head no, but his lips said yes.

“I know you do all the scheduling. Whoever you have to bring over, set it up for Sunday. All of them.”

“Why Sunday?”

“He’s got a lead that is taking him out to LA. He’ll be gone all day.”

“He doesn’t have a lead in LA.”

“He will.”

He laughed now, but not a cheerful kind. The kind that was full of nervousness. “Now I know you’ve got a death wish. Are you insane? You planted a phony lead?”

“It’s the only way.”

“How do you know he’s going to go out there Sunday? What if he follows up on it before then?”

“Won’t happen. The lead is only going to be available to talk on Sunday.”

“Who is it?”

“Do you really want more details?”

“You know what? You’re right. I don’t want to know. He’s going to kill you.”

“He already tried once. It didn’t work then.”

Dodd went and grabbed the tequila and took a swig right from the bottle, then offered it to me. I accepted.

“Don’t tell Buzz, I don’t think he’ll be able to keep the secret.”

“I wish no one had told me.” He took the tequila bottle back and took another swig.

Chapter Nineteen

“I’ve got some news.”

I looked over to watch Cormac as he strolled into my room Sunday morning. In a matter of hours, my plan would take effect. I knew I had started to act a bit jittery. I always prided myself on keeping my cool, but that was before I’d landed in this mess. And as far as what I was doing today, I’d never done anything like this before. Cormac wouldn’t appreciate being led on a goose chase. If he ever discovered this was a set up, he would lose it.

It didn’t matter. I was going to do what I had to, regardless of the outcome and ramifications. If I died, it wouldn’t matter how mad he was. If we managed to pull it off, I bought him more time to find out what was going wrong and who was behind it, he’d need me to keep doing. I’d have leverage, not to mention I’d have saved his ass. I mean really, how mad could he be? Now I just had to make sure I had the chance to pull it off.

“What’s up?” I tried to sound casual, not moving from my spot leaning against the headboard while I drank my hot coffee.

“The lab managed to determine some of your lineage.”

My heart skipped a beat even as I remained calm. That wasn’t what I’d expected at all. “I thought they couldn’t do anything with the blood?”

“One of my guys had the smart idea of taking a Fae sample and applying it to all of our genetic lines, seeing if they could rule any out. It worked better than they had even imagined. All Alchemists descend from the original ten. They managed to determine that you are a descendant of Drake.”

“Are you a Drake?” The idea of being his cousin made me slightly sick. No one wants to think they’d lusted after a relative. That’s just disturbing.

“No.”

I took a mental sigh of relief. “So who was Drake?”

“We don’t have much information on Drake, or any of the founding ten. A lot of our history was destroyed through the years. Paranoia ran rampant through the alchemists. They were always afraid of revealing secrets. That’s how the pact came to be. They bartered with the Fae who had the ability to fuse the knowledge of the alchemists to their actual genes.”

“How does that work?”

“It’s built into our DNA now, like, the way a bird knows how to fly north. It’s a knowledge that is passed down genetically. Problem is it has become less dependable through the years, causing a lot of variations in how strong each descendant is. From the stories that I do know, my belief is that they thought it would be more reliable and consistent than it turned out to be. Perhaps they were led to believe that. I really don’t know.”

He sat down on the edge of my bed as he talked and really started looking around the room, eyeing several piles of clothes. “Why is your room so messy?”

“Why’s yours so neat?”

“Neat is good.”

“Personally, I think it’s just uptight.”

“When was the last time you let the maid in?”

“Yesterday.”

“Yesterday? You did this in one day?”

“I tell her not to touch my piles. I can never find anything after she moves my stuff around.”

“So this is how you want it?”

“Yes, Cormac, I’m a slob. Is that what you want to hear? Now get off my bed. I want to drink my coffee and watch the news.” And don’t you have an appointment?

He just shook his head as he stood obligingly. “I’ll be back tonight. I’ve got a lead to check out.”

I wanted to jump out of the bed and start getting ready, but I schooled myself until I watched his tall, muscular frame walk out the door in search of my fictitious lead. As I heard the main door shut, I sent Dodd a text message. He was waiting in the hallway less than fifteen minutes later.

“You ready?” he asked.

“I should be asking you that. You’re the one with cold feet.”

“What happened to your cute outfits?” he asked as we entered the elevator.

“This isn’t cute enough?” I smoothed my moist palms down over my skinny jeans, realizing how nervous I really was.

He shrugged. “I like looking at your legs in skirts.”

“Sorry to disappoint. I was worried there might be a draft in the portal.”

“I was hoping there was.” He had the perfect rogue smile on his handsome face. If it had been Cormac, I might have melted on the spot, because he affected me like no one else. However, as handsome as Dodd was, him I could resist.

“Not even a blush? Nothing?”

“I don’t blush.”

We went the rest of the way to the underground going over the times and numbers, until we made it down to the lower hallway. “Where is everyone?”

“How many times do you have to be told that witnesses aren’t good? It’s bad enough we are going behind his back. I didn’t want to take anyone down with us. And if we blow it, I don’t want to have to take them out.”

“I thought you didn’t kill your own?”

“Nah, we don’t. I just wanted to sound like a hard ass.”

“Dodd, anybody ever tell you that you’re a little off?”

“Well, ain’t that the kettle calling the pot black.”

“So, is this going to really screw up your relationship with Cormac?”

“He’s like my brother. I’d do anything for him. I can’t sit back and let him shoulder this all on his own.” He unlocked the final door and the pillars stood before me, huge, dark, and daunting.

“Okay, little girl, time to see what you’ve got,” Dodd said as he stood next to me.

“Don’t worry, I’ll bring it. This little girl is about to save your ass.” I heard the words I spoke and I sounded tough enough. I just hoped really did have it to bring. I sure as hell didn’t want to step into that portal whistling Dixie.

“I sent a message through for them. They’ll be ready in thirty minutes from now.”

I pushed up the sleeves of my shirt. “Now, let’s just hope I’ll be ready.” I hadn’t meant to say it out loud. Hadn’t even realized I had until I saw Dodd’s face. “Only kidding, I’m good!” I infused my words with as much bravado as I possibly could, but Dodd’s face didn’t look any more reassured.

“I’ll get it up and running, but I’m not going to pull at the radiation. That’s what went wrong last time. I’ll just hold it open. You step in. You’re a natural at pulling.”

I nodded my head, not wanting to think about what would happen if I didn’t just naturally pull the radiation toward me. I thought of all sorts of crispy critters falling out of the portal. Maybe I’d be the crispiest critter of all. Either way, I just wanted to get it over with and let the chips fall as they may, but I had to wait, minute by slow ticking minute, while Dodd fiddled around the room.

When the time finally came, my stomach was churning like I’d been on rough seas all day. I swallowed hard and held on to the contents of my stomach, barely. It was hard to look like a bad ass when you were puking your stomach contents up from nerves.

“You ready?”

“Completely.” I was so full of it that I even amazed myself. He smiled and nodded as he took his place and started his end of things. I might have given Dodd a little too much credit if he believed my bullshit.

I put my hands in my pockets to hide their shaking, as I slowly watched the sparks start in the center until it grew larger and larger. Once it spanned the entire distance between the monoliths, I looked over at Dodd who gave me the go ahead. I slowly approached, knowing I dragged my feet, then took a deep breath and took the final step. The one that would either hold this masquerade together, or end it, at least for me.

As I stepped inside, the air tingled all around me and everything blurred slightly. I wasn’t sure if it was my eyes or the haze from the portal. A slow breeze picked up, but it wasn’t natural, because instead of coming from one direction, it came from every direction. I didn’t remember seeing surfer boy’s hair blowing when he had come through, but I did remember feeling a breeze last time and I realized it was the radiation flowing to me. Okay, so one problem down, having no clue what I was doing, I was pulling the radiation. Now, as long as it didn’t kill me, this would be cake.

Then I looked toward the opening on the other end of the portal, which was about a short city block away. A crowd that looked to be over a hundred, gathered there. Could this be right? I looked at a blurry Dodd, who motioned them to start filing through, unfazed by the number of people.

They were short, tall, fat and skinny. The only thing they had in common was they were all very normal looking. I wouldn’t have given them a second glance if I saw them on the street. Some eyed me warily as they passed, and I could tell it was abnormal to have someone standing in the portal, but nobody remarked. That was until a haggard woman, who was a hundred if she was a day, stopped next to me. Her crazy grey hair shot out in every direction.

“You look familiar,” she said.

“I don’t think I know you.”

“I didn’t say I knew you.” She looked me overly intently, and then walked away, disappearing into the group.

I could see, even from inside the portal, as the crowd paused and then exited the room. That’s when I felt it; a pair of eyes on me, my skin broke out in goose bumps. My eyes darted to the door to find Cormac standing there, hours earlier than I had expected him to make it back. His face was unreadable, but his eyes bored into mine as he ignored the crowd of people that parted around him as he walked forward.

I watched as the last few people stepped out of the portal, and I followed them out. Dodd closed it up shortly after I did, but I barely noticed. I kept Cormac in my peripheral vision to the deficit of everything else.

“Hey, watch where you’re going,” I heard, as I bumped into someone right in front of me.

“Sorry,” I said as I looked at a tall lanky, middle-aged man and backed up. I turned back to see if Cormac had noticed and saw his gaze still followed me. He couldn’t do anything, I told myself. I was the key to him keeping this operation together.

I waited and watched as the last few people walked through the door. I stood there waiting while I watched Cormac, hand on the doorknob, eye Dodd and tilt his head toward the hallway.

“It wasn’t…” Dodd started to say something that I think was going to be in defense of me, but Cormac shook his head and Dodd’s voice died midsentence. He hung his head and exited.

He shut the door behind Dodd almost too softly, and I listened to the click of the lock find its home.

“What were you thinking?” he asked, as he paced the room no longer staring at me.

“I think that’s obvious isn’t it? I was buying you time.”

“This could have gone very badly. I can’t believe you got Dodd to go along with this.” He ran his hand through his hair.

“It wasn’t his fault. I twisted his arm. Don’t come down on him for this.”

He suddenly stopped pacing and looked at me.

“How I handle Dodd isn’t any of your business. This,” he motioned to encompass the whole room, “is none of your business.”

“You say that now, but that’s not exactly the truth. You dragged me into this,” I made an equally dramatic sweeping gesture that was mocking as well. “I wanted nothing to do with this.”

“When I brought you in, I didn’t think for one second you would do something this stupid. You could have killed all of them!” He paced angrily across the room, like a lion caged in a pen, his prey just out of reach.

“But I didn’t.”

A sudden unexpected turn had him inches from my face. His finger pressed just below my collarbone.

“You. Didn’t. Know. That.” He punctuated each word with his finger.

“And like I said, it worked out fine.” I punctuated my own words by shoving his hand away from me.

He grabbed me by the shoulders, my back pressed against the monolith, his body pressed against me, holding me there.

“You could have killed yourself.”

“When did I become indispensable? Last time I checked, whether I lived or died wasn’t of any large significance.”

He didn’t say a word, but he also didn’t budge. I wasn’t sure if he was going to strangle me or kiss me, and I didn’t know which scared me more.

“You’re done. You aren’t to come anywhere near this room again.”

“So big shot, how do you plan on running the portal?”

“All balls, no brains. You don’t know when to shut your mouth, but it doesn’t matter.” He leaned in just a hair closer. “You’re through.” He pushed off the wall and away from me. I took a deep filling breath, and realized I’d barely breathed while he had been so close.

“I think we should go our separate ways,” I said to his back, watching as he walked to the door and held it open, waiting for me.

“No. I told you, I can’t take the chance of someone else getting their hands on you.”

I walked forward and paused in the doorway, and turned to look up into his chilling blue eyes. “I’m done living by your rules. I’m leaving.”

“Just try it.”

“We’ll see.” This time, I gave him my back.

Chapter Twenty

“I demand to see her!”

The screaming voice in the hallway woke me from a deep slumber. It was probably the best sleep I’d had since I’d gotten here and I was quite annoyed that I’d been startled from it. I pulled the spare pillow over my head and tried to dull the racket.

“She’s not here,” I heard Cormac reply. He was lucky I was still too unmotivated to step into the foyer and prove him wrong.

“She’s part Fae. I should have been informed the minute you knew that.”

That sounded like Vitor’s voice. I’d never heard that tone from him before. The fog of sleep slowly started to pull back as what they were saying settled into my brain.

“She’s not here.”

“You have until tonight to produce her.”

“You’re more than welcome to come back tonight.”

The door slammed and I knew it had to have been Vitor. Cormac wasn’t the type of guy who would slam a door in Vitor’s face. He’d slam his face. My body didn’t want to get out of bed, but I had too many questions I wanted answered to stay here. As I swung my legs over the edge, and was about to make the final push upward, Cormac knocked at my door, effectively bringing the answers to me. Lucky me. I pulled my legs back under the covers, and told him to come in while I waited to hear what splendid news I was in store for.

“Well?” I asked, not bothering to keep my eyes open.

“He wants access to you. Actually, if we want to be more specific, he’s demanding access to you.”

“God, I’m a popular girl these days.” I chuckled, finding myself funny.

“He’s going to want to take you with him.”

“What?” That got my attention. I jumped into an upright position in bed. “Tell him he can go screw. That goes for you, too. I’m tired of you macho men telling me whether I’m coming or going.” I started to feel around the covers of the bed.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to find my phone.”

“Why don’t you put it on the night stand?”

“I can’t. I keep it on vibrate. You ever hear how loud vibrate is on a hard surface? Ah, here it is. Give me his number. I want to call him.”

“Remember when I told you that you were part Fae?”

“Yes, you also told me it didn’t make a difference because the Alchemist genes were dominant. That it was a nonissue.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t an issue. You know how humans aren’t technically adults until they are eighteen? In the case of Fae, it’s twenty-four. He’s got a right to you.”

“That’s all fine and dandy, but we don’t live in the purple land with the freaks. We live here on Earth where he has no rights.”

“But we are still bound to certain rules and…”

“If you start bringing up contracts, I’m going to throw this phone at your head.” I even went as far as to raise my hand and aim it.

“There is no reason to get all worked up. There’s an easy fix.”

“What is it?”

He came forward and sat at the edge of my bed. “You just need to sign a pledge of loyalty for me. That will void any right he has.”

“Why is this just now coming up? Why didn’t he do this before?”

“He didn’t know you were half Fae.”

“How is that possible? Wouldn’t they somehow sense it?”

“No, so someone leaked the info to him.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll handle it when I find out.”

“I’m not signing my life over to you.”

He stood slowly then turned to face me. “Then there isn’t much I can do. I’d pack up your stuff. He’s coming tonight.” He stood up and started toward the door.

“Are you kidding? You freaked out, made me stay here and had men tailing me to avoid Vitor getting his hands on me. Now you’re just going to hand me over? Why didn’t you just do it when he was here then?”

“I was trying to give you the courtesy of choosing. I can’t legally withhold you.” He walked out the door and shut it.

He was bluffing. I threw on a pair of jeans. I’d give him the day to break. He wouldn’t just hand me over. No way. I was sure of it. It was true that he wanted to keep me away from the portal, more because he was a control freak than any other reason, in my opinion, but he wouldn’t want my abilities in Vitor’s hands. I’d play this out and he’d fold like a cheap suit.

Ten hours later, I wasn’t so confident anymore. I’d spent the day dawdling around, staying in the penthouse, and giving him plenty of opportunity. Nothing, not a peep. I’d even packed up my stuff in my new luggage, supplied by him, and rolled it into the hallway near the door. Still nothing. I was starting to sweat this one out a bit.

Going with Vitor wasn’t an option. I didn’t even really want to stay here, let alone go there, but now I felt like I had a purpose. I haven’t always lived the most moral life. I’d never gone out of my way to be a do-gooder, and I didn’t know if I believed in god. If he did exist, I was pretty sure he either didn’t know who I was, or just didn’t cared. But, something had started to change. I was beginning to feel like I had a purpose that was bigger than me, and I was surprised by how much it was starting to effect my decisions.

Then, there was the page. I couldn’t stop from wondering if it somehow was about me. If it was, then that meant Cormac stood for the right.

“Vitor is on his way up,” Cormac said as he walked into the living room and disturbed my thoughts.

“Okay.” I remained reclined on the couch. He was faking.

A few minutes later, when a knock sounded at the door, I figured it would be Dodd or Buzz joining in the charade.

“Do you want to answer it?” Cormac asked me.

“Sure, it is for me, after all.” I walked into the foyer and looked into the peephole to see Vitor standing there. A list of curses ran off in my head.

I walked back into the living room to see that Cormac had taken my spot, reclining upon the couch.

“Fine. What happens if I sign the paper? What exactly does it entail?”

“It means you are with me. You owe me your loyalty.”

“Until when? Forever?”

“No, only until we mutually dissolve it. If you don’t, he’s going to stalk your every move.”

Something about this was bothering me deeply. I was missing something obvious, but Vitor was now pounding on the door in the background and it muddled my thoughts.

“Give it to me.”

“You sure?”

“Cormac!” Vitor screamed from the hallway.

“Give it to me.”

He walked into his office and I followed him.

He handed me a paper as I grabbed a random pen from the table.

“No, use this.”

I took the preferred pen and signed my name in scrolling red. A static charge shocked me when I laid the pen down on the paper.

“I’ll go break the news to Vitor. You might want to wait here.”

I stood and followed him.

“Or not.” He laughed as he paused at the door and waited for me. “So what made you finally decide to choose sides?”

“Did I have another choice?”

“You could’ve taken your chances with Vitor.”

“You mean the alien that is currently banging on the door like a mad man? I figured I’d be better off with a native Earth being.” I didn’t tell him about eternally blooming lilies or any nonsense of him standing for the “right”. I felt like a nut even thinking it, so I certainly wasn’t going to say it out loud.

He laid his hand on my shoulder as we approached the foyer and stepped in front of me.

The door swung open and a visibly relieved Vitor stood there staring at me. “Josephine.”

“Hi, Vitor.”

“We’ve got a lot to discuss.”

Cormac took that time to clear his throat and draw attention to him. “Not as much as you think.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Check it out for yourself.”

I looked from Cormac to Vitor, wondering what the hell he was talking about. Check out what? A strange look appeared on Vitor’s face.

“You had no right!” Vitor suddenly exploded.

I’d never believed Vitor could have been capable of this kind of rage unless I’d seen it.

“Yes, I did. She was willing. I had every right.” Cormac leaned against the wall looking bored.

Two things happened then, so fast I could barely keep track. Vitor lunged toward me and Cormac was in front of me blocking his path.

“Try it,” Cormac said, and he meant it. He wanted to rip Vitor to shreds.

I stepped to the side. Cormac stepped with me so I had to settle for the limited view of only seeing half of Vitor’s face.

“I think it’s time for you to leave now.”

Vitor looked close to exploding but he said nothing, just left. As he exited, Cormac signaled outside the door and men I’d never have noticed appeared.

“Vitor is no longer welcome on this level. From now on, if he needs me, he can wait in the downstairs lounge until I’m available.” Cormac’s men silently nodded and he shut the door.

“Can I see that? I thought it might be a good idea to look at what I signed now that I can’t do anything about it.”

He handed me the paper that was still in his hand.

“What is this made out of?” I fingered the page for a moment. It felt the same weird way the page I’d gotten from the priest felt.

“It’s vellum, calf skin.”

“You keep this stuff around for all your letters?”

“Only the contracts and important documents.”

“Is that an Alchemist thing?”

“No, it’s commonly used by the Fae as well. I’m not sure if it’s calf skin in that instance, as I’m not familiar with their livestock, but it’s something similar.”

I nodded, storing that little tidbit away. I looked over the document, now, for the first real time and realized it wasn’t in English. It wasn’t in Spanish or French either for that matter. The whole document in numbers.

“This is gibberish.”

“Only if you don’t know how to read it. It’s an ancient Alchemist language.”

“Which you know how to write?”

“Yes.”

“So what exactly does this say?”

“It just says you’re with me.”

I looked over the long contract. “There’s an awful lot of writing here to say ‘you’re with me’.”

“It’s nothing unusual. These documents are very common.” He reached over and took the vellum paper from my hand, and I couldn’t help but breathe him in. Why did he always smell so damn good? I was relieved when he stepped away and walked back to his office. He took the paper over to a safe hidden behind a wall panel.

“Really? It’s worthy of the safe?”

“Just habit,” he said, but I wasn’t sure I believed him.

“I didn’t sign over my first born did I?”

“No. How are you feeling, by the way?”

I turned, watching the Vegas skyline through the windows, and heard the click of the safe tumblers behind me. He came and perched on the edge of his desk, partially blocking my view of the skyline. I wished it annoyed me but it didn’t. He was a gloriously masculine looking man, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, the fabric stretched tight over his arms as he leaned forward slightly.

“I’m fine. I slept better than I have in ages.”

“Yes, that’s one of the perks. You sleep like a babe after a nice dose.”

“Why aren’t you yelling, anymore?”

“I understand why you did it. I’m not mad. I’m just concerned.”

I saw a shadow cross his face and he got up quickly, hiding whatever emotion was there. He walked over to the window and watched the same view I’d been admiring. I stood and walked over to stand next to him.

He looked at me and then back out the window. “It never gets dull. You would think, after all this time, I’d be sick of looking at it, but I don’t. It’s the life and energy. It saturates the air.”

“Are you going to let me help again?”

“No.”

“Why? It went off perfectly.”

“No.”

“You make no sense. You wanted me here to help. You wanted me here to keep me from Vitor. Now you almost let Vitor drag me away and you won’t let me help. What is your angle?”

He looked down at me and I met his eyes, the lights of the strip reflected upon their icy surface. “I don’t need your help at the moment. If it comes to it, I’ll reassess then.” Then he smirked. “And I was never going to let Vitor have you.”

“You were bluffing.” I just shook my head annoyed. “God damn it.”

“Of course I was bluffing. I own a casino. If I couldn’t bluff out a green girl like you, I’d have to sell and walk out with my tail between my legs.”

“There’s nothing green about me.” It wasn’t a confessional, just the truth.

“Compared to me, you’re as green as spring grass after a week of rain.”

“Festiva is in a few days,” he said after a long pause. “Did you have any interest in going? We hold it out in the middle of the desert. It’s quite an event.”

“I didn’t know I was invited.”

“Because of what you are, you have an automatic invite. It might be a good idea to go, meet all the players on the scene.”

“Is it out in the middle of the wide open desert?” Wide-open sky above? Uh oh.

“We set up huge tents, but in essence, yes.”

Tents, that was good. I couldn’t fly off with a tent. “I’ll go.”

“It’s formal. I’ll have a driver take us in.”

Did I just agree to a date? I wasn’t quite sure what I just said yes to, but that last part sounded like a date. He left the room before I could ask. Right, like I would’ve asked.

Chapter Twenty-One

I’d shopped for days. The way I figured, whatever this was, I needed to look spectacular. It was no secret, most men were easier to manipulate when you looked your best. It went way beyond Cormac tonight. This was my opportunity to get information, and I had a whole lot of questions that still needed answering.

I’d told no one about the bloody scene with my mother twenty years ago, or the crazy page left behind, and I still wasn’t going to tell anyone. I also had my own personal stake in what was messing up the portal. I’d tried to broach the subject again with Cormac about getting more involved, but he was putting up a brick wall ever since I’d brought all the people over behind his back. Pleasant, he’d been. Helpful? Not at all. Tonight was going to be all about reconnaissance.

Someone was messing with the portal, and maybe, just maybe, there was a connection between my mother’s attack and what was happening now. If that page was about me, there definitely was. I understood the motives for messing with the portal. Now I needed to figure out what had motivated the attack all those years ago. I was becoming increasingly worried. I didn’t want to be “the last hope of the bereft” but it was looking like that was exactly who I might be. This just sucked. Who in their right mind would want to be the savior of the bereft? Why couldn’t I have turned out to be some long lost Princess of the Rich and Beautiful?

I looked at my reflection one last time. Even with all the hours I’d spent inside lately, my skin still retained its golden glow. My long, naturally blond hair hung almost to my waist in soft platinum waves. The black dress I wore fell quite a bit short of my knees, but not quite high enough to look trashy. It hugged my curves just enough to emphasize my curvy figure without showing every detail. It was the perfect balance of enough, but not too much. I knew I looked my best, and I planned on using it for whatever it was worth tonight.

I guessed there would be alcohol. It was hard to imagine this group having a dry party. In my experience, nothing loosened the lips as much as a few too many drinks. My game plan was to stake out the bar for the drinkers. They were soft targets.

“Are you ready?” I heard Cormac shout from the foyer. A scream from the foyer was not exactly romantic date material. I guess this was business.

“Coming!” I screamed back just as unromantically and put some extra gloss on my lips. Guys loved full glossy lips. I grabbed my dress purse and headed out.

Cormac was standing and looking at his watch when I walked into the foyer, and I was grateful for the few seconds that bought me to hide my reaction. He was in a full tuxedo. I’d never seen a man look sexier in my life. He was primal sex incarnate. It made me resent that this wasn’t a date. I had to remember why I’d turned him down in the first place. I couldn’t go there. No matter how kind he could be, he was dangerous. I couldn’t forget that, but sometimes it was so hard to remember.

He turned his gorgeous pale blue eyes on me. I watched as they ran the length of my body, from my toes to my hair. His eyes stopped on my own with a piercing gaze. It made me remember what his hands felt like, how hot it had been when he’d pressed against me in the elevator.

“Let’s go,” he said and abruptly broke the eye contact.

There was a stretch limo waiting for us outside. I found it empty when I climbed into the back.

“Where are the guys?”

“They had things to handle over there, so they left before us.”

We settled in and rode through the desert in silence. I was used to the silence with him, but the tension was unusually high for a reason I couldn’t quite understand.

It broke the moment the lights started to appear in the distance, or perhaps my excitement made me numb to it. In the middle of nothing, Festiva shone like a beacon. Problem was I wasn’t sure if it would turn out to be a wealth of information and contacts, or a snake pit. I was more inclined to think it would be of the reptilian variety.

“It’s massive.”

“Yes, between the people here, and the people that come over for the celebration, it’s quite large.”

“What are we celebrating again?”

“The signing of the contract and the pact.”

“So it was that big of a deal?”

“It was the beginning of everything.”

The closer we got the more details I could make out. A glimmering gold fabric tented the massive area and reflected the light of the surrounding torches that lined its perimeter. As we pulled up, I saw just how massive it was. Hundreds of people had attended.

Cormac held out his hand to me as I took a step onto the carpeting that covered the sand. As I got a better look, I ran a self-conscious hand over my dress. These people screamed power and money. I wasn’t an insecure person by nature, but I knew when I was outclassed. It might have been the way they stood, or the clothes they wore. I didn’t know if I could describe the atmosphere to anyone not there, but it was beyond daunting.

I ran through the speech I’d given myself countless times in my life, the speech I hadn’t used in years. I’m just as good as these people. The only difference is consequence of birth. They are no better than I am. It was amazing that no matter how far I came I could be yanked back into that insecure little girl’s brain this quickly. Even with a beautiful and expensive dress on, I felt like it was the first day of third grade again, with my hand-me-down clothes.

But, it wasn’t third grade, and I wasn’t her, anymore. I straightened my spine and strolled into the party as if I owned it. It didn’t matter what I felt like on the inside, on the outside I looked calm and cool.

With Cormac by my side, every pair of eyes in the place turned toward us as we made our way through the elaborately decorated area. Lights hung from the top of the tent frames, fountains flowed in every corner. In the center, flame-throwers performed underneath a crystal chandelier, while Arabian looking women danced provocatively.

Cormac grabbed two champagnes from a passing waiter and then started a long procession of introductions, as it seemed that everyone there wanted to meet me. I wasn’t sure why I ranked so high, but I barely had a moment to contemplate it as wave after wave approached.

“Why is everyone so interested in me?” I asked Cormac the second there was a break.

“They might have heard things.”

“What things?”

“That little trick you pulled in the portal was unusual. They think you have power, and these people like power.”

It startled me a little to think that I might have something everyone else wanted. It wasn’t a position I was used to being in. I scanned the crowd, wondering if I could use this to my advantage.

“Are you all right? You look a touch flushed.”

“I’m fine, but I am going to step outside. I need some air. It’s pretty packed in here.”

“If you give me a minute, I can go with you, but I have to check on a couple of things first.”

“Since when did I become someone you needed to tend?” I wanted to bite my tongue the second I said it. I knew why I did it. No matter whether I wanted to or not, regardless of what had transpired between us, I liked him, and I didn’t want to.

“Fine,” he said as he walked away. The words were mild, but the tone held an edge.

It didn’t matter. After I got my answers, and he got his portal issue fixed, I would be leaving. This was a short-term situation. I couldn’t afford emotional entanglements with these people. If I decided to start laying roots, this wasn’t the garden I had in mind.

I stepped away quickly, before I was cornered by anyone else. It was nice to be away from the crowd, getting a breather. I’d never excelled at small talk, and for all that these people weren’t exactly people, they sure liked their small talk.

Once I was outside, I was too nervous to step far from the tent, and made sure I stayed within reach of it, just in case I started floating or something else odd. Hidden in the shadows, I was safely out of site when I heard Tracker speaking to someone, not even ten feet away.

“What the fuck happened?”

“It wasn’t my fault. It was her.”

“I’ve about had it. You need to fix this. We’ve lost all the progress we’ve made.”

“I’ll handle it.”

“You’d better. Come on, I don’t want to talk here.”

I watched the two men cross the distance to enter the tent opening. They had to be talking about the portal. I rushed back into the tent, and scanned the heads for Cormac’s. He was across the room, but it took me forever to get there, with every third person stopping me to talk.

When I finally got within reach of him, he was talking to someone I couldn’t see. I tapped his back to get his attention, as it was such a close press, it was hard to circle around.

When he turned toward me, I lost my voice. Lacey stood in front of him, looking up at him doe eyed. I was friends with Lacey. She was a good person. So why did I want to rip her eyes out when I saw her staring at him like that?

“Jo!” she greeted me excitedly, and made me feel that much worse for my reaction to seeing her. “Cormac just told me you were here.”

Cormac? When did these two get on a first name basis?

“What are you doing here?”

“Cormac asked me if I wanted to work it.”

It wasn’t until that minute that I realized she was in a server outfit. It would’ve appeased my newly jealous nature, except their body language told a different story. If they weren’t sleeping together now, they might be soon. They stood shoulder to shoulder facing me. I stood alone. You ever want to know who’s with whom in a party; that was as clear as body language could get.

“Everything okay?”

My need to tell him about Tracker’s suspicious conversation fell from my brain, as I grappled for something calm to discuss.

“Hello, everyone.” I heard Vitor’s voice come up at my side. All annoyance at the stunt he had tried to pull disappeared, as he leaned down and kissed my cheek.

“Vitor, it’s nice to see you.” He all of a sudden became my life raft, as I felt emotionally swept down the river.

“Yes, Vitor, it’s great to see you.” The acid in Cormac’s voice wasn’t hidden. I turned to see Cormac’s gaze eyeing my hand that was now resting on Vitor’s arm. I wasn’t even aware I had grasped him until that moment. Cormac’s hand then disappeared to rest on the small of Lacey’s back, and I saw the hope flare in her large eyes as he did it.

I was annoyed with him for leading her on, but she wasn’t stupid. She only believed what she wanted. Nothing I could say to her would warn her off, not when she was so clearly infatuated. It made me angry with him for using her, and angry with her for no reason at all, or not one I’d thought up yet.

“Would you like to get a drink with me?” Vitor asked perceptively.

“Sure,” I replied to Vitor. “Have fun,” I tossed back to them over my shoulder.

I felt Cormac’s gaze on my back, as Vitor parted the crowd for us as we made our way across the expanse.

“Why are there humans working this? Isn’t that risky?”

“No, we always have them. Normally nothing happens that would raise alarm. If it does, we handle it,” Vitor explained.

I knew exactly how they handled it and I fought the urge to find Lacey and drag her out of there. That might be enough reason on its own.

“I’m glad we have a moment. I really wanted to speak with you about the other day.”

“You acted crazy,” I told him. Now that I had some space from Cormac, my brain was remembering just how annoyed I had been with Vitor.

“I’m sorry. I was upset because I know you would be safer and more comfortable among us.”

“You should have made an offer, instead of trying to force the issue.” We stopped at one of the various bars set up in the corner, slightly tucked away, and I asked the bartender for a shot of tequila. Vitor signaled for him to bring two.

“I tried; I’ve been looking for you ever since I found out.”

“Why don’t we just talk straight? You want me to help you operate the portal, and if I wanted to help you, I would have. Don’t ever try to force my hand, again.”

“Yes, you’re right. I did want your help, but once I found out you were of our clan, I was honestly trying to look out for your best interests.”

“I don’t need you to. How did you find out I had Fae blood, anyway?”

“Let’s just leave it at: I’ve got some connections.”

“It doesn’t matter. The point is I resent you interfering.”

“I know you are tied to him now. I’m sorry if my actions contributed to that.”

“You never know what will happen when you back someone into a corner.” I threw my shot back and felt the burn trail down my throat.

“I would undo it if I could.”

“No need.” I didn’t hate him. In all honesty I liked Vitor. I wasn’t sure why, but something in my gut said he was decent guy, whether I admitted it to him or not. But, he’d screwed up my situation even worse, and that was saying something.

From that point forward, the night dragged on at an unforgiving pace. I felt like I was a zombie giving obligatory replies to mindless questions. As distracted as I was, I still couldn’t keep my eyes from wandering, tracking Cormac across the room, and all too often I’d spot Lacey not far away.

I still needed to talk to him, though. Tracker had a hand in whatever was going wrong. The sooner this whole mess got sorted out, the sooner I could leave.

Chapter Twenty-Two

I stumbled through the penthouse the next day, more than slightly hung over. At some point last night, without meaning to, I’d had one too many tequilas.

“Cormac!” I held my hand to my forehead and moaned. I needed to keep my own voice down.

“I’m in here.”

I slogged along toward his bedroom. As I entered, he walked out of his bathroom, just freshly showered with a towel slung low on his hips. God, life was so unfair sometimes.

“What did you need?”

He just stood there, one towel away from naked, his skin tan and glistening. I forced myself to look only at his eyes and refused to ask him to get dressed. Way too obvious.

“I want to talk to you about Tracker.”

“What about him?”

“I think he’s behind the problems with the portal.”

“I’ve considered it, but no, I don’t think so.” He walked over to his closet, pulling out a pair of slacks and a dress shirt and laid them on the bed. The idea he might start dressing while I stood there sent me into a near panic, and I started babbling off the conversation I had overheard outside the tent last night to him, and watched his profile for a reaction.

“Remember when you brought over that kid the first time?” He stopped fiddling with his clothes and half sat on his night table, his towel hanging precariously.

“How could I forget?”

“I’d felt a disturbance then. Whatever has been going wrong was still in play that night. That kid was Tracker’s baby brother. Tracker wouldn’t hurt him in a million years. A lot of things are debatable, but he loves that kid.”

“Well, then, who do you think it is?”

“I think it’s Vitor.”

“No. It’s not Vitor.”

“And you know this because of the handful of times you’ve met him?”

“It’s not him. I know he’s desperate to bring his people over, and I’m not saying he’s completely innocent, but I don’t think it’s him.”

His towel still hung on as he crossed the floor toward me, and stopped close enough that I could smell the heady masculine scent of him.

“What do you have going on with him?”

“Nothing. What do you have going on with Lacey?” I had to force my eyes to stay on his face.

“Did that bother you?”

“Not at all, I just thought we were onto the portion of the conversation where we discussed our personal involvements.”

“So you do have a thing for Vitor?” His tone was an octave lower when he asked.

A warning pricked at my senses but I still said, “God, you’re thick headed sometimes. Just stay away from Lacey. I don’t want her messed up in all this.”

“She’s a grown woman, she can make her own choices.”

It was time to make my exit before things got heated, one way or another. As I walked back to my room, all I could think of was, he was wrong. Well, that wasn’t the only thing I could think of, but it was the only thought I was willing to admit. Tracker had something to do with this, and if Cormac wasn’t going to listen, I’d handle it on my own.

Decided in my new course of action, it was around noon when I hit the casino floor, showered and dressed. First stop, Jonny. What they say about bartenders always knowing the comings and goings had more than a grain of truth in it.

“Where have you been?” he asked me when I found him carrying out bottles to stock the bar.

“I took some time off, family issues.”

“Really? I heard you were shacked up with Cormac.”

“I’m not shacked up with him.” The pout that appeared on his face told me I shouldn’t have decided to be so forthcoming, all of a sudden. When had I ever had an aversion to lying?

“It certainly looks like it. Especially now that I hear you’re living with him.” His voice held a slight edge and I wondered just how deep his crush was.

“It’s a long story. Have you seen Tracker?”

“Tracker? What do you want with him? Didn’t you guys get off on a bad foot, or are you looking to date him now, too?”

“No, I’m not and yes, we did, but I wanted to talk to him. Have you seen him? Jonny, please don’t give me a hard time. I really can’t deal with it right now.”

“He’s walking off the floor behind you,” he said, while he tilted his head in the direction he meant.

I snapped my head around and saw that same ugly red leather jacket, as I watched him walk out the entrance. I really did hate that jacket.

“Thanks, Jonny!” I thought I heard him ask me something, but I’d already started to walk after Tracker as quickly as I could, without drawing attention to myself. I paused at the entrance. If he had turned right, it would have led him into the Lacard mall, left led to the main entrance and the Vegas Strip. I spotted him walking out onto the Vegas Strip and I froze.

Other than Festiva, I hadn’t ventured outside in weeks, ever since I had awoken stuck to the ceiling. I’d made excuses for why I hadn’t needed to. How the Lacard was its own contained world. Who needed to go outside? Nothing out there but the world right? But there was no more stalling. I’d have to get over this, or be stuck here indefinitely. I’d never be able to prove my case against Tracker if I couldn’t even get up the nerve to leave the building.

As I stood there thinking, I knew he was getting farther and farther away. That’s it, I wasn’t a coward, get yourself together I told myself. Dodd had been right, I wasn’t really that afraid of death, but I was terrified of heights. That’s what made it even more ridiculous. If I started to float, it wasn’t the possible plummet to the ground that scared the shit out of me, but the view before I crashed.

I yanked the baseball cap from my back pocket, shoved my hair up underneath it and lowered my sunglasses onto my face. Admittedly, it wasn’t the best disguise ever, but if I kept my distance it could work.

As I followed him the couple of blocks over to the Bellagio, the Lacard’s toughest competition, I stayed close to anything I thought I could grab onto in case I started floating. He didn’t go in, just paused by the fountain while the water show played. The water did its dance to an Italian opera classic that I recognized but couldn’t name.

He was fidgety and repeatedly scanned the crowd. When his eyes darted my way, I ducked behind a group taking pictures, pretty confident he hadn’t seen me. Oh yes, he was looking for someone. Could this P.I. stuff really be this simple? Just tail and wait? Those guys got paid too much.

Tracker’s eyes land on a middle-aged guy in a dark suit, he scanned the area again, but returned his gaze right back to the guy. I pulled out my phone and snapped a couple of shots of the man he watched, but then the guy walked right past him. When Tracker didn’t move for a couple of minutes, I started to wonder if I was wrong.

Suddenly, Tracker took off in the same direction. I followed Tracker, who followed the guy for another few minutes. The guy unexpectedly ducked into one of those quickie medical clinics. Tracker followed less than five minutes later and I knew I was on to something. Tucking myself into a dark corner, I got comfortable to wait it out.

“Cormac is looking for you.” I yelped, as Dodd’s voice startled me twenty minutes later.

“Did you follow me? I thought we were done with that stuff?”

“I didn’t follow you. Cormac told me where you were.”

“How did he know?”

He just raised his eyebrows and threw his hands up in the air.

“What does he want?”

“No clue.”

I weighed my decision. I would surely be spotted if I stayed here, and Dodd wouldn’t leave easily. Better to take the knowledge I had than blow my cover. Tracker might try to cover his movements better if he knew I was watching him.

“Let’s go.” I shot past him and sprinted from one large object to the next large object.

“What’s the rush? And why does it look like any moment you are going to hug a building or a bench?”

I put my arm through his, figuring he was a decent anchor, and I slowed suddenly. “No rush. Want to stop for a latte on the way back?”

He looked down at me oddly. “Are you hitting on me?”

“No, what a bizarre thing to ask.”

“Yes, I’m the one acting bizarre.”

“Are you going to get a latte with me, or not?”

“Sure.”

“So, what’s the status with you and Cormac? Was he really pissed off at you after you and I ran the portal?”

“I thought he was going to knock me out. Thank god, he didn’t figure out the lead was fake.”

“Is that normal for you guys? Hitting each other?”

“No, but that’s how pissed he was. He got over it, though.”

“When I didn’t see you around for a couple, I was wondering.”

“What he do to you?”

“Nothing, really, other than I’m banned from anything to do with the portal.”

“That’s not good. How we going to get all these people back?”

“He’s going to have to cave.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“Maybe since we did it last time with no problems, he’ll be a bit more relaxed. Plus, I signed some sort of fealty contract you guys have. That should make him feel more secure, right?”

“What did you sign?”

“That fealty contract. You know what I’m talking about, right? I thought it was standard?”

“Oh, yeah, that. It’s been so long I forgot about it.”

“So, then, it’s normal?” I asked, looking for a little more reassurance now that his reaction had been so strange.

“Completely, don’t worry about it.” The noise and proximity of the people in the crowded coffee house effectively stopped our conversation.

Chapter Twenty-Three

“What’s going on?” I asked as I walked into the penthouse. Cormac was leaning over a table as he peered at papers splayed out in front of him.

“Have a seat.” He still hadn’t looked up at me.

Oh, god, this wasn’t going to be a good conversation. Great, what was his problem?

He finally straightened out and rubbed the back of his neck. He looked over at me, let out a sigh, and just shook his head.

“Let me start by saying that this does not change my opinion on your earlier actions,” he said.

I watched him walk over and sit on the couch opposite me. Normally, he stood when he talked. He’d walk over to the window and watch the skyline or walk to the bar. He didn’t sit that often and when he had, I never liked what he had to say. And if he did sit, he would lean forward, ready to pounce at any moment. He didn’t lean back and recline the way he was now.

“Unfortunately, I can’t see any way around it. I’m going to need you to get in the portal when we operate it again, like you did last time.” He leaned his head against the back of the sofa facing the ceiling, eyes closed.

Knowing he couldn’t see me, I didn’t try to temper the gloating smile. I wasn’t sure I could. Mr. Know It All just had to admit he needed me. This was definitely going to buy me some leverage.

“Well?” he said. “Let’s hear it.”

“I want my own place while I’m here.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I took off the tail. That will have to be enough.”

“Who cares if you took off the tail? You seem to know my every movement anyway. And how exactly is that?”

“I can’t disclose that information. But, once I dissolve the second contract you signed, that will end. How about a trust in your name?”

“How much?”

“Five hundred thousand. It will pay for all your student loans. You would have a fresh start after this is done.”

The idea made me want to do cartwheels, but I wasn’t going to admit it. If I verbally relented, god knows what else he’d try to gain. If you gave Cormac an inch, he took a football field.

“Agreed. What’s the deal with the portal? Still no idea what’s going wrong?”

He ran his hand through his hair, and I knew the answer before he even said the word no.

“The only thing I can figure out is that they must have one or more of us pulling the radiation from the other side. Pulling just enough that it offsets our force and stalls in the portal. That’s why what you did was so effective. I’m still mad that you did it. You had no idea whether it would work or not, but it seems to be the only option right now.”

“I agree. So what’s the plan?”

“You are now officially on the team. But, I want to be there every time. No exceptions. I’m still not completely comfortable with this. I think that whoever is behind this, is going to try a different tactic, soon. When they can’t shut it down one way, they’ll try another. I don’t want you to get stuck in the crossfire.”

“When I was out, I happened to notice Tracker.”

“You just happened to notice him?”

“Yes, it was a pure coincidence.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything else.

“So, like I was saying, I noticed Tracker, and I think he was meeting with another man. It seemed shady.”

“Well? What happened exactly?”

“It looked like he followed him into a doctor’s office.”

“I don’t want you following him again.”

“I wasn’t following him today.”

“Don’t do it again. He’s dangerous.”

“I can handle him.”

“Why are you so goddamn stubborn? What happened to ‘it’s not my problem’?”

“That was before I realized how much you and these people were going to mess up my world.” As I said the words, I realized how true they were. This was my problem. I couldn’t walk away, even if I wanted to, not when I knew the consequences. My whole life I had been about what was best for Jo, and this was when I had to decide to be a bigger person? Had my conscience simply been waiting for the biggest cluster fuck it could find?

“I’m going to handle it.”

“Whatever, Boss.” I dropped the subject. I had no desire to argue with him about an order I had no intention of following.

We sat in silence for a while before I decided to broach the next subject. “I saw a picture of your father once. It was in an article about how he started a real estate business that you grew and eventually used to fund building this casino. He was in his thirties in the picture. You looked just like him.”

“Yes, I did. He’s passed on now.”

“I saw that. I’m sorry.”

“As to that matter, I’ve got a few people working on yours, but they’ve been coming up dry. Is there anything you remember at all that might give them a lead?”

“No.” I’d said it too quickly. Just call me Captain Obvious why don’t you.

“I don’t know what secrets you’re holding on to, but maybe it could help. If you want this information, I would think you would want to tell them.”

“It’s not important.”

“You don’t know that. If you want to find them, you need to give us everything you have.”

“I’m doing my end, you do yours. I’m not obligated to hand over every little nitty-gritty detail of my life to you.”

“Really? Every nitty-gritty detail? Your life is a whopping black hole!”

“This conversation is over.” I got off the couch before he could continue but I didn’t make it out of the room in time to miss his last comment.

“Go ahead, Jo. Just keep running.”

I slammed my door in response. He didn’t know me.

Chapter Twenty-Four

“Why am I getting calls that you’ve been standing here all day?”

I turned to look at Cormac over the rim of my cup as I sipped my latte. “I haven’t been here all day. You should tell your spies to be more accurate.”

“You’ve been here a while.”

“I like watching the people.”

“Why watch them through the glass? Why don’t you go outside and sit on the bench, since you are becoming such a people person?”

“I’m happy right where I am.”

“Dodd told me you were acting kind of funny the other day.”

“Do you know every single thing I do?”

He nodded. “Come with me.”

“Where?”

“You’ll like it.”

I followed him up to the penthouse hallway, but instead of making a right, we made a left. He opened a door on the opposite end and I stepped in as he flicked the lights on. A staircase loomed in front of me but we were already on the top floor. And then it clicked. The roof.

“I completely forgot, I’ve got something I was supposed to do.”

I bolted toward the door but he stood in front and blocked my way. “You can do this.”

I dropped all pretenses. The gig was up. “No, I can’t. I really, really can’t.”

“You have to get past this.”

“Nope, I don’t think so. This place is really quite large. I can do everything I need to here.”

“Listen to me, if this was a phobia of something stupid, like snakes, we could work with it, no big deal. Even if it was a fear of something stupid, like, milk. Still not a big deal.” He grabbed my shoulders and angled my face towards his. “Jo, you won’t go outside. We can’t just avoid this!”

“I think I can.”

“I know you like to run.”

“You have a gym. You’ve really done quite well planning this place out. I have no reason to leave.”

“So you are agreeing to live here, forever?”

“You know what? You suck,” I said and plopped down on the stairs. I wouldn’t go up and I couldn’t go out.

He sat down next to me and I was extremely conscious of his side grazing mine.

“We have to do this.”

I didn’t say anything, just rested my forehead on my knees.

“Jo, you know I’m right.”

“I’m scared.” I didn’t look up.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what happened that night. I think you’ve been repressing your abilities so much that when you sleep is the only time your subconscious can let loose a bit.”

“I was stuck. What if that happens outside?”

“I think you got stuck because you woke up and panicked. Your subconscious didn’t realize it was feeling the ceiling. It thought you were stuck to the floor.”

“What if you are wrong?” I finally lifted my head to look at him.

“Let’s try. I promise I’ll hold onto you the entire time, unless you tell me to let go.” He held out his hand to me and I took it. It reminded me of another time he had held out his hand to me and I’d hesitated. I was starting to trust him.

I climbed the stairs to the roof with leaden feet.

“It’s going to be okay.”

I nodded but I was sick.

When he opened the door, I was awestruck. I expected to see a plain roof with a lousy tar floor. What I got was a nighttime wonderland.

Real grass covered the ground; a pool glistened in the center, with lights glowing all along a glass enclosure that ran the perimeter of the roof. Full-grown citrus trees grew next to arbors and stone pathways led to wrought iron chairs. It was magical.

The sound of Desert Rose by Sting filled the air. As we walked forward, I half expected a wood nymph to spring out in front of me.

“This is my favorite spot,” he said as we stopped about ten feet from the edge of the roof with its magnificent view. There were two giant weeping willows trimmed in such a way as to create an alcove, and clumps of wild flowers lay at our feet.

“How is this possible?”

“The trees?”

“Everything.”

“I’m the only one on the floor beneath. A huge chunk of it is taken up by the pool and the tree root systems.”

“It’s incredible.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

I felt his hand pull from mine but my panic was short lived as I felt his hand come around my back. He guided my other hand to his shoulder.

“I don’t dance.”

He pulled me into a soft embrace and started to move to the music. “Relax. We’re just friends hanging out on a rooftop.”

I started to move with him as I looked everywhere but his face. It was almost too easy. Our body’s fit together perfectly as we moved in sync. I could feel his heat surround me as we danced in a magical garden with the lights of Vegas around us.

When I finally looked up at him, I knew what I’d been avoiding. Even when he was relaxed as he was now, his intensity drew me. When I looked into his eyes, I felt laid bare. As if he could see right to the core of me. It drew me in as much as it frightened me.

I raised my face to his. Right now, I didn’t care what might come of us. I just wanted to feel him. I saw understanding in his eyes but instead of meeting me, he pulled back, and my world shifted on its axis. Had he just rejected me?

“How do you feel?”

“Hmmm? I’m fine.”

“I’m not holding your hand anymore.”

So wrapped up in the moment, everything else had fallen from notice. As I realized I now stood alone, I had to fight the urge not to cling to the closest tree, but I didn’t.

“You aren’t floating away.” He smiled but awkwardness hung in the air. Although nothing was said, we both knew what had just happened.

“Yes, I guess I’m cured. Mostly, anyway.”

“It’ll take a while to completely get over it.”

“Yes.” My mind was racing so fast it was hard to even keep track of what he was saying. “I’m actually a little cold. Let’s go back in.”

As we left the roof, I pondered to myself how quickly things change. The pursued to the rejected, and what a bitter taste it left.

Chapter Twenty-Five

While I cleaned out my trailer fridge, I thought of the last visitors from Festiva who had left this morning. I hadn’t been here in a while, and although I was about as far from Susie homemaker as you got, the milk and few other provisions I did have were long past their prime.

I’d come over here this morning to pay the rent for the next three months—working for Cormac paid generously. I also needed some space. It was hard getting use to this much togetherness, especially with how rejected I felt. I needed somewhere private to lick my wounds. I wasn’t used to having people around constantly. If it wasn’t Cormac, it was Dodd or Buzz. Then there was Ben. I don’t know where he had gone for the last week but he was there all the time, now.

I couldn’t even leave without the Cormac interrogation of where I was headed, another thing that drove me crazy, lately. I wanted to walk out the door for once without everyone having to know where I was going, and what I was doing. When I told him I was headed here, he couldn’t understand why. It was perhaps the stupidest question he had asked. Eventually this portal issue would be resolved, was I suppose to live in a tent in the desert, then? I knew he figured I’d have the money, but maybe I didn’t want to blow it on a place I didn’t need. Maybe I liked my trailer, even if no one else did.

It had been a little stressful getting here, since I still had my fear-of-floating-away anxiety going on, but it hadn’t happened once while I was awake. Since being on the roof the other night, I was starting to feel confident that maybe I wouldn’t drift off into space. I guess there was one positive thing that came out of it.

Walking around my little space, I was so glad I’d come. I lounged on my couch and flipped on my crappy little TV. It was a second hand couch, I stared at a twenty-inch screen, and I was happy. The setting sun filtered in a warm glow through my window, and I completely relaxed for the first time in weeks.

I heard my phone ring in my purse, and I wanted to ignore it. Only Cormac and his men called me. I wanted, no needed, a Cormac free zone, but I knew if I didn’t answer, I’d most likely have someone pounding on the door, soon. I gave up and dug my phone out.

“Hello?”

“Where are you?”

“I’m at my place, Cormac. I told you I would be here.”

“When are you coming back?”

“I’m staying here for tonight,” I said and then waited.

“Okay. When you coming back?”

I would have fallen over if I hadn’t been sitting. No fight?

“I’ll be back at nine.”

No argument, he just hung up. That was easy. Perhaps I was toeing the line too much. Nah, that couldn’t be it.

I looked out the window, knowing that there wasn’t much time before full nightfall, and quickly grabbed my worn out sneakers. I hadn’t been out running in weeks. I’d gone on the treadmill in the gym of the casino, but I longed to be outside. I wanted to feel my body moving, instead of feeling like a gerbil on a wheel.

I stretched my legs, then ran at a sprint because the world lay open and I could. I pushed all anxiety away, refusing even to think of it. I quickly became winded, and then fell into a slower steady pace. I didn’t make my way back to my place until a light sheen of sweat covered me and there was only the tiniest glimmer of light left in the sky.

My panting, and my complete physical relaxation from the strenuous exertion, added to my being oblivious to the two men until one of them had my arm wrenched behind my back.

The other thug, the one I could see, circled in front of me.

“You sure this is her?” He was huge, with a thick barrel chest, and greasy hair.

“She looks identical to the picture,” the guy who held me said.

“Okay, let’s get her to the car before anyone sees us.”

I fell limp, lulling the guy holding me into a false sense of security. I didn’t look like a threat, and I didn’t want to let them know I might be one. Might, I wasn’t sure, myself, how much of one I really was. I saw their car not twenty feet away, and I wanted to shoot myself for not having noticed it before. Didn’t matter, as long as these two weren’t Keepers, I could take them. I’d prefer the odds of one at a time, hell, I’d prefer a lot of things to be different, but that wasn’t working out too hot for me.

The larger of the two men walked ahead, clearly not concerned about me, which left me with just the one in near proximity. I’d never done it blind before, but I shot the energy through my arms, hoping for good contact.

It wasn’t perfect, but he let out a yelp and released me long enough to finish the job. My knee connected between his legs and I blasted him full force. Before I’d finished, a hand grabbed my shoulder, and ripped me away from my current victim. With no time to dodge the huge fist aimed right at my face, I concentrated on throwing my hands on his arm when he connected. It hurt like a son of a gun when he did, and I was afraid I’d lose consciousness, but I held on. I’d managed to throw enough juice at him that he was clutching his arm in agony. I wasn’t sure how long I’d have, so I took off at a run with no cell phone or purse.

I couldn’t find a single pay phone. Ever since cell phones, they’ve become increasingly harder and harder to find. An hour later, I was still jogging at a steady pace and had just made it to the Vegas Strip. I knew I must have looked a wreck because of the number of stares I received.

I’d given up on stopping to call, and just jogged the whole way over. My legs burned worse than the last marathon I’d run, and I never thought I’d feel so grateful to be back at Lacard.

No one questioned me as I walked in. They all recognized me. I wasn’t sure if Cormac handed my picture out or what, but lately I could do whatever I wanted without so much as a raised eyebrow.

My feet were sore by the time I stepped out of the elevator into the hallway that led to the penthouse. The hall was empty, which was slightly unusual, but not unheard of when Cormac was home. You couldn’t get off of his floor without entering a code, anyway, so it wasn’t necessary.

The moment I opened the door, I knew something was odd. I just didn’t know what. Then I noticed the smell of perfume that lingered in the air, and it clawed at my brain. I knew that scent.

I turned the corner to find Lacey’s back to me, her hand rested on Cormac’s thigh. His eyes shifted upward to mine instantly and locked.

I wasn’t sure what he saw there, but I knew what I felt like. It stabbed right to the heart of me. While I attacked, he’d been trying to screw the only friend I’d ever had.

The other night suddenly made sense to me. He’d moved on. I said nothing because I knew I didn’t have any valid cause to be upset. I stepped out of the room before Lacey even noticed my presence, and closed my door as silently as possible. Then I lay on my bed in the dark.

When a knock sounded on my door less than five minutes later, I wasn’t sure who it was, Lacey or Cormac. It didn’t make a difference. I didn’t want to see either of them. Lacey was still the only friend I had and I didn’t want to not be happy for her, but it was hard and I needed a little time to adjust. And Cormac, well, I just didn’t want to see him.

“I’m just getting in the shower.”

“Let me in.” It was Cormac’s baritone voice.

“I’ll come out when I’m done.”

My eyes shot to the door as it swung open.

“What the hell happened to you? You’re a mess.”

I had a vague idea of what I probably looked like. I knew my nose had bled when the thug punched me in the face, I was also aware my torn shirt and who knew how much dirt clung to me.

“How did you get in? Where is Lacey?”

“I sent Lacey home. Told her I forgot about a meeting.”

“You never forget anything.”

“Yeah, well, she bought it.”

“How did you get in?”

“Hanger. Now what happened to you? You’re a wreck.”

“Two guys jumped me on my way back from a jog.” I gave him a complete rundown of the short events.

“Did they say anything else?”

“Nothing much. Just compared me to a photo they had and agreed I was the correct target.”

“Let me look at your nose.”

“My nose is fine.”

“It looks broken.”

“Ow! Get off!” I said as he leaned over me and started touching my face.

“We’ve got to get that set unless you want to look like a former boxer for the rest of your days. I’ll call the doctor.”

“I’ll do it myself.”

“You’ll never be able to do it yourself.”

He reached in again to touch my face and I knocked his hand away.

“Why are you angry?”

“I’m not,” I screamed.

I pushed off the bed and stepped around him into the bathroom. My reflection caught me a bit off guard; blood had dripped down my face and made a trail down the front of my ripped shirt. Cormac’s reflection over my left shoulder grimaced.

“We have to get that set. Your bones are already meshing together.”

“I’m handling it.” I gently ran my fingers along the crooked bridge of my nose, trying to determine the best way to proceed.

“You have no right to be mad.”

“I’m not sure if you noticed, but I don’t have a lot of friends. Do you have to fuck the only one I have?”

“I haven’t fucked her. She’s a nice girl. Did you want me to wait around forever?”

I didn’t want to admit it, but yes, that is exactly what I had wanted him to do. Just because I rejected him, didn’t mean he was supposed to move to the next girl. What kind of crap was that?

“Why her?”

“Why not? Did you have someone else in mind?”

Unfortunately, I did, whether I wanted to admit it or not. Not willing to go there, I ignored the question and tried to figure out what to do about my nose. He was right, if I didn’t get it straightened out soon, I would indeed look like an ex-boxer. I gripped the bottom portion of my nose and saw Cormac shake his head.

“You’re going to do it wrong.”

“Shut up. I’ve got this under control.”

I closed my eyes, took a large breath and tried to ram it into place. The pain was horrific and it took a minute to catch my breath and get control. Once I did, I looked at my handy work. It looked worse than when I had started.

“I told you. Now turn around and let me see how much worse you made it.”

I complied out of a sheer panic of vanity. I’d always been pretty, and I suddenly realized I didn’t want to be any other way.

“We might not have time to call the doctor. You’re really starting to set up.”

“That quickly?”

“It happens like that sometimes.”

“You’re right, I can’t do it. Fix it.”

“It’s going to hurt like hell.”

“Just do it.”

“You sure?”

“I don’t want a crooked nose. Do it!”

I thought he was going to argue with me, but he just snapped my bones back. The pain shot through my head and I ran over to the toilet and threw up what little I had eaten.

A wet towel hung near my face after I finished.

“I thought you were going to give me a warning first.”

“Just makes it worse.”

“Not possible. It didn’t feel that bad when it happened.”

“You had adrenaline pumping through you. I’m putting the guys back on you.”

“No, you are not.”

“Yes, I am.”

“You gave me your word.”

“When you weren’t being attacked.”

“So you are breaking it?”

He stood silently for a moment. I knew I had hit a nerve. “How about no guards as long as you are on the casino grounds? You take someone if you go anywhere else.”

I was about to open my mouth in protest.

“Work with me.”

“Fine. Now back up. You’re crowding me.” Every cell in my body was at full alert with him so close.

He didn’t move an inch. “Sooner or later, you are going to have to work on this intimacy problem you have. You wonder why I’m interested in Lacey, why I didn’t touch you on the rooftop? Because of this.”

I looked into his eyes. “Don’t you get it? I’m broken, and not the kind that can be fixed. This is who I am and who I’m always going to be. And I’m sick of hearing you tell me what’s wrong, so either deal with it or I’m leaving.” His eyes were so intense on me it chilled my skin and I forgot any pain my nose had caused. Unsettled, I folded and moved first, leaving him standing alone in the bathroom as I walked out the door.

“So does that mean you are admitting there is a problem?” I heard him yell as I walked to the other room.

Chapter Twenty-Six

“Maybe we should hold hands like we did with the radiation problem?” I asked as I banged the back of my head against the hard wall that was acting as my seat back.

“No, this part doesn’t work like that,” Dodd explained.

“Maybe I should jump in it before it slams shut?” I offered.

“Not a chance. It could crush you,” said Cormac.

It was almost two in the morning and they still couldn’t get the portal up and running for longer than a minute. The two people who were traveling back had been waiting in the other room for four hours now.

“Boss?”

“What’s up, Buzz?”

“They’re getting pretty impatient over there and Tracker just showed. He wants to know why his people haven’t crossed, yet.”

“Tell them it’s off for tonight. I’ll come over and talk to Tracker in a couple of minutes.”

I leaned my head back against the wall and closed my eyes. This had just gone from bad to disastrous. I heard the click of the door shutting and opened my eyes just in time to see Dodd’s hand slam against the table. Cormac stood deathly still, just staring at where the portal should have hovered open, displaying a beautiful lavender sky.

I stood and stamped the pins and needles out of my foot. “There has to be someone with answers. I can’t believe you guys don’t have an owner’s manual or something.”

“I wish,” Cormac replied.

“Well, who trained you? You must have had some sort of mentor?”

“That would be Hammond. The guy I can’t find. Let me go get this over with.” I watched Cormac’s heavy steps as he left the room.

“What’s he going to say?” I asked Dodd.

“I don’t know, but he’ll buy us some time. I’ll be right back. I’m going to see if I can help things along a little.”

“Yeah, go. I’ll be here doing nothing.”

Alone in the room, I ran my hand down one of the ebony monoliths, wishing I could unlock a problem that people so much more knowledgeable than me were stymied by, and I was frustrated. Knowing the room was soundproofed, I let out a scream that contained all my pent up anger at the situation, my repressed anger at always being the underdog, and most of all, I released my disgust of myself at being helpless.

The lights in the room flickered off, and were quickly replaced by the portal bursting open. I’d never seen it so large in any of the times I’d been there. It shot toward the ceiling and pressed from wall to wall, leaving dents where the walls strained to contain it.

On the other side, I saw two men, one I didn’t recognize, but the other was the guy in the suit who had gone into the doctor’s office with Tracker. Both of their faces gaped open in shock.

“Who are you?” the man in the suit hollered down the length of the portal.

“Who are you?” I hollered back. Who’d this guy think he was?

He stepped into the portal and started making his way to me.

I didn’t want to panic, but I had a real bad feeling about this guy. I considered making a break for the door, but I didn’t want to run. Something about the idea of running from this guy made me mad, so I stood my ground.

As long as he wasn’t immune to my skills, I could take him. He was about five feet ten inches and of average build. His appearance gave me the impression that he wasn’t the type to get physical, or at least, he didn’t look like he was used to getting dirty, might be a more accurate way to describe him.

His shoes hitting the interior floor announced his official exit from the portal.

“Who are you?”

His voice was deep, even now that he wasn’t yelling. I saw the silver at his temples and slight wrinkling at the corner of his eyes. Even without this display of age, I could sense his experience by his carriage and the confidence he held within himself.

“Not going to answer?” he asked.

“I’m not sure why you think I owe you any answers?”

“It doesn’t matter. I might not know what hole you dragged yourself out of, but I know who you are, regardless.”

“Excuse me? Would you care to elaborate?”

“You stand there like your tough and confident, but I know the truth that lies beneath the act. Now, it’s time you crawl back to the gutter and get out of my business.”

“You’re right, I do come from the gutter, and guess what? That’s how I fight too.” Before I gave him even a second to react, I kicked him in the stomach. I threw everything I had into it and he fell backward into the portal. The rage over his words, and my fear that he was correct, fueled my energy as it shot out of me. He’d been so confident in his physical superiority his relaxed posture had made him an easy mark and he flew back a couple feet into the portal.

A second after he hit the portal, I heard the door swing open. As I turned to see Cormac and Dodd walking in, I felt a swoosh of air as the portal instantly collapsed with a force so strong it created an aftershock that shook the very walls.

“Oh, god!” I said frantically, looking from Dodd to Cormac. “I gotta get this thing back open!”

“What the…”

“Cormac, I just shoved a man in there before it collapsed!”

“What the hell happened in here?” Dodd finally articulated. The two of them circled the room, the smell of dust in the air.

“Whatever you did dented the walls.”

I turned to where Cormac stood, and I saw the cracks that were running floor to ceiling. It looked like an explosion had happened.

My hands started to shake violently and I started gasping for air. It felt like I couldn’t catch my breath no matter how hard I tried.

“It’s okay. Just relax,” Cormac said, his arm around me.

“I killed him.” I’d done horrible things, but this was a first. I’d hurt people, but I had never, ever, killed a single soul.

“Who?” His hand was rubbing my back, and as much as I wanted to fall into the curve of his arm, I thought of the man’s words before he died.

“The guy I saw with Tracker. I killed him. I pushed him into the portal and then it collapsed.”

“What did he look like?”

With shaky hands, I reached in and pulled out my phone, flipping through the pictures.

“This is him.” I handed my phone to Cormac, Dodd looking over his shoulder.

“I can’t make out anything. It’s a complete blur.”

“It’s not like I could ask him to stand still and pose.”

“Can you make anything of this?” Cormac held the phone closer to Dodd.

“Nothing.”

“You’re sure it was the same guy you saw with Tracker? One hundred percent sure?”

“Yes.”

“If she’s right, then it is Tracker behind all of this. How’s he been pulling it off? We’ve been trailing him for months,” Dodd said.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were watching him when I told you my suspicions?”

“I thought I had ruled him out. When he had us take his little brother through, I really thought he was innocent.”

“So what do you want to do?”

“He didn’t leave long ago. Call the guys upstairs and put a tail on him. I want every piece of property he has watched. I want anyone he’s ever spoken to in the last year watched. I want to know a complete list of the Keepers who are cooperating with him, every single last one who is involved.”

Dodd pulled out his cell phone, and walked off to make the calls. I turned and watched as Cormac ran his hand along the dent on the floor, then he turned and looked to me.

“What the hell did you do? It looks like a bomb went off in here. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

I just shrugged my shoulders. I had no clue.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

It had taken a week for the Keeper construction crew and engineers to fix the portal room, which also served as a great excuse to shut it down. Unfortunately, Tracker had fallen off the ends of the earth in that week. After he left the casino that day, he’d vanished. He wasn’t answering any of Cormac’s calls and there was a feeling of impending doom that hovered in the air around the penthouse. The general consensus was that he knew the curtain had been pulled back and his time was limited. Tracker’s only option now was to pull out the big guns. Our problem was; we didn’t know how big those guns were.

As I waited in line to order my latte that day, the very last person I expected to see was Tracker passing by the window, right on the strip, in plain sight of the casino.

“Excuse me,” I said, to a woman I almost knocked over as I rushed from the coffee shop. My hand fumbled into my pocket for my phone to call Cormac while I pushed out the door to follow Tracker down the strip.

“Hello?”

“Cormac, I’ve got Tracker in my sights. I’m following him down the Strip.”

“No. Just give me your location and wait there.”

“If I do that, I’ll lose him.”

“I don’t care.”

“I’m heading east down the Strip.”

“Are you deaf? I said don’t follow him.”

“I’ll call you when I get a location,” I said and hung up the phone to the sound of him cursing. The ringer started chiming less than ten seconds later and I turned it off.

Why was Tracker walking? He had to be going somewhere close by, and then as if I jinxed myself, he got in a cab. I frantically waved down the next one I saw.

“Here, follow that cab, but don’t let him know.” I shoved two one-hundred dollar bills at him. Cormac liked all his employees to have a minimum of a thousand petty cash on them. I told him I wasn’t his employee. We had compromised with the term independent contractor. He then insisted that all of his independent contractors needed to have a thousand in cash on hand at all times. I didn’t feel like arguing anymore and just took the cash. Not that it wasn’t nice but I resented his controlling nature at the time. Now I was glad. As it turned out, it wasn’t such a bad policy.

“You’re getting too close.”

“Relax, lady, this ain’t my first rodeo,” the grizzled cabbie replied.

“You do this a lot?”

“You’d be amazed at the things I’ve done in the course of this job.”

Several blocks off the strip, we slowed down around the corner from where Tracker’s cab pulled up in front of a mechanic’s garage.

“What are you planning to do?” the cabbie asked.

“I’m not sure. You’re the one with all the experience, what would you suggest?”

He turned and looked back at me with a skeptical eye. “I’m not sure you should be going in alone. You don’t look too tough.”

“I’m tougher than I appear.”

“If it was me, I’d get out here and circle around back.”

“That’s what I was thinking, too. Thanks, it was a pleasure.”

“Good luck.”

As I stepped out of the cab, I text messaged Cormac the location, then shut it off again. The last thing I needed was my phone giving me up. The houses were empty at this time of day, and the alleyway between them was a straight shot from here to the back entrance. A dog in the distance yelped once or twice, but quickly quieted down as I continued on my path.

I crouched down about twenty feet away, and I spotted a door and several windows all coated in dust and grime, which would work to my benefit. Creeping up to the window closest to me, I started to peek over the edge, hoping my blond hair wouldn’t be spotted.

“Right on time.” Tracker’s voice was right behind me. “I smelled your scent all the way back on the Strip. It probably didn’t hurt that I was expecting you.”

I wanted to bang my head against the wall. How could I have been so stupid? He didn’t just walk right in front of the Lacard. He knew Cormac had men searching every corner for him. It had been a set up, and I’d fallen right into it. All wasn’t lost, I knew from past experience I could take him.

“What do you want?” I asked as I turned. That’s when I saw two more men hanging back.

“I’m perfectly aware of your little tricks, Josephine. First, we are going for a ride. This dump was nothing but a decoy. Follow me.”

“I don’t think so.” As much as I didn’t want to let him just walk away, there was no way I was going somewhere with him willingly. There were three of them, but I still had a good shot of taking them down.

“Boys.”

“Really, Tracker? Can’t handle little old me yourself?” I asked as I watched Tracker’s men step forward.

“I have a long memory.”

As soon as one of his men got within range, I lashed out, and punched him squarely in the face, throwing all the energy I had into it. He was clearly hurt by the punch, but not as effected as he should have been. He was a Keeper. They both probably were.

“I wouldn’t piss them off too badly, Josephine. I told your father you would be uninjured, but I can’t make any promises if you carry on like this.”

I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me, and I hadn’t even been touched. The blood drained from my face, as I stood frozen. The words on the page rang in my head. The one who’s sought is suddenly found, it will come time to stand their ground. My father. I’d been seeking him since the day I was born. Goosebumps broke out across my skin. Shit. Did this mean it was time for me to stand my ground? Stupid prophecy made it sound like they were all tough. It could have added a line or two in there with some instructions on what the hell I was supposed to do. Considering that Tracker’s two thugs were ready to grab me and my skills were useless on them, it didn’t really matter how I felt. It had been a long time coming, but a family reunion was about to finally take place and I would go stand my ground and probably be pulverized. I was guessing I’d be among the fallen, too. Real nice prophecy. Screwed again!

I nodded my head at Tracker in acquiescence.

“Get your hands off me, you slug,” I said, as I pulled my arm out of the grasp of the man I hadn’t hit. To give the guy credit, he didn’t try to grab me, again.

“Where are we headed?” I asked once I saw the beautiful white stretch limo that sat waiting for us around the corner.

“The mountains,” he replied as he held the door open for me.

“Don’t you want your men back here to protect you?”

“I think I’ll be fine, for now.”

It irked me because he was right. Now that I’d taken the first steps toward discovering who my father was, I knew I wouldn’t turn back. I’d see this out to the end.

“Since we have some time to kill, want to tell me what’s going on?”

“I think what I have to tell you might make things not so black and white. Are you prepared for that?”

“Save the dramatics, will you?”

“Fine, cut and dry. You don’t realize how easy the people on Earth have it. The living conditions on Romad, where I’m from, aren’t as nice. I have kin who are suffering who don’t need to. All I want is to be able to bring them over. That is all Vitor wants as well.”

“Is Vitor part of this?”

“No, Vitor is too soft to do what’s needed.”

“Soft or moral?”

“Let me ask you a question. Is it moral to deny refuge to people who are suffering?”

“Where would it stop? Would you just bring a couple thousand over and play nice, or would you try to take everything?”

“Does your fear of a possible domination, that might never happen, justify not allowing people who are struggling, a chance?”

“It doesn’t matter, it’s not my choice.”

“But it is, isn’t it? Without you, they wouldn’t have been able to keep it going as long as they have. You need to choose a side and quickly. And just a warning, if you choose the wrong side, you might not ever be leaving this mountain. Those are my people; I’m not leaving them to suffer when I have options.”

“No matter whom you take out in the process?”

“Doesn’t matter who or how many. Keep that in mind.”

I believed him. He was a killer. Loyal, but still a killer.

The black of the interior of the mountain enveloped the limo as a steel garage door slid shut behind us. Within a few minutes, we slowed to a stop. I followed Tracker out of the limo into complete darkness. Even though I couldn’t see a thing, the echo of our footsteps betrayed the enormity of the area. The air was cool, with lingering moisture that smelled a bit like a cellar.

Just as I was about to ask why we were in total darkness, the area was flooded with light. It was more immense than I imagined. It would put the Superdome to shame.

“How did you do this with nobody knowing?” As much as I didn’t want to admire anything to do with him, I was in awe.

“It wasn’t easy.”

Tracker walked forward and I followed him, out of curiosity. His two men hung back but were never completely out of reach. When I saw two large monoliths similar to the ones in the portal room gleaming against the backdrop of the mountain wall, it became clear where we were headed. They had been camouflaged, initially, by the mountains own gleaming interior, but now that I saw them, they dominated even this massive space.

“Why are they so large?”

“It makes it easier to open a portal. They aren’t really needed for someone very strong, but their presence aids in the ability. The larger they are, the more they aid.” He looked to me in an appraising way. “My guess is if you were in full control of your abilities, you wouldn’t need them at all.”

“How do you know so much about this?”

“Unlike the Keepers, my race kept records.”

“Records of someone else’s secrets?”

“You think that is unusual? Come on now, Josephine. You aren’t that naïve.”

“What else do you know?”

“I know many things.” He paused, as if he was unsure of himself. It was the first time I’d seen him show any vulnerability at all. “If we were friends, I might be willing to share.”

“I don’t have friends.”

“Maybe we could be other things,” he said in a voice just soft enough to reach me, but not his men. “Regardless of what you think, I’m not a bad person. I’m a survivor like you. Life isn’t easy where I come from. Is it so wrong to take care of my people?”

As much as I wanted to scream at him and say he was wrong, I understood. I knew what it was like to have a tough life. Just because I didn’t have a family, didn’t mean I couldn’t understand it.

“Ah, here’s your father now.”

I turned to see a tanned man with black hair who looked my age walk into the room. “Where?”

“Him,” Tracker replied pointing at the man approaching.

“That guy is my age.”

“I guess Cormac didn’t explain the aging thing to you, yet.”

“The aging thing?”

“You do know all the tales about Alchemists searching for the fountain of youth, correct?”

I nodded, realization hitting me.

“Like everything else, it doesn’t always work consistently. Some of you age. I doubt you will though. Even being a half-breed, you’re stronger than most. Do you know how old Cormac is?”

I was embarrassed to admit I had no idea, so I remained silent.

“I don’t have an exact age, but we’ve got him at over two hundred.”

“And how do I know you aren’t a complete liar?”

“Don’t you know?”

Unfortunately I did. He was telling me the truth.

“It’s not an uncanny ability you have. That’s a little of the Fae in you.”

“Doesn’t the Alchemist gene counteract the Fae?”

“Usually, but not always. There have been a few cases like yours, where instead of canceling out the other, it amplifies it.”

“So, I guess you have my mother hidden somewhere in here too?”

“No, can’t help you there. I have no idea where she is, neither does Hammond.”

“Hammond?”

“Yes, your father.”

And the surprises just kept coming.

As Hammond neared the final few steps and closed the distance between us, we eyed each other up. He was dark, surprisingly so, with black hair, tan skin, and near black eyes. I wondered if he was truly my father. Tracker believed he was, but I had my doubts.

“Hello.” He spoke first. He voice was deep and gravelly and his teeth were brilliantly white against his tan skin as he gave me a hesitant smile.

“You are Hammond?”

“Yes. I’m sure you have some questions.”

“I do. Why do you think you are my father?”

“You’re certainly not shy. Cormac had tests run on you a while back. When you started to create a problem for Tracker, he managed to get a sample and asked me to look at them. As soon as I saw, I knew.”

“And that’s all you needed? Just to look at my blood?”

“I’ll show you.” He pulled out a knife and made a slice across his skin, light enough for just the smallest sliver of blood to pool to the surface.

My fingers tingled immediately, wanting to reach toward it. My arm acted on its own before I realized what I was doing. I caught myself and dropped it back to my side quickly.

“No, go ahead.”

Too curious not to, I raised my hand back toward it, and the small stream of blood lifted and the few drops flew to my fingers.

“Neat, right?”

It wasn’t exactly the term I would have used, freaky was more like it. The drops tingled on my skin.

“Here,” he said as he handed me a handkerchief he had withdrawn from the inside pocket of his suit. I had a feeling he didn’t use a handkerchief to appear old school, he was old school.

“Tracker said you don’t know where my mother is?”

“No, I’m sorry to tell you this, but I believe she’s dead.”

“Why?”

“Because Malora loved me. I loved her as well. She wouldn’t have disappeared like this for years if she was alive. I looked for her for a long time before I finally had to come to terms with it.”

“And me?”

“I never knew you existed. I thought you died unborn with her.”

“Why are you here? And with him?” I tilted my head in Tracker’s direction.

“Would you walk with me?”

It wasn’t exactly a walk in the park, but I followed him. He spoke once we were out of earshot. “Tracker isn’t bad.”

“What he’s been doing has killed people.”

“Not exactly.”

“I saw his brother die from radiation poisoning because of what he was doing.”

“He volunteered.”

“To die?” I asked, my voice laden with sarcasm.

“No, he was dying already. He only had a few months left. He offered himself up in order to help his brother, Tracker. You don’t understand the existence some of them have over there. Their planet isn’t anywhere near as lush as ours. I’ve been there. Every day is a struggle for them.”

“But why do it by force? Why undermine Cormac?”

“I know Cormac better than you. When he took control, he swore to uphold the original agreement. The biggest part of that agreement is that they are only allotted a certain number of visas. One person comes, another must go.

“I understand what you are saying, I feel for his people, but this isn’t the way to go about it. I don’t trust him.”

“I’ve secured your safety because you are my daughter, but that’s all I can guarantee. Tracker wants you to join us. I want you to as well, but in the end, he will do what has to be done for his people. I respect that.”

“And what about doing what is right for your people? You were Cormac’s mentor, how can you go behind his back like this?”

“I’m doing what I feel is morally right.”

“But, it’s not. Both sides struck a deal. You can’t decide you don’t like the deal anymore, and make that choice unilaterally. What about the fact that it isn’t Tracker’s, Cormac’s, or your choice whether to do this? How about the fact that Earth belongs to humans?”

“Hammond.” Tracker’s voice echoed through the cavernous area. “We are ready.”

Hammond turned back to me. “I wish we could talk more, but it’s time.”

“Time for what?”

“To open up a new portal. Will you help?”

“You can’t! If you open one up here, the whole strip could explode!”

“The other one has been shut down for a while so it’s only a small likelihood.”

“A small likelihood? That’s okay with you?”

“We believe in our cause. Cormac is on our heels. It’s now or never. It has to be done.”

“No, it doesn’t! You can’t do this!”

“It’s already in motion. The others are waiting for us to open the portal as we speak. These are good people. You’ll see that it was right.”

Panic seized me as I realized there was no talking him out of this, but I focused on keeping my posture as relaxed as I could. Ideas flooded through my brain but I quickly discarded them as unrealistic. I had to come up with something quick or the whole Vegas strip could be dust in minutes.

I was so distracted, I tripped on the walk back and Hammond reached a hand out to balance me. This was far from any kind of reunion I had ever imagined. I’d pictured everything from a drug-dealing criminal to a drifter, but I never thought my father would want me to become a mass murderer within the first hour of meeting him.

“So?” Tracker asked, looking at both of us.

“I’m in,” I said before Hammond had a chance to answer. To give him his due, his face didn’t betray anything that would make Tracker think that I hadn’t been on board from the get go.

“Good! The more power we can crank into this, the better,” said Tracker.

“I don’t have full control.”

“That’s okay, I’ll join with you and direct your energy.”

So far so good. Now I would just see if I had what it took. Sometimes in life, you have to roll a hard six.

“They are expecting us in ten minutes. Let’s get this up and rolling.”

A few more men entered the giant cavern and joined us as we stood around in a semicircle, and I knew if I did manage to pull this off, I wouldn’t be leaving here. I wasn’t sure what kind of clout Hammond had, but I doubted it would get me out of the mess I was about to make. That was, if he even bothered to try after this.

Hammond’s warm hand clasped mine, and we walked forward together to stand in front of the massive monoliths.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

I wasn’t, but I nodded anyway. The air in the room became charged and it tasted like I had just sucked on a penny. I felt the energy pulled through me into Hammond. As it was, the same familiar sparkling started in the center and started to grow. I didn’t know how long before this wormhole would cause enough instability to set off a disturbance at the other, or how much of a disturbance, but I couldn’t let it get too big or last too long.

Thinking back to what had happened in the portal room that last time, I started summoning up every horrible memory I could think of, every disastrous thing that might yet come if I couldn’t stop this from happening. I had to recreate what happened the last time. I needed to make this thing implode and I knew my emotions had triggered the last time.

“What are you doing? Your energy feels erratic.”

“I told you I can’t control it.”

“What’s wrong?” Tracker asked from a few feet away.

“Nothing,” said Hammond.

I continued on, thinking the worst possible thoughts imaginable. I felt Hammond’s grip tighten slightly, and I saw his shoulders tense in my peripheral vision. Then he loosened his grip, trying to disengage me ever so slightly but without anyone noticing. I refused to let go. I had a death grip on his hand now, and I sensed his hesitancy.

The portal was slowly growing larger and larger, and my panic started to grow. I needed a burst of power, but I felt nothing. I was going to fail. The Lacard portal would blow up and take all those people with it. Lacey, Jonny, Buzz, Dodd, all those faces flooded through my mind. And then, I pictured Cormac’s face.

Without warning, a burst of energy shot through me. Hammond gasped as it shot out of me and through him. He quickly pulled his hand from mine, but it was too late. In a split second, the wormhole filled the entire cavern, hovered at that gigantic size for a second and then imploded.

The aftershock hit us all. I’d barely realized what happened before I was slammed into the opposite side of the cavern and blacked out.

I woke as Cormac lifted a weight from my chest and a vibration hummed beneath me. As awareness hit me, I realized it wasn’t a vibration, it was the mountain shaking.

“What’s happening?”

“You tell me,” he replied but didn’t stop working. I looked down and realized my lower half had been completely buried in debris.

“I think I blew up the portal.”

“That sounds about right. Come on.” He slung my good arm around his shoulder and hoisted me up, me leaning on him as we walked out.

“Hammond is here somewhere.”

“Hammond?” A flicker of emotion crossed his features and he paused for a split second, then continued on. “We don’t have time. This cavern is about to collapse.”

As we half jogged toward the opening I heard a moan, but I knew if he wasn’t willing to stop for Hammond, he wouldn’t stop for anyone.

Me in one arm, a gun in the other, he didn’t rest until we got to a Range Rover he had parked about one hundred and fifty feet away. I was panting from the pain in an ankle that felt broken and was grateful to collapse onto the soft leather interior.

“Here.” Cormac shoved a luke-warm water bottle at me but I was thrilled to have it. My mouth tasted like dust.

He threw the truck in gear just as I heard a loud grumbling start and I turned in time to see the top of the mountain sink into the base. The noise would’ve been deafening if my ears weren’t already ringing.

“Is the Strip okay?”

I turned back around to see Cormac on the phone. He nodded and hung up.

“Well?”

“It’s fine.”

“Thank god.” I closed my eyes and passed out, either from the pain or the exertion, maybe both.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“She’s still sleeping? It’s been, like, twenty hours.” I heard Dodd’s voice from the other room as I slowly opened my eyes.

“However she did what she did, it knocked her out. She fell asleep before we even got back here,” Cormac replied.

“Holy shit, are you sure she did that? That had to be some massive power,” Buzz chimed in.

“It’s pretty boggling, but yeah. Hammond was strong, but I’ve never seen anyone with that kind of energy. Even when I found her passed out in the mountain, she was still throwing off energy like I’d never felt.”

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, pushed the hair from my eyes, and stumbled toward the living room. Every part of me felt sore.

“What’s going on?” I asked as I saw the three of them seated on the couches.

“You tell us?” Dodd said.

“Wish I could.” I plopped down on the empty seat next to Cormac, and looked to him. “What have I missed?”

“My contacts said they were going to make an announcement on the news today about what happened. People are going crazy thinking the mountain just exploded for no reason. Some are saying it was aliens.”

“What are they going to say?”

“Some bunk about a buildup of natural gas or something.”

“Do they know what it really was?”

“No, but they are investigating it from what I heard.”

“Buzz and I have to go handle a couple of loose ends. Let me know what they say.”

“Don’t forget to take care of Murrey,” Cormac shouted after them as they were walking out of the room.

“You got it,” Dodd hollered back.

“Who’s Murrey?”

“Murrey’s the cab driver who called to let me know Tracker took you to the mountains.”

I let that little nugget digest for a moment, pondering the implications. “How many people do you have on the payroll?”

“Do you want to know just the cabbies? I could probably get that number together fairly quickly, but if you’re asking for a total count, it’s gonna be rough.”

“Is that how you found me at the bus terminal?”

“One of the ways.”

I decided not to pursue that line of questioning, anymore. I decided I’d be better off in ignorance, rather than looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life.

“You said Hammond was there?”

I watched his face for the emotion I knew he must have been feeling, but he didn’t let it show. “Yes. He had some interesting information.”

“What did he have to say?”

“He said he was my father.”

“Did you believe him?”

“I did. He did a weird blood thing, and even though I didn’t understand it, I believed it. He said my mother was a woman named Malora.”

“His blood came to you?”

“Yes, I guess you could say that.”

“It’s not a trick. You’re his daughter. You know, he’s tough. He might be alive. Do you want me to go back and look for him?”

I knew the offer was only for me. If it hadn’t been, he would’ve already gone back. I understood betrayal. I didn’t fault him for not going before now. “The place is crawling with people. You couldn’t go back now, anyway. If he’s there, they’ll find him.” I leaned my head against the back of the couch as I looked at Cormac. “He was willing to help Tracker even though it could kill thousands of people. That doesn’t sit well with me at all, but I would’ve liked an opportunity to have talked to him.”

“I’m telling you, he’s tough. We’ve got a couple of days before the heat will cool down on the area, but if you want, I will go back.”

I nodded, not saying anything. I didn’t know what to say.

“We are pretty sure Tracker is dead.”

“How sure?”

“Someone else has already taken up his position.”

“They work quickly, huh?”

“Yes. Tried the portal this morning. It’s already running smoothly again.”

There was a heavy pause. We both knew what that meant. With the portal operating and Tracker dead, I didn’t need to stay, anymore. They didn’t need me, anymore; that eliminated all threats. A heavy weight settled on my chest.

“So what are your plans? Med school?”

“You know, for so long I thought that was what I wanted to do. But now, I’m not sure. I think my need to understand what I am might have been the largest draw. Now that I know, I might take a different path, I think.”

“Whatever you decide to do, I can let you know when I find something out about your mother. Just let me know where you plan to be.”

I smiled as I looked at him. “Do I really need to tell you?”

“No, but I didn’t want to freak you out too badly.”

We fell into a dead silence, just the background noise from the TV filling the void. I looked around the room, taking in all the details that had been there for weeks but now had some strange importance to me. From the bottles that lined the bar against the wall, to the man who sat next to me. After a minute too long, I pulled my eyes from him, turning toward the distracting geologist who was speaking on the TV.

“Who is that guy?”

“Who?”

“The grey haired guy to the left of the geologist?”

“It’s Senator Core. You don’t recognize your own senator? Jo, you really should look at the news once in a while.”

“That’s the man I killed!”

“Not possible.”

I turned to stare him straight in the face and grabbed the front of his shirt to emphasize how serious I was.

“That’s him. Unless he has a twin, Senator Core is involved in all this.”

“That, I didn’t see coming.”

We both stared at the TV now as the Senator took the podium and I heard that familiar voice speaking.

“This isn’t good, Jo.”

“No, it’s not. And the guy knows exactly what I look like, too. I’ve got to show you something. I’ll be right back.” I ran into my room and grabbed the page I’d gotten from the priest.

“Where did this come from?” Cormac asked as I handed it to him.

“It was left with me when I was abandoned.” I watched Cormac scan the page quickly and then turn it over and inspect the sheet itself, before scanning the words again.

“This is about you, the golden child. I’m the giver of eternal lilies.”

“I know.”

“Why didn’t you show this to me?”

“I didn’t really believe it until yesterday.”

“This was ripped from a book, and I think I might know what one. It’s only a legend, but then again, almost all of our history is. If I’m right, this comes from the Book of Omens.”

“That does not sound good.”

“It dates back to Richard. He was one of the original ten alchemists. When they were changed, Richard claimed to have visions. It was said he wrote everything down in this book.”

“‘Tis not the end but the start of it all.’ I repeated from memory. That doesn’t sound good.”

“I don’t think you should leave. At least not until we get a handle on how deeply this runs.”

“Agreed.” And strangely, I felt better.

Available now, Keepers and Killers, Alchemy Series Book #2

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