Date: 2011-08-23 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy; Urban Fantasy; Paranormal; Young Adult; Short Stories; Fairies; Fiction; Paranormal Romance; Adult; Novella
Description: "I am not a monster." Or at least that's what Eavan tells herself. Though Eve knows she is a Glaistig, and that hunger for sex and death -- preferably together -- runs in her blood, she is determined to keep herself human. She will turn full Glaistig only in the event that she engages in both sex and murder within one month -- and so far she's managed to avoid both. But staying away from temptation is harder than ever before. A mysterious man -- as seductive as he is dangerous -- has been drugging and taking advantage of girls in the local night clubs and Eve's determined to stop him, even as
Publisher: HarperCollins e-books
Rights: Copyright © by Melissa Marr

Two Lines

A Novella

Melissa Marr

Dedication

To J, Vicki, and Mark,
for far more than I can ever say. You’re the best.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Excerpt from Graveminder

Cover Page

Prologue

Chapter 1

About the Author

Also by Melissa Marr

Copyright

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

Eavan pushed through the crush of dancers at Club Red: sweat-slicked, alcohol-saturated prey swayed and gyrated in time with the music pulsing out of a wall of speakers. It was—as it had been every other night—tempting, but lately, Eavan had been letting herself be carried away by the crowd, enjoying the too-brief touches of strangers, near-drunk on the energy on the dance floor. But tonight wasn’t for indulgence. Daniel was in the club. She’d felt it the moment he crossed the threshold, felt him in an unacceptable thrum under her skin. For reasons she didn’t know, she could find him in a crowd without looking.

He was moving through the room, a beacon among the waves of swaying bodies. In another life, she would’ve run away from—or perhaps to—him. Instead, she waited, proving to herself that she still held some measure of self-control. Each time she caught him mid-crime, she whispered a silent prayer that he’d stop poisoning girls, that he’d become innocuous, but hoping and praying were no substitute for action—not that action was proving particularly effective, either. Trying to single-handedly rescue the worst of Daniel’s zombies was futile. For every one she saved, there were a dozen more she couldn’t reach.

He was only a few bodies away from her now. Tiny electric zings bounced over her skin as she came closer to him. He was tempting enough that it hurt. And he knows.

Foam poured onto the dance floor as Daniel took a far-too-high girl into his arms, and the time for waiting passed away. Swirling violet and crimson lights gave an ethereal cast to the humans who squealed and writhed around them as the dance floor became a slippery mess. A predator’s banquet. The question of which of them was the better predator wasn’t one Eavan wanted to answer: either answer meant she lost.

Daniel glanced back at her and then moved toward a side door with the girl. He cut through the crowd with an ease that made him seem Other. He wasn’t though.

He’s just another mortal. She had repeated that assertion every night these past six months. There was nothing particularly exceptional about him. Except for the way he provokes me. Putting a final end to him made good sense, but she couldn’t be the one to do it. There were two steps needed to wake up her maternal heritage—sex and death. So far, she’d avoided both, but if she did both in the same month, she’d become a full-blooded glaistig.

In another few moments, he’d be out of the club, out of reach, and the girl would be lost.

Not this time.

Some nights, she’d lost their quarry. Many nights, she was at the wrong club. Once in a while, she found his prey before Daniel could. Tonight, she’d decided to step up the confrontation.

She intercepted Daniel and grabbed the hand of the barely conscious girl.

“Chastity!” Eavan squealed her name with false excitement, an act for the crowd around them. She had no clue what the girl’s real name was. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that Eavan was taking the girl from Daniel. The two men on either side of him stepped closer. If they wanted to, there was a good chance that they could take the girl out of reach. Eavan was banking on Daniel’s dislike of scenes.

She smiled at him, a flash of teeth that animals still understood as aggression. She didn’t bother glancing at his employees. Daniel waved them away as usual when she was near. He either didn’t see her as a true threat or was amused by her efforts. She hadn’t figured out which it was, but she knew that he preferred to be alone with her when he had a chance.

Once the men vanished into the sea of bodies, Daniel stepped closer to Eavan. He didn’t let go of the girl, but he didn’t do anything obvious to keep her out of reach, either. “She’s with me, Eve.”

“Is that what you really want?” Eavan let her conservative habits slip farther away and turned her full attention to Daniel. It wasn’t a hardship to look at him: he was a pretty specimen, wrapped up in Armani and attitude.

For a few heartbeats, he said nothing, but he wasn’t immune. Real humans never were.

“She’s not meant for my bed.”

“I know,” Eavan admitted, enjoying his momentary meekness. “I know your taste, Daniel. Unconscious isn’t it.”

“So tell me, little Eve, what is my taste?” He came closer, still holding the barely standing Chastity. “Say it aloud for a change. Give me that much.”

It was painful to let those tendencies come closer to the surface; hungers best left unfed were already omnipresent when he was near. Eavan sized him up openly, caught and held his gaze just long enough to be too-bold. “You look good tonight.”

He smiled then. “Admitting you’re tempted?”

Ignoring that challenge was hard, but Eavan had been too close to the edge with him for weeks. If she didn’t know he was a monster, she’d want him. I do anyhow. If she had been thinking clearly, she wouldn’t be talking to him at all. I’d miss it. If she didn’t want to stay human, she’d take him to her bed and kill him tonight. I am not a monster.

She reached out and lifted the girl’s eyelid to peer into her extremely dilated pupil. “I’m taking her with me.”

“Fine.” He relinquished his hold on the girl. “There are dozens more just like her.”

Chastity was swaying, barely sober, and soon to attract attention. She was so far gone that Eavan wasn’t convinced she could be saved. Anger threatened to surface—at herself, at him, at the inability to make a real difference.

Daniel stepped closer, invading the bubble of personal space she usually kept between herself and regular humans. “You need to start saying hello when you arrive at the clubs, or say good-bye and come home with me…”

Despite her growing anger—or maybe because of it—Eavan enjoyed his aggression. Something about him made her want to push the rules a bit further, made her want to see how close to forbidden she could get without crossing over. Nice girls don’t hunt; human girls don’t like murder. She knew the boundaries; she knew she wanted to stay on the right side of them. He’d be such fun to kill though.

Daniel’s smile made clear that he sensed her interest, even though he undoubtedly read it as merely sexual. He was close enough that she could taste scotch on his breath. “Can I give you a lift tonight? Anywhere you want to go. Or we’ll call someone for her so we—”

“No.” She moved so the girl was farther out of his reach, so she was farther out of reach too. Glaistigs drank down a mortal’s last breath. He’d sweetened his with a peaty scotch.

I’m not hunting him.

“We could go to the Chaos Factory.” He reached out and ran a finger over her bare midriff. “Tell me what you want, Eve. What’s it going to take to get you home with me?”

“It would be a bad idea,” she said—not a lie, but not an answer. She stepped backward, retreated from him. Not everything was about dominance. She’d rescued Chastity; she’d taken the prey from his hands. Now she needed to get away.

“So we’ll do this another night.” He leaned in and brushed a kiss over Eavan’s lips, unknowingly teasing her with his sweetened mortal breath. “Unless you’re planning on running already?”

“I’ll be back.” She couldn’t do otherwise, and they both knew it. “I’ll be at your clubs.”

“And I’ll find you.” And then he vanished into the crowd of feverishly dancing mortals. It was easy to see why people came willingly to his feet. He was everything a man should be—dangerous, sexy, and just ever-so-slightly aware of it. In many cases, he’d be the alpha predator.

Which is why I want to kill him.

Logic insisted that her macabre fixation on him was basic animal law, but it was outside logic to stalk Daniel. He dealt in magicks that made the Other community—at the prompting of Eavan’s own matriarch—set a geis, a ban forbidding fraternizing with him. That ban on contact with Daniel was as law for Others.

But Eavan wasn’t purely Other. Glaistigs were female only, each one born of a human father and glaistig mother. Unless she crossed the two lines into adulthood, she was technically mortal—with a few extra traits. Geasa don’t apply to mortals. That was her excuse, at least. Not that I’m going to “fraternize” with Daniel. No sex. No death. I can do this.

Chapter 2

Muriel opened the door before Eavan could knock. She didn’t quite scowl at the sight of the mostly unconscious girl in Eavan’s arms. Her usually welcoming expression vanished, but she kept her tone light. “For me? You spoil me.”

“I’m sorry.” Eavan carried the unconscious girl inside the apartment. “She’s…I know better. I know we talked about it…I just…Daniel had her and—”

“Later.” Muriel’s blue robe was the only color in the black and white room. It made it impossible not to stare at her as she closed the door. The generous bit of bare skin didn’t help matters.

“I had to,” Eavan whispered.

“I know. That’s the problem, isn’t it?” Muriel took the girl and carried her into the den.

As with every other time, Eavan went to the kitchen and fixed herself a drink. She couldn’t drink on the hunt, but afterward she was shaky enough that she needed a few fingers of whiskey. Tonight was worse than usual. It had been growing worse every time she saw Daniel.

Chastity whimpered.

Muriel’s voice was too muffled to make out the words, but the tone made clear that the words were some comforting lie. Muriel could do that, lie at will. Eavan didn’t have that luxury: partially fey things could lie sometimes, but it wasn’t a predictable sometimes.

After glancing toward the closed door of the den, Eavan emptied her glass.

If Chastity survived, she’d be slipping into withdrawal soon; if she didn’t survive, she’d still be better off than with Daniel. Girls like Chastity went to bidders with sadistic habits that Eavan couldn’t bear pondering…not when so many Chastitys had been sold already. They had no control over their sexuality. Drugged to the point of being zombies, they were reduced to nothing more than sex toys to be used until they were destroyed. The beauty of sexuality was something she cherished—and couldn’t have; to have it sold for base coin was beyond intolerable.

Or Muriel’s right and I just have a fucking savior complex. Several more ounces of whiskey splashed into the glass. Or a death wish.

Eavan hated that there wasn’t a better answer to the problem, but if not for Muriel, she wouldn’t have much of a solution at all. Muriel drank enough of the girls’ blood to pull the poisons out. If they survived, Muriel had ways to get them wherever they needed to go next. Alive and out of reach: those were the goals. Beyond that, there were no constants.

It depended on who Chastity really was. If she had a home and resources, Muriel would have one of her coven use those funds to set the girl up in a new city. If not, Muriel would see her to a shelter or halfway house under some pretext. Or she’ll put her into the ground. There were far too many that ended up dead despite Eavan’s efforts. That was how Muriel got involved in the first place: the vampire had a system for dealing with corpses. Eavan had needed that system one night, and the only other resource she’d had for disposal of bodies was her grandmother, and asking Nyx for such a favor had too high a price.

Muriel’s willingness to remove the toxins was an added bonus—one that gave Eavan the ability to try to rescue girls who were much further gone on Daniel’s drugs. If not for Muriel, Eavan would’ve been at a crisis months earlier. Even with Muriel’s help, the situation was akin to attempting to hold back a wave with a single hand: it was impossible. Eavan couldn’t stop Daniel from destroying people; she couldn’t stop herself from hunting him; and she couldn’t see any way to avert the disaster that would follow if something didn’t change.

Eavan poured a drink for Muriel as the petite vampire came into the kitchen. “Well?”

“She’s alive.” Muriel took the glass and emptied it. She swished the whiskey around her mouth and spit it into the sink before adding, “You’re going to have to ante up something clean if you’re going to keep asking me to drink all these toxins, or”—she gave a coquettish grin—“you could give me a taste.”

Eavan blushed and looked away. “No.”

“You can’t really kill me, and maybe it doesn’t count as sex if it’s—”

Eavan shook her head. “Sex with women is real sex, and we’re not crossing that line. Casual sex wouldn’t be my thing even if—”

“You’re a glaistig, darling; of course it would.” Muriel lowered one hand, sliding it over the blue silk covering her hip.

Transfixed, Eavan watched—and then scowled. “No, it wouldn’t. I don’t want casual, and you don’t do commitments. Discussion closed.”

“Really?” Muriel stepped closer, much as Daniel had earlier, and whispered, “Your heart is racing awfully fast for someone who doesn’t do casual.”

“Interest doesn’t mean consent.” Eavan forced herself to look at Muriel’s face. “I can say no. I’ve been saying no for years. No sex. No death.”

“If I tried you tonight, truly pushed you, could you still say no?” Muriel was gentle, but she knew that the answer was liable to be different than it had been before the Daniel obsession. The more Eavan hunted Daniel, the harder it was control either appetite.

Being mortal means keeping control. Over centuries a few glaistigs had tried to stay human, to not kill, to not fuck. Eavan knew about them from journals and letters Nyx had hidden away. They’d all failed or were simply killed by their matriarchs. “Culling the weak, Eavan.” Nyx had stalked her as she lectured and punched her when Eavan admitted to seeing the forbidden texts. “Is that what I need to do with you?” Eavan forced away the memory of Nyx’s fists and said, “I want to be mortal, Muriel.”

“That doesn’t mean refusing both sex and blood, Ev,” Muriel said. “Just have one to take the edge off. Too many rules and hang-ups will be your downfall…sooner than later if you keep stalking him.”

“If I can’t live by my own rules…”

“Friendship is like a commitment.” Muriel tilted her head and gave Eavan her best disarming look.

Eavan laughed at her best friend’s faux innocence. “It is, but it’s not enough for me.”

They’d been having the same discussion for several years. Muriel had a host of partners. To her, it was like shoe shopping: there were many choices for many moods. It wasn’t an emotional thing or a cruelty thing. It did mean, though, that their occasional boundary pushing stopped short of sex.

Teasing set aside then, Muriel took the bottle of Middleton from the counter. “The junk Brennan’s peddling ruins even virgin blood.”

“Virgin?”

“As pure as you.” Muriel took two clean glasses, added a couple cubes, and poured the whiskey.

Eavan shuddered. The idea of an innocent—especially one who had her will stolen by Daniel’s zombie mix—being sold to a sadist was more revolting than normal. “He’s a sick bastard.”

“So kill him,” Muriel said. A drink in each hand, she hopped up on the counter. Neither drink spilled. She kicked her feet in the air like a child on a swing and held out a glass. It was hard to remember that Muriel was a monster; she looked like a hand-crafted doll, one of those delicate pieces of art that belonged safely on a shelf.

Eavan took the whiskey. “No. I’m not going to sacrifice myself over him.”

Muriel snorted. Now that the flirting was out of the way, she could relax into her less charming habits. “Some sacrifice…It’s not like you’d be throwing yourself on a sword, Evvie.”

“No, I’d just be throwing away my humanity.”

“Humanity’s overrated.” Muriel warmed to the old argument. She’d been Other for more than a century now and saw nothing wrong with it. “Humanity means dying.”

Humanity meant a lot of things. It meant ethics, joy in the brevity of life, compassion…and yes, dying. Dying didn’t seem as oppressive as the alternative. At least for me. Muriel wouldn’t understand though: vampires didn’t grow cloven hooves when they stopped being human. They didn’t have tendrils of hair that writhed like serpents or need to sate not one but two depraved appetites.

“No. Humanity is wonderful,” Eavan insisted. “It’s what I am. Daniel isn’t going to steal mine.”

“So maybe you should stop trying to save the girls he gives the zombie powder to?” Muriel’s voice grew cold. “Something’s going to break, Ev. You keep pushing and he’ll push back, or your family will find out what you’re doing…You’re walking a foolish path taunting Brennan.”

“I’m handling it.”

“You think Nyx would agree?” Muriel put a hand on Eavan’s wrist. “Your grandmother finds out you’re taking risks without any safety nets, and she’ll be livid. You need to kill him or back off.”

“Just a little bit longer, Muriel? I need to find a way to get him to stop. I can’t just let him sell those girls…I can’t…” Eavan leaned her head back on the cabinet behind her, putting a bit of artificial distance between her and Muriel.

“If Nyx comes calling, you know I can’t cover for you.” Muriel’s expression was gentle, but the words were anything but reassuring. “I won’t.”

“I know.” Eavan closed her eyes. Thinking about her matriarch’s reaction was the last thing she wanted to do, but it was sobering. “But until then?”

Muriel took her hand away. The only sound in the kitchen was the soft slide of feet on the stone floor as Muriel walked away. Eavan didn’t follow, didn’t open her eyes. She waited.

Ice clicked together in Eavan’s now empty glass. The splash of whiskey followed. “For now, yes,” Muriel whispered, “but not forever.”

Eavan opened her eyes and accepted her glass.

Then Muriel added, “But the next time you go to the club, I’m coming, too.”

Before Eavan could object, Muriel raised the hand not holding the bottle. Perfectly tinted nails and understated rings flashed through the air. “No invitation, no help. Either you hunt or you don’t, Evvie. Either you persist at this I-want-to-be-mortal nonsense or you accept your heritage. This half-assed thing is going to stop.”

“But—”

“Tell me you aren’t right there at the edge with Brennan?” Muriel’s sweet exterior was gone. This was the vampire that had gone toe-to-toe with Nyx and survived. Her doll-pretty exterior was a façade; her coquettish charm was a ruse. Muriel was every breath the monster Nyx was. “Tell me, Evvie, and we’ll discuss it further.”

Eavan wanted to argue, but there wasn’t anything that she could say without lying. “No more club trips without you.”

“I’ll stand by you if you want to be mortal. I’ll help you if you want to be glaistig.” Muriel’s more familiar, kinder expression returned. She widened her blue eyes in a plead ing way. “I just don’t want to see you regret whichever it is because you were being foolish.”

If I stop, what happens to the next Chastity? Eavan didn’t bother saying that though; Muriel wouldn’t be swayed by that concern any more than Nyx would. Family first. That was how the Others thought, and mortals weren’t family.

Chapter 3

Cillian walked toward Dorothea Dix Hospital on his nightly mind-clearing stroll. He’d spent the past several hours going over his file, but still had no clue how to get closer to Brennan or how he got the unknown powder he cut his coke with. Whatever the silvery talcumlike material was, it wasn’t matching anything on the periodic table or the existing databases at the Crypto Drug Administration.

The drug was appearing in other areas around the country, and Brennan was the closest thing to a source that the C.D.A. had found. The I-85 and I-40 intersection tended, like many such interstate crossings, to be a drug-heavy region. Durham had a definite heroin business. Volumes of marijuana and cocaine slid through, but those weren’t issues for the C.D.A. Crypto Drugs dealt exclusively in the chemicals that utilized or targeted the Others that hid in mortal society. Brennan’s powder was an anomaly even in an organization established around coping with the unusual. The C.D.A. didn’t like anomalies.

Or lack of results.

No one in Brennan’s immediate circle seemed approachable. None of the victims was around long enough to be of use. The only one who seemed like a potential in was one woman Brennan kept circling, but she seemed to be stalking the drug dealer when he wasn’t stalking her.

So I stalk the stalkers.

Cillian thought about the dark-haired girl. Eve. He’d stared at her picture frequently enough that he’d begun to feel like a perv. He wanted her not to be a victim or a criminal, but he couldn’t find any evidence to suggest which she was or any logical way she wasn’t one of the two. Nice girls don’t flirt with drug dealers. Nice girls don’t spend inordinate amounts of time at strip clubs. He was pretty sure of that—except everything else he could find on Eavan made her seem like a nice girl. She worked at her jobs for short periods, but her employment records were all flattering. She was average: modest clothes, nondescript reading habits, no odd purchases, not a single unexplained trip; in sum, there wasn’t anything at all that would flag her as criminal.

Still thinking about Eve, he let himself into the apartment he’d rented.

Just inside the door, he stopped. A cream-colored envelope sat propped up against a book on his kitchen table. No one knew he lived here other than his supervisors, and they weren’t the sort of people to leave notes with calligraphic lettering on his table.

A quick search of the tiny apartment revealed that he was alone. After donning a pair of gloves, he carefully opened the letter. Mr. Owens, If you’d like to resolve the D.B. problem you’re having, contact me. Nyx. Under it was an address in the historic district and a meeting time that was just late enough to be private.

Several hours later, Cillian parked up the block from the address on the note; he glanced again at the sheet of lilac paper sealed in the bag on his passenger seat as he cut off the engine. The paper, the calligraphic writing, the lavender scent on the paper—it wasn’t covert. It didn’t seem apropos of intrigue.

At least not any sort I’m used to. Prior to this assignment, he’d worked in the research and clean-up divisions of the C.D.A.

He closed the car door quietly and made his way up the flagstone path. A woman sat on the front porch. She looked to be in her thirties at most. She was stern, eyes too flat, smile too calculating; everything about her was predatory in the true sense of the word. Whispers of caution rose from that instinctual part of the mind: walk carefully, mind the escape routes.

“Mr. Owens, so nice of you to visit.”

“Nyx?” His voice was steadier than his emotions. He’d walked into altercations that resulted in hospital visits, but this beautiful, polite Southern woman in a semi-public location was setting off the same sort of alarms usually reserved for the truly unsavory.

What is she?

“Come.” Nyx patted the swing beside her. Then she reached over to a crystal decanter sitting on a side table. “Whiskey?”

“No thanks.”

“It’s not poisoned, dear.” She smiled a courtesan’s smile. “Poison isn’t a method I prefer. Too distant.”

Cillian paused midstep and looked around the porch and azaleas that lined the front of it. There were no other people he could see, nothing that looked dangerous. Except Nyx. He’d learned before his first year with the C.D.A. that criminals didn’t all look dangerous. Usually, though, they weren’t this odd combination of ballsy, blunt, and beautiful. “Is there another method I should be watching for?”

She laughed and poured herself a drink. “Sit down, Mr. Owens. The neighbors needn’t see you looking at me so cautiously. They’re used to my business, but discretion is always wise…especially in your business.”

He sat next to her, but not so close that he couldn’t reach his gun. “I’m not sure what you think you know, Ms.—”

“Nyx.” She sipped her drink and smiled. “It’s just Nyx.”

If not for the fear he felt as he sat beside her, he’d find her attractive. She was all curves and muscles, and none of it hidden. Thick dark hair fell around her like a cloak. She was near-naked from the waist up, clad in a sheer top over bare skin; dark aureoles and pert nipples more than visible. Not an inch of flesh was bared below the waist. A long skirt and boots hid her legs.

Why hide the rest of—

“I see the temptation in your expression,” Nyx said softly. “Trust me, Mr. Owens; you’re much better off not following those thoughts to completion.”

He was here on business. Ogling someone he might have to kill was bad form. He forced himself to hold her gaze.

And Nyx smiled then. Her posture hadn’t changed. Her spine was arrow-straight, making her very not-sagging breasts—

I’m not like this. He felt positively amoral. His libido was healthy enough, but he didn’t mix business and recreation. I’m not going to start, either. He caught and held her gaze. Like being held in the gaze of the snakes in the reptile house…without the safety of the glass.

“What do you want?” he asked.

She handed him a picture. “This is Eavan.”

Eve.

Cillian kept his face blank. “And?”

“The girl, my cousin Eavan, is getting mixed up with a man I’d rather she didn’t. You’re stalking him, so I thought we might help each other.” Nyx folded her legs up on the swing, angling her body so she was facing him. “I’d rather Daniel Brennan die. I find him…unpleasant, but Evvie would be cross with me if I killed him.”

“Do you often murder people you find unpleasant?” The words were out before he could think better of them. Despite looking like an ingénue, Nyx spoke with a callousness that made Cillian certain that the woman beside him was, indeed, capable of murder.

Nyx laughed. “I think we’ll both be happier if you don’t ask too many questions like that, Cillian. I know who you are. I know about the C.D.A., and I know that Mr. Brennan is a person of interest to your organization.” She lifted a folder from the floor and extended it to him. “Here’s a list of others you might want to investigate.”

She held it there while he reeled from how casually she listed top security clearance C.D.A. information.

Cillian reached out and took the folder. “Do you have any idea what sort of trouble you’d be in? We’re talking about treason.”

She waved away his remark with a flick of her wrist. “Your government isn’t a concern of mine. I know what I know, and you’ll not let anyone find out about me. Do you think that there aren’t people who would erase the entirety of your organization if they realized that your superiors know about…people that treasure privacy? History is filled with stories of strange groups of people, secret societies if you will, vanishing. Your sort exist only because we’ve yet to decide how much of a threat you might be. I believe you can be harnessed and made useful. I need my cousin looked after, and you are getting nowhere with Mr. Brennan. It’s a simple business exchange.” She ran a finger absently through the beads of sweat sliding down her glass and licked a droplet from her fingertip before adding, “I’m trusting you, Mr. Owens.”

In seven years for the C.D.A., he’d never experienced anything quite as surreal as this meeting. Admitting that he understood that she was Other was a breach of several papers he’d signed under strictest security. She’s not human. She’s just admitted as much. That didn’t mean he could admit it though. He tucked away the questions he wanted answered and focused on the issues he could address: “A single phone call and you’ll be in jail or worse for the rest of your life. You can’t summon a government agent to your house and just…” He shook his head.

“I trust you because if you expose me or reveal the other unusual things you learn by accepting my offer, I’ll kill you, your sister in Miami, your nephew in Chicago…and your dear sweet father in”—she paused and tilted her head—“where was it? Phoenix, I believe?”

Cillian had his hand on his 9mm before she was halfway through the threat.

“Lower your hand, boy.”

He did, not by choice, but he lowered his hand as obediently as the women addicted to Brennan’s drugs. He couldn’t disobey. “Wha—? Who are you?”

Nyx sighed. “The answers to that don’t matter to you today. What you need to know right now is that neither you—nor your loved ones—would stand a chance if I asked you to obey me…and no, you may not ask why just now. Put your hands out here where I can see them.”

When he did so, she nodded placidly as if he’d hadn’t been seconds away from trying to shoot her—and he couldn’t force the questions of how and why from his lips.

“I can be a great ally. You want to stop Brennan’s drugs. I have reasons to want you to succeed at that,” Nyx said.

Cillian opened the folder and glanced at the sheets inside. Charts, account numbers, passwords, maps, key codes, names, aliases…it was far more information than he’d seen on Brennan after months of workups and considerably more detailed than anything he’d gathered in the six weeks he’d been in Raleigh.

Nyx pinched it closed. “You mustn’t tell Evvie that you know me. I’m hiring you as her bodyguard as far as she knows…well, will know.” Nyx’s mouth curved in a wry expression. “Evvie will object. She’ll attempt to evade you. She’ll…be difficult.”

“I’ll need to talk to my supervisors—”

“Talk to them, so they can verify the value of that data…but I am an anonymous source.” She stood up and stretched her arms over her head, making her sheer top lift up and expose her bare stomach. This time, though, Cillian wasn’t even slightly tempted.

“Or what?” he asked.

She laughed, a husky bedroom sound that made him swallow hard despite his utter distaste. “Or I’ll slaughter everyone who sees this data.”

He stood and faced her, still holding the folder. It was foolish, but he had to say it: “You’re not human.”

She put her hand on the folder, pressing it against his chest, leaned in, and kissed his cheek. “If you’re interested in my help, take the folder and be here tomorrow at seven sharp to be introduced to my cousin as her new bodyguard. If not, leave the folder and walk away. I’ll give you an out this once.” She kept her hand on the folder, holding it between them as she invaded his space. “If you accept my offer, please do understand that I’m quite serious about the terms of our contract.”

Then she turned and left.

Cillian sat silently in the dark for several minutes, debating the consequences of both actions. If he took the folder, he’d have resources the C.D.A. needed, resources that would enable him to do his job better. If he left it behind, he assured his family’s safety; of course, they were only endangered if he couldn’t keep silent. That wasn’t an issue. The things Cillian had learned in his job weren’t things he shared with his family. This was no different. If Nyx was honest, he and his loved ones were endangered only by violating her privacy. If she wasn’t honest, they were already in danger. Either way, taking the folder didn’t change anything critical. All it really meant was that he was becoming personally involved in the world of the Others.

Which has been inevitable since I took the damn job.

He’d expected his overt knowledge of the not-humans to come through official routes, but he’d still expected it from the beginning.

What difference does it make?

He took the folder and walked away. Now he just needed to figure out what to tell his supervisors—and protect a woman who was some sort of Other, and, if he was lucky, stop Daniel Brennan. All told, he was more excited about his job than he’d been in months.

Chapter 4

Eavan hated family meetings with a passion she reserved for…actually, a passion she reserved for family meetings. She stood in the street, staring at her home and trying not to fall under the sway of the neighborhood. Oakwood was a little bit of heaven—houses that weren’t prefab monstrosities, people who sunk their roots into their city, a community whose collective energy made this part of the city something pure. Her family always lived in such areas. Unlike the subdivisions that cropped up everywhere, Oakwood and its neighboring Mordecai had personalities, histories, and dark whispers. More than a few of those whispers were tied to the women in Eavan’s family. Sometimes an unfaithful husband vanished. Once in a while, a wayward family member returned home meek and eager to be forgiven. Drug traffic never took hold in the several blocks surrounding their home. No one in their immediate area was ever robbed. Of course, no one would speak directly about the belief that Nyx’s influence was what kept them safe in home and family. Secrets were all the more poignant for the fact that they were openly known, but never spoken. It was enough to keep the neighbors from looking too closely at the family.

If they truly knew, would they still look away?

The neighbors might murmur about them being “fancy women” and the scandal of women owning strip clubs, but they didn’t pursue their talk beyond the occasional, and quickly silenced, remark. They didn’t speculate aloud at the family’s methods of keeping peace; there were no titillating rumors voiced about the beautiful murderesses who lived inside the modest house.

Eavan’s family was a clan of true glaistigs: they devoured people. They were many men’s—and a fair number of women’s—darkest fantasy, but sometimes with a steep price. They didn’t kill many, but they did kill. Glaistigs swallowed the last breath of mortals or strangled them, preferably during sex.

Monsters.

She walked around to the back of the house. It was part of the routine she’d clung to in order to keep herself from believing the façade. Routines were her anchor, innumerable little tricks to keep from believing in illusions, to create her own illusion of normalcy. Going through the front door, the door for guests, was walking into the illusion. The truth was what kept her from surrendering to the role her family wanted for her.

This is not what I am.

Steeling herself for the sensory shock, she pushed open the door.

She wasn’t but a step inside the room, when Mother Chloe appeared in front of her. Uncharacteristically, her legs were hidden away. There must be guests. Even now, no one in her family seemed able to keep her chest, stomach, or arms covered. Given a choice, they’d roam in lingerie.

Eavan straightened the sleeves of her suit jacket. I am not like them. She’d worked hard to cultivate a modest streak and had gone a bit overboard lately with being so close to the edge. No one else at the office dressed as conservatively as she did; even the senior marketing consultants looked at her oddly.

She stood silently for her birthmother’s inspection. They were always like this, greeting her at the threshold and assessing her like a stray dog returned to the pack. Chloe glanced at Eavan’s stocking-covered calves approvingly. She smiled—until she looked up and saw Eavan’s tightly wound bun. “Well, that certainly sets a mood, doesn’t it?”

“You asked me to let it grow again,” Eavan reminded. She sat her briefcase at the front door and slipped off her pumps.

“I don’t understand you.” Chloe walked away, her boots striking the tile floor in a regular rhythm, sounding out the familiar cadence, bringing to mind memories of a lifetime of late night music sessions. Chloe insisted on wearing boots that would resonate on the floor as her own cloven feet would. She liked music, even that made of her own movement.

Despite her irritation, Eavan smiled at the sound. For years when she’d lived in the house, she’d been happy. Things had made sense, but back then, she’d known little of what she’d one day become. It wasn’t until she was a teenager that she understood the parties, the musicians, and the strange cries. Her mother-family, glaistigs all, fed on acts of sex and death. It was essential that they feed; it kept them alive. Eavan understood it—but understanding didn’t equate to wanting to be like them.

Far better to live a mortal lifespan and die naturally than to transform into a monster.

Chloe paused and stamped her foot. “Evvie! Come now. Your grandmother isn’t feeling patient tonight.”

“Is she ever?”

Chloe scowled. “She’s far more patient with you than I would be.”

“Yes, Mother Chloe. I do realize that.” Eavan followed her mother into the sitting room where the rest of the family would be waiting. Of course, calling it a sitting room was a bit of a kindness. It was something between a bawdy house and the results of a Victorian decorator on acid. Aunt NeNe had her foot propped on an honest-to-goddess stuffed elephant foot that was fashioned into an ottoman. Gold tassels dangled from the cushion atop the atrocity. All around the room, floral patterns clashed with one another; gilt-framed art cluttered walls and shelves. Dressing tables that had no place in a front room were scattered about, like the desks in an untidy classroom. On each table, Eavan could see a jumble of silver hand mirrors, ivory combs, feathered hair barrettes, and crystal bottles of perfume with elaborate atomizers.

And her family sat—in dishabille—on overly plush divans. In the center, like a queen holding court, was Nyx, Eavan’s grandmother and matriarch, her judge and torturer. Nyx held herself regally, watching with serpent-cold eyes. “Eavan.”

It wasn’t a warm welcome, but no one there thought Eavan deserved Nyx’s warmth.

Even me.

Ever since Eavan had told Nyx she wasn’t moving home after college, things had been more strained. Glaistigs didn’t live away from the clan. It simply wasn’t done. Of course, no other glaistig clan would be foolish enough to challenge Nyx’s decision to violate tradition by allowing Eavan a touch of freedom. The same cruelty that had left scars on Eavan’s back allowed Nyx to defy tradition now: crossing Nyx was painful more often than not.

Beautiful monsters. My family.

The three of them looked like sisters, like her sisters. They appeared to be only a couple of years older than Eavan—wrinkle-free, lustrous hair, bodies as sculpted as professional dancers. In high school, her “guardians” had incited equal parts envy and curiosity when they attended school events. In college, people assumed they were her sorority sisters or asked if she was part of a modeling agency. Luckily, they hadn’t visited her en masse at the office yet. Their unchanging nature would eventually elicit too many questions. As will my own. Eavan wasn’t sure when it’d started bothering her, but it irritated her more and more—their immutable nature, her own now-unchanging body.

For now. Choosing mortality meant Eavan would eventually age and die. She’d age more slowly than mortals, but it would still happen. Glaistigs didn’t. They brought death, but didn’t suffer from it.

“What are you wearing? It’s so”—NeNe fluttered her hands around as she took in Eavan’s skirt, which reached just below the knee—“opaque.”

“It’s wool.” Eavan leaned down and kissed her aunt’s cheek. They might be monsters, but they were still her family. “Just like I’ve worn to every other meeting.”

“I must’ve repressed it.” NeNe sniffed. Like the rest of the women, with her gauzy camisole and thick tumble of hair, NeNe looked as if she were awaiting clientele, not expecting a visit from the girl they’d collectively raised as their daughter.

“You know, what this place needs is a stripper pole.” The words were out before Eavan could stop herself, but no one flinched. Eavan could say whatever came to mind here. Home wasn’t where Eavan wanted to be, but she couldn’t deny how right it still felt to be there. Glaistigs were clan creatures, and although Eavan was clinging fiercely to her humanity, she was still part of the clan. “A pole would fit right in,” she added. “Just like at your clubs.”

Grandmother Nyx nodded. “I was just saying that, wasn’t I?”

Chloe handed Eavan a brush before answering, “She’s joking, Mama.”

Nyx shrugged, lifting one delicate shoulder in a graceful move that belied her centuries. “It matters little. She’s right for a change.”

Eavan smothered a laugh; Nyx knew that Eavan had been only partially joking. It would fit in, and they’d enjoy having it here. Sometimes when all the rest was set aside, Eavan suspected that Nyx was the only one who truly understood her. The older glaistig didn’t approve of Eavan’s urge to live as a mortal, but she understood the impulse to forge new rules. Following a path simply because it had always been done that way wouldn’t make sense to Nyx. Of course, neither would chastity.

Eavan sat on the back of the sofa, perched behind her grandmother, and began unplaiting the woman’s thick rope of hair. The tendrils were like living things in Eavan’s hands, as if night had taken solid form. “You look lovely, Grandmama.”

“Of course.” Nyx stretched; muscles that shouldn’t exist rippled under her wrinkleless skin. The strength in those muscles would make it a simple thing to crush Eavan’s throat—and no one would stop her. Eavan learned that lesson years ago when she stood up to Nyx the first time.

And a dozen times since.

Nyx wasn’t callous, no more so than anyone else in the house, but she was in charge. Forgetting that was unwise.

“Bring him in,” Nyx said.

The tension in Eavan’s body rose. She paused a heartbeat longer. “Him? Grandmama, what have you—”

“You’ve stopped brushing, Eavan. I don’t like that.”

Dutifully, Eavan resumed the measured strokes, gripping the olivewood handle, pulling the tufts of boar bristles through the thick tresses, keeping her eyes on her task—and not looking at the man who’d entered the room.

Like a lamb to slaughter.

“I’ve checked all the windows,” he said by way of greeting.

“Lovely.” Nyx rolled her shoulders. “Keeping brushing, Eavan.”

“Yes, Nyx.” Eavan stayed in her increasingly uncomfortable position on the back of the sofa where Nyx was seated. She didn’t look up at him. If Nyx had brought him here, had insisted Eavan meet him, he was dangerous. His voice alone, a deep growling bass, was proof of that.

Temptation. Eavan knew her family wasn’t above underhanded tricks; treachery was their first instinct. Perhaps it’s not that. She knew better though. Nyx didn’t rule one of the strongest clans of glaistigs by accepting defeat. Ever.

“The windows aren’t secure at all,” the man added. “A screwdriver and—”

“Right, so we’ll replace those. NeNe?” Nyx made an imperious motion.

“Here.” NeNe held out a blank check. “Fix whatever needs fixing.”

“Our home’s security is very important, Mr. Owens,” Chloe said.

“It’s Cillian, ma’am,” he corrected.

Eavan paused at the change in timber of his voice; he also sounded almost as assertive as Nyx. When Eavan looked up, her fears were confirmed: he was perfect, a visual feast, lean, confident, and seemingly unintimidated by the nest of vipers he was in. His instincts should be telling him to flee or to bow before Nyx. He did neither. He stood there as if oblivious to her charm, to all of their allure.

Eavan couldn’t help but stare, just as Nyx undoubtedly expected. He was fit without being bulky, muscular and toned. If not for his almost pouty lips, his face would be too stern. As it was, he looked just this side of fierce—not easily daunted or foolishly aggressive. It made her want to see what it took to provoke him.

I am above this. I am stronger than instinct.

The older glaistig looked back and caught Eavan’s gaze. A guilty blush burned on Eavan’s face.

Nyx’s posture hadn’t changed, but she had her confirmation: Eavan was intrigued.

Too much so.

The man made a note as he said, “I’ll have one of my associates drop by to go over the literature on the different options for replacing the windows.”

“Whatever. Really, my cousin’s safety is really the difficult thing, Mr. Owens. As I said, that’s why I needed you here today.” Nyx caught Eavan’s hand and tugged so that their clasped hands were resting just over her collarbone. “Eavan doesn’t seem to understand how dangerous refusing to stay with the rest of the family is. A young girl in the difficult world all alone…”

“Is she in some sort of danger, ma’am?”

“Inevitably. She’s foolish, you know.” Nyx squeezed Eavan’s hand until tears threatened. “I worry so over her. Beautiful. Wealthy…and with the things I see in the news…Did you know there were shootings just up the street from her flat?”

Eavan blinked the tears away. Her voice was clear, though, as she said, “I’m not moving home. No matter what…happens.”

“I’ll accept that,” Nyx said mildly. “In fact, I’ve hired Mr. Owens’s firm for that very reason. I’ve taken a lease on the vacant flat across from yours.”

“I don’t think—”

“Or you can move home.” Nyx looked back at Eavan. “You have choices. Prove to me that you can do as you’re told or return to the fold where I can look after you. I’ll not have you die to prove a point.”

“Nyx,” Eavan pleaded, “please?”

Nyx turned away.

“I want to apologize for making you stay in Eavan’s dismal building, Mr. Owens. How anyone could want a tiny little nest in some ugly modern thing…It’s appalling.” Nyx’s reply couldn’t have held more vitriol. She sighed melodramatically before adding, “NeNe and Chloe will go over the other details with you. Eavan and I have things to discuss in private before you two leave.”

And with that, Nyx dismissed him, and NeNe and Chloe were at his sides almost instantly to assure that he was removed from the room. Nyx spoke, and the world obeyed.

Except me.

“Tell me about your associates, Mr. Owens,” Chloe murmured as she trailed fingertips over his stomach.

“Chloe.” Nyx curled her mouth into snarl. “Not acceptable.”

“Yes, Nyx.” Chastened, Chloe ducked her head and hurried the man out of the room.

Eavan repressed a shiver as everyone left her behind.

Not that witnesses would matter.

Eavan stood. Wordless, she walked over to place the brush on one of the vanities.

Nyx pulled the dark spill of hair over her shoulder, where it coiled into a rope that would’ve made Rapunzel jealous. She turned her gaze to Eavan. “Do you think it’s easy for me to think of you vulnerable to the dangers of the world?”

“I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“I’d rather you didn’t die.”

“I’d rather no one died,” Eavan said.

“Sometimes death is necessary.” Nyx made a fluttering gesture with her hand as if to shoo away an insect. “Yours is not one I’d like.”

Eavan bowed her head. She’d lost. She’d lost months ago, but simply hadn’t known it yet. Nyx had concocted some story, hired a bodyguard, and effectively entrapped Eavan. She’d been sentenced to spending her time around a tempting mortal.

How am I to do anything about Daniel now? Eavan wasn’t about to admit that she’d been hunting the drug dealer. Nyx was always surly over dealers. She liked her strip clubs well enough, but refused to allow any drugs in her clubs. Unlike Daniel.

“He’s pretty.”

Eavan turned to stare at her grandmother. “What?”

“The man. He’s pretty. The type you try not to look at.” Nyx stretched her legs out on the divan. “I notice, child. I’ve been noticing for years.”

Eavan didn’t dare turn her back on Nyx, so she settled for a shrug.

Nyx laughed, sounding joyous as she often did after long days of partying.

“I’m not like you, Grandmama. I won’t be.” Eavan’s mouth was dry. It’d been months since Nyx struck her, but the possibility was always there. “Putting him in my path doesn’t change that. You’re wasting money hiring him to ‘protect’ me.”

“I haven’t forgotten how difficult that first time is, sweetie.” Nyx held out a hand.

Eavan went to her. She took her grandmother’s hand as she sat at the woman’s feet. Centuries of experience hid under Nyx’s flawless skin.

“I’m not going to do it,” Eavan whispered.

“You will.” With her free hand, Nyx pulled the pin from Eavan’s bun. It’d been only a week since it’d been cut, but it was already past her shoulders. Nyx ran her fingers through it, loosening the strands so they drifted freely. “You’ll hunt. You’ll fuck. You’ll kill.”

“I’m not like you.”

Nyx squeezed her hand—gently this time. “You’re a glaistig, love. You’re exactly like me.”

“I’m not a murderer.”

“It’s the natural order of the world.” Nyx smiled indulgently. “The higher beasts eat the lower. Do they get upset over eating other animals? The predators thin the herd, taking away the diseased or aberrant or weak. It’s natural.”

“It’s not.”

“Humans do it. Kill animals. Raise them like pets and butcher them…our way is far more humane. At least we don’t wear their hides for garments. We’re far more civilized.”

Eavan looked at Nyx’s hand-sewn leather boots. They were butter soft, custom made of the eel leather Nyx preferred these days. “And if they were able to be crafted into clothing you liked?”

“No.” Nyx ran her fingertips over a boot. “Mortal skin isn’t as silky…Plus, it’s just gauche.”

“Gauche?” Eavan asked. “And a stripper pole in the parlor?”

“Practical,” Nyx said. “If you are so sure you can be a mortal, here’s your test. Prove to me that you don’t have the same lusts we all do. If not, he seems a good sort to keep around for at least one of your appetites. We picked him especially for you.”

Eavan sighed. “Sometimes I really hate you.”

“I know, dear.” Nyx stood and pulled Eavan into a hug. “It’s one of the reasons I respect you. Let’s go find your new temptation.”

As if I need another one. Resisting hunting Daniel was using up all her self-control. Resisting another entanglement was the last thing she needed.

Maybe he’s a bore…a girl can dream, right?

Chapter 5

Cillian waited outside in the overgrown yard behind the house. If he didn’t know better, he’d think it was left to grow wild, but like everything, the truth was in the details. There were plants in this yard that he hadn’t seen anywhere else in the Triangle area, ones that wouldn’t flourish, even in the Raleigh humidity, without attention. The illusion was one of disorder, but the truth was that this was cultivated fecundity. His current job depended on his noticing minutiae, on seeing past the lies people wove, and on creating his own illusions. Those were the skills that would help him pretend to know nothing about Eavan, despite the hours they’d be forced together.

“Mr. Owens?” Nyx stood on the back porch.

“Ma’am?” He turned to face her.

Nyx paused as Eavan kissed her cheeks; then she turned her attention on Cillian. “You’ll keep her safe.”

“I’ll do my best to not let anyone harm her,” he said. It was the best he could offer, especially as he had no idea who or what Eavan was. Was Brennan human? That information was the sort of thing that the C.D.A. was never privy to, but it did make a difference. The first time Cillian had had his ribs broken, he learned exactly how much it could matter.

Eavan took a step backward. “I’m not that fragile.”

“You’re more fragile than you should be, Evvie.” For a strange moment, Nyx was the one who looked truly vulner able. Her thus far implacable calm vanished. She licked her lips anxiously. “You’ll let him teach you what you need. You’ll be careful. He’s good at what he does…and the things you…I picked him for reasons you—”

“Nyx.” Eavan backed down the porch stairs and looked up at Nyx. “I’m not actually in any danger. You and I both know that. Hiring him”—Eavan glanced at Cillian—“is a control tactic. It won’t change anything, but you don’t have to pretend it’s a legitimate bodyguard situation.”

Nyx lashed out with a closed fist.

Eavan gripped the banister in front of her to keep from stumbling. Blood slid down her chin from a cut lip.

Cillian started forward.

“Stay out of it.” Nyx didn’t even look his way. Her attention and her next words were for Eavan. “You’ll let Mr. Owens guard you as carefully as if there were hellhounds pursuing you, Eavan, or you’ll move into this house. I make the decisions in this family, and this one is not negotiable.”

Eavan stood motionless, staring at her cousin as the blood dripped from her mouth. They both had all of the affect of statues.

“Don’t challenge me, Eavan. The consequences would be very unpleasant.” Nyx’s hair seemed to move of its own accord; the dark tendrils twitched like restless serpents around her shoulders.

Cillian stood there awkwardly. He wasn’t sure either of them should be trusted, but instinct told him that there was a threat to Eavan whether she was inside the house or on her own. It shouldn’t matter as much as it did, but he had a longtime habit of cheering the underdog.

“Am I understood, Eavan?” Nyx asked.

Finally, Eavan bowed her head. “You are, but I’ll prove that I don’t…need him.”

“I almost wish you were right, Evvie,” Nyx murmured. Then, before anyone could say another word, she spun on her heel and stepped back inside the house. She didn’t close the door. Instead, she left it open so they could watch her walk away swinging her hips like an invitation. Her footsteps echoed as she went into the room, a heartbeat rhythm beat out by her sharp heels.

And Cillian couldn’t look away. Seeing Nyx go made him feel like he was losing something—even though she made his skin crawl.

“Are you all right?” Eavan’s voice drew his attention from the open door.

“Are you?”

“I’ll be better once I’m out of here.” She dropped her shoes to the ground and slipped her feet into them. Then she pulled out a tissue and wiped the blood from her face.

He started down the walk, but stopped when he realized that she hadn’t moved.

“Why did you take the job, Mr. Owens?” She watched him as she twisted her hair back into a tight coil. Everything in her posture screamed “challenge.” It made him want to refuse any answer. Which works out well. He couldn’t tell her anything.

“It’s what I do right now.” He didn’t lie, not really. Watching her was his job. His supervisors were very clear that he should accept the terms of his anonymous source’s offer—including guarding Eavan.

“Guard people against nonexistent enemies?” She almost smiled, and the change was remarkable. She was every bit as tempting as the beautiful monster that had hired—blackmailed? manipulated?—him, and based on her family and her association with Brennan, she was also likely to be just as deadly.

He tamped down the softness he was feeling when he’d watched her face off with Nyx.

“Nyx seems certain you’re in danger,” he said.

“Nyx is sure I’m in danger every time I’m not in her direct line of sight.” Eavan shook her head. “If you wanted to simply say you guard me, but not—”

“She hired me to watch you. I’ll watch you.” He tried a falsely friendly smile. They’d do better if they were at least civil to each other. “You could make that easier on both of us if you answered questions.”

“Sure. I’ll answer what you need to know to do the job Nyx hired you for.” She smiled again, not full of promises like the women inside, but with barely curved lips. It was a dismissal, and in case he missed the message, she turned and walked down the flagstone path.

Yeah. This is going to be a cakewalk. He snorted and followed her. Before she had taken a half-dozen steps down the end of the walk, he was in front of her. “Guarding you means you don’t go wandering off.”

“I’m not an errant child, Mr. Owens. I drove here on my own; I go to and from work every day on my own. I go—”

“No. You used to. I’ll be escorting you to and from everything for the time being.” He’d hoped that Nyx had explained the extent of his role in Eavan’s life, but if she did, Eavan wasn’t cooperating. To be sure there was no confusion, he added, “Nyx was adamant about that part of my services. I’ll be accompanying you everywhere you go, every time you leave your apartment for any reason. It’s why she rented the apartment. That way, I’ll be within reach the moment you step outside your door.”

Eavan made a frustrated sound. “What if you have other things to do? We can come up with a schedule that—”

“Eavan?” He waited until she looked at him, and then said, “This is my job. If I’m not able to keep up with your schedule, I’ll call one of my associates, but I suspect I can keep up.”

“This is going to be a pain in the ass, isn’t it?” She yanked open the passenger door of her Z3 and dropped her briefcase on the seat.

“You won’t need that.” He didn’t wince as he said it, but he did draw a deep breath, bracing himself for the next snarl that was sure to follow his clarification. “We’ll leave it here to be picked up later.”

She looked over her shoulder. “Exactly what is it that I won’t need, Mr. Owens?”

“The car. We’ll take mine.” He gestured at his car, a nondescript black sedan that looked like the same sort innumerable car services and middle-class businessmen drove. It blended. Eavan’s topaz blue BMW didn’t. “You won’t need yours for a while.”

“I won’t need my car?” Her hands were on her hips. Her lips were pressed together in a tight line.

“Look. I’m not your enemy. I was hired to keep you safe…or out of trouble…or maybe just drive you crazy so you move back home. You can go back in there and talk to her, or you can cooperate.” He wondered briefly if Eavan had the same ability to hypnotize him as Nyx apparently had. If he tried to restrain her, could she control him as Nyx had done when he’d pulled his gun? He needed more answers than he had. “You need to accept that I’m like your shadow now. You aren’t going anywhere without me. If that’s going to be an issue, go talk to Nyx while we’re still standing here.”

Eavan’s answer was a string of expletives and a glare at the close-curtained windows of her family’s house. “Talking to Nyx won’t change a thing. It rarely does.”

He nodded once. “Okay then. So, do you want to eat while we go over your schedule? Or go to your apartment?”

Cillian felt a touch sorry for her. It wasn’t an easy position she was in—not that his was much better. Now that Cillian had sent the data in to his supervisor and been told to work with—for?—his “anonymous” source, he had more than a few questions for Nyx. He just needed to get Eavan tucked into her apartment so he could go ask a few of those questions.

“It’s your choice,” he added. “We could go downtown and grab a bite or—”

“Food first,” she interrupted. “Fat Daddy’s.”

She slid into his car, slammed the door, and stared out the window.

“Right, then,” he muttered as he walked around and opened his door. “This should be great fun.”

Chapter 6

Late that night, Eavan slipped out of her apartment window. She wasn’t sure if she could get out the front door without Cillian noticing. Odds were that he wasn’t staring at her door, but she wasn’t sure about video feeds. He’d mentioned surveillance in the hallway, the breezeway, the parking deck, and the back lot. Safer to slip out the window. The drop wasn’t that far. She might be predominantly mortal—and intending to stay that way—but her genetic heritage still came with a few extra benefits.

After a surreptitious glance to assure that no neighbors were out on their balconies, she hopped up on the balcony rail so she had her back to her apartment and dropped down. The impact of the landing was muffled by the grass-covered ground.

No one the wiser.

With a satisfied smile, she crossed the lot and opened her car door.

It was good that her Z was home instead of still at Nyx’s, but when Eavan thought about strangers driving her car, it felt more like injury than insult. She hated the fact that he’d had some stranger drive her car home. She slid her hand over the wheel affectionately.

She left her car door slightly open, put it in neutral, and coasted to the bottom of the hill. Once she hit the intersection, she slammed the door and popped the clutch. The squeal of tires and almost-but-not-quite-out-of-control swerve as she slammed through the gears was exhilarating.

Driving was one of the passions she could indulge. No sex. No murder. No stalking. Okay, a little stalking, but no killing anyone. A woman needed releases for pent-up energy, and there was only so much workouts and toys could do to let off stress. Sometimes speed was essential to sanity.

On this, at least, Nyx had always been tolerant. She had reduced rates on a number of vices for the local police in exchange for looking the other way on Eavan’s driving habits. It had started as a sixteenth birthday present and evolved into status quo over the last eight years.

Eavan could navigate the streets of Raleigh and Durham and a number of cities within a four-hour radius. Having the I-95 corridor, I-40, and I-85 all but at her doorstep meant that her penchant for speed was easily indulged. Finding a mechanic who disabled Nyx’s GPS tracking toys regularly added a layer of privacy the past two years that had made Eavan feel almost like a normal woman.

Not now. Not with Cillian holding a leash. Eavan made her way to the beltline and just drove for a while before she headed downtown. It helped, but the anxiety was still riding her. She took a few side streets, turning at the last possible moment each time, focusing on the importance of control and precision. It’s not going to change a thing. I am not going to change how I live. This could be a short-term problem, a test to be passed. Or failed.

That was the real problem: Eavan felt herself getting closer and closer to crossing lines that she swore she’d never approach. This business with Daniel had become an obsession. It needed to end so that she could regain control of her life. It made control of both appetites feel precarious. If she could scare him away from the drug trade or find some information to get him arrested, maybe she could stop hunting him—because she was hunting him. She knew it, even if she wouldn’t admit it to anyone else, and she needed to get it in check before Nyx found out.

Eavan parked the car down by Moore Square and headed toward one of Daniel’s warehouses. It wasn’t any trouble to let herself inside the warehouse: she’d lifted a key one night flirting with Daniel. Soft-soled shoes muffled her steps as she crossed the concrete floor. This was what she did, who she was. Every instinct she’d had told her that she was where she should be—except the ones that told her that naked with Cillian was a better plan.

Equally unhealthy urges.

She could control them though. She’d been doing so for twelve years. A glaistig’s dual needs for sex and death—preferably together—coincided with the onset of menses. It had taken her six years to learn to smother those urges until they were just a whisper. She’d slipped and hunted a few times, but she’d never killed or fucked anyone. She’d walked away from every hunt before it became an obsession.

Until now.

Now, both of Eavan’s urges were screaming to life.

The smart move was to stay away from Daniel, to stay out of his clubs. Something there made all of her family uncomfortable—and made Eavan feel like electricity was battering all her synapses simultaneously. That sensation had never been quite as all-consuming as it was right now.

Because he’s near me.

She stood in the shadowed recesses of a room, half hidden by towering shelves, peering between the wooden crates that were stacked at the end of the aisle of shelves. In front of her in a bare bit of concrete in the center of a darkened warehouse stood Daniel—her prey. He wasn’t Other, but he was tangling with things that made him resonate like he was more than mortal. She could feel it. What are you doing? There was more to her reaction to him than the actions he’d undertaken. The taint of the magicks he used wasn’t enough to explain her compulsion where he was concerned, but she had no other explanation.

She did, however, know she couldn’t ignore what he was doing. Drugging women and selling them like chattel was inexcusable.

He needs to be stopped.

The .38 was heavy in her palm before she realized she’d reached into her bag. The stainless steel vein down the back of the grip didn’t burn her hands or weaken her as it would if she were truly a full glaistig. With her mortal blood still dominant, iron and steel barely gave her a twinge. Instead, the gun felt right in her hands; the desire to sight down on the tainted mortal was a compulsion inside that grew from a whisper to a roar.

As she watched, Daniel ground the child’s bones into powder. It was an odd sight: he stood in a business suit at a table alongside an average-looking barbecue grill. On the grill were bones, a child-size skull, and several small lizards. On the table were assorted plants, an empty mixing bowl, a glass jar of what looked to be blood, and a modern electric meat grinder. Daniel was barefoot in a pile of earth that seemed more out of place than all the rest.

Muttering something and gesticulating, he lifted the skull from the grill. Then he raised a large hammer, closed his eyes, said something in what she suspected was to be a reverent way, and smashed the hammer onto the tiny skull until it cracked. Shards of bone lay scattered in the earth.

“What do you want?” He didn’t look at her when he said it, so for a moment she thought he was talking to someone else.

She wondered if he could find her in that unerring way she had with him. They were bound together in a way that made no sense to her. Is it the magick? Is it because I’m hunting him? Something existed between them, and she wasn’t sure what it was—or if she really wanted to know.

“Eve?” He tossed the hammer aside and began picking up the bone shards. Once they were all gathered, he turned to stare directly at her. “What are you doing here?”

“I…” She didn’t have words for what she wanted, not words she wanted to share. She wanted to kill him, wanted to reorder the world, press down the chaos that buzzed in her skin before she crossed a line that would change everything. She wanted to end her hunt of Daniel with something bloody and satisfying. She settled for a socially acceptable statement: “What you’re doing is wrong.”

He was utterly nonplussed. “Praying?”

“That’s not praying.”

“Sure it is. It’s just an older religion.”

An older religion? All faiths had a place, but humans like Daniel were the reason mainstream humanity thought Old Faiths were evil. He was using the veneer of religion to sate his greed.

“What will you do with it?” she heard herself asking, as if his admission to her would change anything. She knew exactly what he did with his poison: drugged people, addicted them, and sold them.

He dropped the bone fragments into the grinder. The whirring noise seemed loud in the empty room. “How about I make you a deal…”

She felt like her skin was crawling with stinging things as she stepped toward him. She wanted to go to him, despite everything. “What are you offering?”

He was a bastard. He preyed on the innocent. He used earth and bone to enslave people, not as punishment, but randomly for avarice and malice.

He lifted the corner of his mouth is a sardonic half smile. “For starters, drop that piece in your hand. Then tell me what you want from me.”

She glanced at the .38; she hadn’t realized she had raised it. She lowered it with effort. Her arm hung at her side, but her finger still rested on the trigger. Did I take off the safety, too? She wasn’t sure, but she suspected she had. The habitual movement would’ve preceded raising her weapon.

“I want you to stop mixing that,” she told him.

The look he gave her was curious. “And if I don’t? Are you going to stop visiting me? Stop stealing my toys?”

She had an intense craving to show him exactly what would happen if he didn’t stop. Why this one was different she didn’t know, but in that instant she wanted to let her Other heritage reign. Sex and death. The room was already filled with death; her body was screaming for sex. If she had both on the same night, she’d become just like the rest of her family—like Nyx wanted, like her mother wanted. She’d have eternity. Steal the lives of mortals, enjoy those dual pleasures, and she’d be stronger, faster, live for centuries…

She swallowed against the dryness in her mouth and said, “Please?”

“Please what?” Daniel gave her that same tempting smile he’d offered in the clubs so often. “I don’t like them mindless, Eve. No medicine for you. Aren’t you tired of provoking me? It’s been fun to have someone try to thwart me. Ballsy. I like it. Let me give you what you want.”

Her hand tightened until the ridges on the grip pressed into her skin. Her tongue was slow in her mouth as she told him, “You can’t.”

“Are you sure?” Daniel stood there with a jar of blood in one hand and the stuff of death all around him. “You see what I am, but you’re not disgusted, are you? Come closer.”

And in that instant, she wanted to swallow his final breath more than anything she’d ever wanted. She reached out her other hand to touch him, but stopped short of actual contact. “You don’t want to give me what I want, Daniel. Trust me. Please. If you have anything good in you, change your path. Stop making these drugs. For everyone.”

And then she ran, away from temptation, away from the room of death and blood and bone. She was a mortal. She could walk away. She’d chosen humanity. She just needed to keep choosing it.

Eavan went to her car and began one of her tried and true reordering plans. Absently, she drove out to Chapel Hill. There was the first stop. Step one. Routine. It was a strange loop she’d adopted when she was a student—like walking her perimeters, demarcating territories. Like an animal.

No, she reminded herself, proving that I am not an animal.

It made her feel more focused.

I am not a monster.

At UNC, she measured her steps, pacing them out just so as she crossed campus to reach the courtyard outside Davis Library. That bricked vista felt reassuring—line after line of red bricks. There was order, structure. She clung briefly to that. Order. Follow the lines.

They’d just opened for the day.

How long was I driving?

She went inside and wandered through the wide open layout. People, regular mortals, were already going back and forth between shelves and tables. Some were curled into cocoons of their own projects—papers and books and furrowed brows. It was normalcy. It was her world—the one she chose.

The one I’m staying in.

She’d find another way to deal with Daniel—talk to Muriel or one of the lupine-clan or even Nyx if necessary. She had found a limitation she wasn’t going to test.

I can’t keep stalking him.

She crossed back over the campus, smiling at the green spaces. Even those were in order. The paths were angled. The layout was defined and orderly. Sure, there were people who weren’t walking down those paths, but they were following other guidelines. They wore their school colors or their Greek letters on their clothes. They defied grouping by assigning themselves another group. It gave form to the world. It was not-chaos.

She drove past Durham, not wanting to stop by Duke’s library when she was feeling so tentative. Step two. Choosing. The Perkins Library building was gorgeous, and the order she craved was more obvious inside, but walking through the stacks made her feel predatory. But I will not hunt. Good mortals, smart humans, didn’t stalk and attack. Knowing what she could be wasn’t always reason enough to resist. She wanted it to be, but it wasn’t.

For that, she needed her routines, her tried-and-true tactics. She hadn’t needed to work this hard in years. She left the library and drove to Raleigh.

NCSU was twisted among the city; the campus twisted between houses and restaurants and stores. University buildings nestled around tattoo parlors and coffee shops and convenience stores. Students and professors ate next to construction workers and strangers. Everyone is welcome here. Sure, there were those that wore letters and insignias, but those who didn’t could still blend. It was a feeling more than a quantifiable element, and the feeling was one that soothed her unease. Here, she could restructure herself. Here, she could create the order that kept her anchored to the world that she had chosen.

As she walked across the brickyard, she felt herself settling. Maybe it was the routine; maybe it was the familiarity. It didn’t matter, not really.

She went inside D. H. Hill Library and went up to the second floor. She walked through the east wing and then the west wing. She went to the study carrels. She stroked shelves and paused at water fountains. It was all about the anchors. It was all about order.

“What in the hell are you doing?” Cillian was behind her; her new temptation was right there in reach.

“Nothing.”

“Really? So why were you at Brennan’s warehouse the other morning? Why are you here tonight? Brennan’s a factor somewhere here, Eavan. I just don’t know how.”

Eavan bowed her head. If Cillian knew about Daniel, Nyx would know, too. Unless she already does. “How did you know where I went?”

“GPS.”

“Did you install it?” she asked, although she was pretty sure she knew the answer.

“No,” Cillian admitted. “They were preinstalled.”

Eavan paused. “They?”

She’d really thought that the car was tracker-free. Her mechanic hadn’t removed anything the last time. He’d pronounced her car “clean.” He’d lied.

“Your car, phone, the red jacket…”

Eavan schooled her face as she turned and said, “Shh.”

“What are you doing?” Cillian repeated, softer this time in deference to their location.

For a heartbeat, she considered telling him, giving him the answers she’d never spoken to anyone. Instead, she said, “Walking.”

“Walking. Driving. Going in and out of libraries. Aimlessly pacing sidewalks…” He stepped closer, moving into her personal space as if such a thing was acceptable “At least you don’t have a pattern. I can’t imagine how your potential stalker could—”

“That is my pattern, Mr. Owens.” She spoke evenly, forcing emotion to stay in check. She’d need to be more careful; she’d need to figure out how to cope with the cage that was tightening around her—but not now, not when she was still feeling unsettled. She stared at Cillian and said, “I drive. I walk. It’s how I make the world make sense.”

“Well, next time, you’ll take me with you.” Cillian looked frazzled. “You drive like you’re invulnerable. I thought you were going to get killed coming off the interchange.”

She didn’t have the heart to ask which interchange. She didn’t recall parts of the drive. It was the anchors—red brick, cold metal shelf—that mattered. That was the world.

“I’m going home,” she told him.

“Please, Eavan, I need you to try to cooperate.” Cillian’s expression was about as frayed as her emotions had been. “Even if you don’t think you’re in danger, Nyx does. Slipping away from me puts us both in danger.”

“I’m going home,” she repeated. “I needed air. Now, I need sleep.”

For a moment, she thought Cillian was going to say more, but instead he nodded. “I’m driving. The car will stay here.”

And Eavan was too shaky to fight him. She didn’t hand over the keys, but she did walk quietly to his car with him.

Chapter 7

Eavan stayed in her apartment for the next three days. She’d called and quit her job without notice; being around mortals right now was untenable. Of course, being around Others wasn’t a good idea, either. Nyx had been tracking her; the older glaistig knew something was going on. Eavan couldn’t risk going out, couldn’t face talking to Nyx, and couldn’t be sure she had the resolve to resist killing Daniel. She was trapped by her own biology. Her inability to deal with hunting Daniel was wearing on her. Cillian’s kindness only made matters worse. Being trapped with him, a temptation always in reach, was slowly wearing away whatever control she still had left.

“I called the grocery to deliver food. Your kitchen was barren.” He stood in her doorway, not crossing the threshold, but clearly expecting her to let him in. “Eavan?”

She blinked at him, aware that she’d been staring. He had the loveliest green flecks in his eyes. And kissable lips…

She turned sharply and walked away. “I was fine with takeout.”

She ordered; he accepted the delivery in the hall, and once the delivery people left, he knocked on her door. Not that he needed to knock. She was watching through the peephole every time.

“Groceries are being delivered here. Just go in the bedroom when they arrive and—”

“I’m not in danger from delivery guys,” she snapped. Being housebound was not getting easier. Knowing it was self-imposed wasn’t helping, either. “I’m not in danger from any…” She started coughing. The words weren’t ones she could force out: they were a lie.

He stepped closer. “Why are you—”

“Fuck it,” she muttered.

And then she pinned him to the wall.

It wasn’t her first kiss; it wasn’t even the first time she’d lost control this badly. She had a leg hitched around him, pressing herself against his responding body, trying not to grind against him—and failing. He’d wrapped an arm around her, supporting her weight. A gentleman even now…

With decided effort, she pulled back. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Eavan?” Cillian looked stunned.

“I’m sorry.” She backed up, bumping into a small bookshelf in the process, sending paperbacks crashing to the floor.

He reached out to touch her face. “It’s okay. You’re under pressure and…it’s okay.”

Eavan ran to her bedroom while Cillian let the delivery guy into the apartment. She could hear his muffled voice, like a siren’s song in her safe harbor. She stood with one hand palm-flat on the bedroom door and the other on the knob. Hunting Daniel had made both hungers all-consuming. For the first time in years, Eavan wasn’t sure she could stop herself from losing control of at least one appetite. Sex is safer. She hadn’t killed anyone; she could bring Cillian to her bed. It was safe.

It’s not.

She could wrap her body around his.

And have just a taste of his breath during. I could stop. Just a taste…

She’d started to turn the knob when the phone rang. She walked over to the bed and lifted her phone from the night table.

“Eve?” Daniel asked. “How are you?”

She sat on the edge of the mattress. Her hands were shaking. “Daniel? How did you get my number?”

“Come see me, Eve.” He paused just long enough that she could hear hesitance. “I miss you.”

“No.” She closed her eyes, wrapped one hand around the bedpost, and tried to focus. It wasn’t working. Her whole body shook.

“Do you want to talk to Chastity?”

Eavan’s heart thundered loud enough that it roared in her ears, but her voice was whisper-quiet. “What?”

“One of the girls…not the same Chastity. Just another mindless doll…right here in my arms…waiting for a rescue.” He murmured to someone who moaned into the phone. “She’s a co-ed. Well, she was…”

“What are you doing?” Eavan squeezed the bedpost until the wood cracked and cut her palm, stinging as blood slid between her fingers and trickled down the dark wood. “You can’t do this…Let her go.”

“Come see me, Eve. I’ll be at Chaos tonight.” Then he disconnected before she could reply.

Eavan slowly unwrapped her fingers from the splintered wood of her bedpost. A sliver of wood was embedded in her skin. She stared at it as she sat quietly, trying to force her mind to process Daniel’s challenge.

She dialed the only person she could be almost honest with. “Muriel?”

“What’s wrong?”

Eavan explained, and then she waited. There was no judgment, no leash that followed. The vampire said only: “I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Get dressed.”

Even though Muriel was too kind to say it, Eavan knew she was making a mistake, but staying here was a mistake, too. Her body was screaming for something. It didn’t matter which urge she fed. Staying near Cillian isn’t an option. She was too tempted before Daniel’s call; now her body was thrumming like something feral.

The delivery guy was still out there. That made it safer to slip out of the room, to walk past him. It was the best opening she could hope for.

Steeling herself, Eavan opened her door and went to take a cold shower. She didn’t look at him, didn’t step nearer him, although she could feel his gaze on her.

After a painfully cold shower, she went back to her room and got dressed.

Cillian was at the bedroom door. He had been for several minutes. “Eavan? Can we talk? Maybe you’re feeling too housebound. We can—”

She opened her window. An alarm went off.

Ten minutes left.

Cillian tried the knob. “Damn it. What are you doing?”

Don’t answer. Just go out the window.

She stood looking at the window and then at the door. He was jimmying the lock.

“How in the hell am I to keep you safe if—” He opened the door. “What are you doing?”

“Stay back. Please?” She looked at him, too close and too kind. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

He crossed the room and started to close the window. “If you don’t cooperate, I can’t keep you safe. We’ve talked about this. If it’s the kiss…” Frustration weighed in his voice, his movements, his everything. “It’s okay, Eavan. We can pretend it didn’t happen. People react differently to stress, and…it’s not a big deal.”

Not prey.

He was too close though.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“It’s okay. I told you that.” Cillian turned to face her. He was not even three steps away.

She stared at his mouth. Just another taste. The tip of her tongue darted out.

He froze, but he didn’t run. “It’s okay.”

She wasn’t sure if he was giving her permission or still forgiving her. It didn’t really matter. She closed the space between them. It was all she could do to speak, but she warned him: “You should run now.”

He didn’t move.

So she kissed him. She had both legs around him, and he walked forward until she felt the wall behind her.

She pushed herself tighter to him. “More.” She pressed her lips back to his, lifted herself up enough that she could reach between them and unbutton his jeans. Her skirt was around her hips, leaving only her underwear between them. She ripped it away; the sound of tearing cloth brought an encouraging sound from Cillian.

They were on the floor. She was straddling him, moments from crossing the line she swore she would not cross.

Better sex than murder.

She pulled away and looked down at him.

I could swallow his final breath as he…

She lowered herself onto him and shuddered. Sex and death, all at once, she could have it all. She licked her lips and leaned forward.

“Eavan!” Suddenly, Muriel was there, pulling her backward. The small vampire was more than a match for Eavan.

Muriel pulled Eavan off Cillian.

Eavan hissed. Muriel slapped her.

Cillian looked dazed. He scrambled to his feet, naked and somehow already aiming a gun at Muriel.

“Get in the car,” Muriel said, or perhaps repeated, if the way she bit off each word was any indication. She stayed like a guard between Cillian and Eavan. “And tell him who I am, Evvie, before he tries to shoot me.”

“Friend,” Eavan forced out. Forming words just then was a trial, but she did it. “Muriel’s a friend. I called her.”

Cillian lowered his gun.

Eavan’s gaze followed the lowering weapon and fell on Cillian’s very beautiful naked, just-out-of-reach body. She tried to step around Muriel. “I’m fine here.”

Muriel sighed. “I’m sorry about this, Mr. Owens, but until she’s thinking clearly, it’s for the best.”

Then she punched him.

Chapter 8

Eavan had a violent case of the shakes by the time she was a mile away from her apartment. It was a little mortifying to think that Muriel had seen her so out of control with a human, but at least she had been there to stop Eavan.

“I owe you,” she said, not looking at Muriel yet.

“Sweetie,” Muriel drawled, “you always owe me for something or other. You just count yourself lucky that I don’t call in all those chits.”

“Why did you stop me?” Eavan had heard Muriel’s lectures on “giving in” often enough that she was a little surprised.

Muriel glanced over at her, taking her eyes off the road long enough that it gave Eavan a pleasant shiver of danger. When Muriel looked back at the road, she answered, “When you choose to cross those lines, I’m good with it, but it’s not my place to help you cross them…unless you decide in advance…preferably with me along for the ride.” She flashed a fanged grin at Eavan.

“I’m not sure I’ll ever be woman enough for you,” Eavan admitted.

Muriel laughed, not cruelly, but in that way that made clear that she knew secrets that the rest of the world could only guess at. “I’ll be gentle the first time…although I’m not so sure that’s what you’re looking for. You came near to breaking your mortal.”

“I’m mortal, too.” Eavan wasn’t sure of it just then; she felt pretty far from mortal after the way she’d thrown herself at Cillian. The words, the reminder—to herself and to Muriel—were important though. “I’m still mortal.”

“You are, sweetie.” Muriel reached over and squeezed her head. “You haven’t killed anyone, and I don’t know if that was sex enough to count.”

Eavan and Muriel had discussed what constituted “sex” often enough, but there weren’t any clear answers. Things Other were notoriously prone to loopholes, semantics, and arguments of intention. If she considered it true sex, would it be? Or was it the definition of the matriarch? Or was it the interpretation of some long dead ancestor? Eavan had no answers, but she did know that she needed to tread extra carefully the next month. Just in case. One month without murder—usually that wouldn’t sound so impossible.

“Help me stop Daniel?” Eavan stared out the window into the dimly lit parking lot of the Chaos Factory. Somewhere out there, her prey waited.

“It’s a trap.” Muriel pulled in and zipped around the line of cars to go to the valet stand. “You know that, right?”

“I do.” Eavan accepted a hand as she slid out of Muriel’s Vanquish.

Muriel walked around the car and wrapped an arm around Eavan. Then she caught and held the valet’s gaze.

“Don’t joyride,” she warned. Her fangs appeared just long enough to scare the valet. “If any of you so much as stroke the car, you’re dinner.”

The valet shuddered. He wouldn’t remember the words, or seeing the fangs, but he would take good care of Muriel’s car.

“This is a bad idea, Eavan.” Muriel motioned at the club. “Going in there when you’re like this is a really bad idea.”

“I need to get the girl out,” Eavan insisted. “I can handle it.”

Silently, Muriel walked past Eavan.

She didn’t need vampire powers to charm the doorman. She skipped the line and went to stand in front of him. Eavan followed. Muriel wrapped an arm around her again. This time, though, she stroked her fingers over Eavan’s hip.

Eavan gasped. “Muriel…”

As Eavan leaned in to Muriel’s caress, she felt the doorman and innumerable mortals in the waiting line respond to the tease of a show.

Not as much as I am.

“Shhh, sweetie,” Muriel whispered in her ear. “We’ll be able to dance in a sec.” To the doorman, she added in a low whisper, “My girl’s in a bit of a mood. Can we skip the line? She’s not much of an exhibitionist unless the music’s on.”

The doorman grinned and motioned them inside.

They stopped just inside the door. Muriel’s hand slid up and across the small of Eavan’s back. “This is where we are, Ev. You’re not in any shape to be here.”

“Staying here.” Eavan swallowed. She fisted her hands, driving small half moons into her palms. “I’ve been almost as bad before.”

“Not in years.”

“I can do this.” Eavan forced the craving back as hard as she could. “Please, Muriel?”

Muriel shook her head, but she asked, “Tell me the ground rules.”

“Don’t let Daniel take me anywhere. Get the girl out.” Eavan leaned against a wall, feeling the onslaught of music, the thrum of sexual energy, the lure of prey in the club. “No sex with anyone. Knock my ass out if you need to.”

“Anything up to that point or nothing at all?” Muriel forced Eavan to look at her.

“Nothing with anyone but you. If I need…if…” Eavan hated to ask Muriel to be her crutch. “I don’t want to hurt…you’re strong.”

Muriel laughed. “Woe is me.”

“We’re friends.” Eavan would hate herself if Muriel actually attached emotion to sex. They’d pushed a few barriers over the years though, so it wasn’t unheard of. Muriel was the closest to sex Eavan had been.

Until tonight.

“I’m here.” Muriel’s teasing vanished. “Just like old times, right? I get all the fun, and you refuse to enjoy yourself.”

Eavan laughed. “I plead the Fifth…actually…” She took Muriel’s hand and led the way to one of the bars. “Redbreast. Triple shot. Neat.”

The bartender looked at Muriel.

“Crown, rocks, with a splash.” She paused and looked behind her as if the man standing there was with them. “And a vodka tonic, neat.”

“That was mean,” Eavan whispered. “I hate vodka.”

Muriel sighed. “Vodka’s mine, sweets. You can have my whiskey.”

With a grateful smile, Eavan took the two glasses of whiskey when the bartender returned. She upended the triple and left the glass behind. It was a start. The whiskey was a comforting narcotic, numbing her senses enough to help block the cravings a little.

For the next two hours, they pushed through the crowd, pausing at each of the bars rather than running a tab, so as not to alarm any of the bartenders with how much she was consuming. Not enough for a glaistig, but far more than a real mortal could drink safely. Even still, Eavan was one pulsing nerve after pressing too close to mortals, all but stoned on the pheromones in the club.

Another hour passed. Daniel was nowhere to be found. She could feel him nearby several times, close enough to set her body on edge, but when she turned he was not near enough to find.

What game is he playing?

“Daniel’s not here.” Muriel yelled the words. They’d just made another circuit of the main dance floor.

He was, but the only way for Eavan to know that was through some creepy affinity that Eavan wasn’t about to admit to Muriel. It was stronger now, a compulsion to seek him. Is this how the zombie girls feel? She was sure she hadn’t ingested any of his drugs, but she felt called to him. It didn’t make sense.

She slammed the rest of her latest glass of whiskey, and then took Muriel’s out of her hand and downed it, too.

Muriel led the way to the stairs. “Top bar,” she mouthed.

Eavan nodded and followed. At the top, Muriel pushed open the heavy door. They went into the lavish room, and the door fell closed with a thud, sealing out most of the noise. It wasn’t silent, but the top floor bar was designed to make conversation possible.

“Oh shit,” Eavan whispered. Cillian was standing at the bar, looking far from happy.

Muriel put her back to him. “Give me rules, Evvie. Are you okay?”

“I am.” Eavan was able to look away from him. “I’ve had a half a fifth already. Everything is sleeping now.”

Muriel smiled at Cillian as he came up beside her. “How’s the head?”

“I’m fine.” Cillian scowled, but to his credit he didn’t do anything else.

Muriel gave him a quick once-over. “I know.”

His scowl deepened, so Eavan stepped closer and told Muriel.

“Should I stay?” Muriel asked.

Eavan shook her head. “I’m good…because of you. Again.”

With a wicked grin, Muriel brushed a quick kiss over Eavan’s lips. “Be safe, Ev.”

Once she was gone, Eavan turned to face Cillian. “Are you okay? Really?”

He closed his eyes like he was trying to control the temper that was playing in the edges of his expression. “About the blueballs? Yes. About your girlfriend knocking me out? I guess. About you running out so I can’t do my fucking job? No, not so much.”

“I’m sorry,” she told him yet again.

“For which part?”

“Everything but the running out,” she admitted with a small smile. In the space between words, she paused. Her skin was crawling: Daniel was near. Perhaps he’d stayed away only because Muriel was in the bar.

Cillian took Eavan’s elbow and led her to a table toward the back of the room. “Are you on something, Eavan?”

“Like drugs? Me?” She felt her mouth curving into a smile at the thought.

If he knew the truth, what would he think?

The cocktail waitress, thankfully, chose that moment to stop at the table. Cillian waited while Eavan ordered another drink. Through a tinted window they could see the main dance floor. In the middle of the floor, surrounded by guards, Daniel stood. He stared up as if he could see her through the darkened glass.

Eavan stood and stepped closer to the window.

In the crowd below, Daniel waited. Cuddled into his arms was a very malleable young woman. Daniel kept her upright. He kissed her forehead and then looked up at Eavan and mouthed, “I’ll let her go if”—he stopped a group of women, gave the girl over to their care, and then looked back up at Eavan—“you come see me soon, Eve.”

Cillian came to stand beside her; he peered into the crowd below. “Are you looking for someone? A dealer? Brennan again? If your family is trying to protect you because you’re mixed up in something…”

She walked away from the window. Daniel was gone. It wasn’t a trap, but a negotiation. What do I do now? She couldn’t chase after him; the idea of seeing him in this state was sheer foolishness. She couldn’t take Cillian, either…or leave him behind. Rage started to build inside her. She was a glaistig, not some child to be toyed with and broken. Daniel had no clue who he was taunting.

Eavan watched the mortals of the dance floor. It looked so normal. That’s the sort of life she’d used to dream of having; it was the life she thought she could have one day. Nyx had seemed to be giving her a little more freedom. Everything seemed to be going well—until Nyx hired Cillian. Until Daniel.

She’s been watching me the whole time.

There was no normal, only degrees of beautiful lies.

Eavan knew the answer, but she asked all the same: “Did my cousin hire you because of Daniel?”

Cillian didn’t reply or flinch, but his silence was answer enough for her.

Eavan held down “1” on her mobile and said, “Grandmother.”

Nyx didn’t bother with greetings at this hour. “Are you injured?”

“No.” Eavan watched Cillian as she spoke. “How long have you known?”

“Long enough to see that you were too far gone,” Nyx said. “I don’t like Brennan. Not for you or for anyone. Especially not as your first.”

“You know what he’s doing?” Eavan asked, still watching Cillian.

“Of course I do.” Nyx sighed. “That’s not your business though, Evvie. Brennan is trouble. The powder he uses…it’s really not good for our kind. It works on some of us, too.”

Eavan looked away then. She’d been a fool to think she could hide anything from her matriarch, and in that instant, she had to wonder if she truly could do anything beyond Nyx’s control. “This doesn’t change the other thing. I’m done with Daniel because I’m not able to—”

“Ask your Cillian what his real job is,” Nyx interrupted.

Eavan looked up and caught Cillian’s gaze. “What do you do for real?”

“I’m your bodyguard.”

On the other end of the phone, Nyx made a rude sound. “Tell him to tell you the rest.”

“Nyx wants me to know,” she told him. “She said…”

Cillian held out his hand for the phone. Silently, she released it.

He held it up to his ear, listened for a moment, and then scowled and hung up. Quietly, he said, “Let’s take a walk.”

Chapter 9

Cillian wasn’t sure what he hated more, the fact that he had to tell Eavan that he was with the C.D.A. or the fact that he seemed to have picked up a second supervisor. He wanted to tell Nyx to piss off, but his superiors would be anything but pleased if he lost his “anonymous” source so soon—plus that whole threat business of Nyx’s echoed in his mind.

Eavan was silent by his side as they walked down the street toward a tiny park that was reasonably well-lit. He stopped at a small cluster of unoccupied benches. It was late enough that they had a bit of privacy.

“I’m here investigating him,” Cillian told her. “Your cousin offered me a wealth of information on his activities, among other things, in exchange for protecting you.”

Eavan laughed, a bitter sound that made him want to comfort her. She sat down beside him. “Threats, sex, or money?”

He didn’t pretend to be shocked. “Not sex.”

“With her at least.”

“With any of them,” Cillian corrected.

Eavan was silent for a moment. “She hired you in the hopes that I’d sleep with you. It’s an obsession of hers.”

“Excuse me?” He angled his body so he was facing her. Of all the things he’d been prepared to hear, that wasn’t anywhere on the list. “She hired me because she knew you were spending time with Brennan, and he’s bad news.”

“He is.” Eavan took a breath. “But Nyx could’ve simply broken a few of my bones if all she wanted was to keep me away from Daniel.”

“She could’ve”—Cillian lowered his voice as a small group of people walked by—“broken your bones. You say that like it’s an everyday event.”

“Not these days, but…” Eavan shrugged. “Nyx is in charge. I’m guessing you already know on some level how terrible she is, else we wouldn’t be having this conversation. She picked you for reasons that aren’t about guarding me from Daniel. She picked you for me to have sex with.”

“Does she pick a lot of people for you to sleep with?” He tried to keep his voice even, but the idea that his family had been threatened, his life endangered, his career toyed with, and his peace of mind completely upended over sex was infuriating. It isn’t Eavan’s fault, he reminded himself. She’d been adamant that she did not want him around.

Eavan blushed. “No, you’re supposed to be the first.”

“Well that’s something, at—” He stopped mid-sarcasm. “The first first…like…”

“Yes.” She looked about as comfortable as he felt. “The very first. My virginity is a matter of family irritation.”

“Your family is concerned over your being a virgin.” He said the words slowly. “So you were dating a drug dealer and your cousin hired me to have sex with you? Is that what earlier was…Never mind.”

“No, earlier was about my wanting you. It was a mistake. A pleasurable one but a mistake nonetheless…and I wasn’t dating Daniel.” Eavan smiled regretfully. “I know it all seems a bit odd.”

“You think?”

They sat there for a moment while Cillian tried to figure out what to say. On the phone, Nyx had been very clear in her orders to be “completely honest” with Eavan and then report to the house to speak with her. Screw it. He was already so far out of his comfort zone that he wasn’t sure he’d be seeing level ground again. “Can I ask you what you are?”

“What I am?” she repeated.

“I’ve met your family…and now this. You’re not quite like most humans, right?”

“I can see where you’d get that. I’m human, mostly,” she hedged. “I’d like to stay that way, too.”

“Explain?”

“There are a couple things I can’t do if I am to stay human.” She squirmed, and a blush burned up her cheeks. “My grandmother Nyx would like me to do those things. She’s not particularly pleased with my intention to live and die as a human.”

“And if you do these things, you become something else? Something Other?”

She nodded.

“So Nyx hired me to…” He whistled and shook his head. “And Brennan? He’s what?”

“Daniel is a human. One that my family doesn’t like.”

“So…” He paused and shook his head, trying to make sense of the things she was sharing. He thought he was taking it remarkably well, all things considered. “I’m trying to understand. Help me out here?”

Eavan stood and crossed her arms over her chest. “Nyx wanted my first to be someone I’d remember fondly. She’d prefer I sleep with you than with Daniel, and she, undoubtedly, thinks I’d be in danger if I continued…stalking him. He’s making some zombie powder that he’s using to enslave and sell girls. I was just going to try to scare him, rescue some of the girls, but I got caught up. And Nyx thinks that whatever he’s doing with the zombie powder is dangerous to our kind.”

Cillian sat speechless, watching the people cross through the park. A preacher or madman perhaps was harassing passersby, calling them “harlots” and misquoting the Christian Bible.

If only he knew what dangers really lived in his city…

He wasn’t sure which side of the good-evil fence she belonged on—or which side her family was on—but there were nights when he wasn’t sure where he belonged, either.

“I’ll tell Nyx that you left. Get out of here, Mr. Owens, before you get trapped.” She turned and walked away. “Get out, and don’t look back.”

Eavan was midway across the park before Cillian could formulate a reply. He wasn’t sure what to think about the things she’d told him, but he was sure that Nyx—and possibly Eavan—had answers to help him stop Brennan. That’s what he’d been sent here to do. He’d expected to do so by ordinary means: the C.D.A. might track and eradicate Crypto Drugs, but he had no direct and open dealings with the world of the Others. The human world still functioned in ignorance. He was to continue to act as if he, too, was ignorant. Other C.D.A. members had a higher security clearance and were thus able to do otherwise.

Did they end up involved this way, too? Was it just a random case gone off the rails?

On a personal level, he wasn’t sure if he was flattered or horrified. He didn’t want to think long on that detail. He’d watched her at the clubs with Brennan; he’d watched her stand up to Nyx. And held her in my arms like something molten and too dangerous to touch. There was something different about her, but getting involved personally with a case was a bad idea.

He caught up to Eavan and said, “You need a lift?”

She gave him a strained smile. “It’s a bad idea, Cillian.”

He shrugged. “I’m not running—from either of my jobs.”

“It’s a mistake,” she said.

“It’s my mistake then.”

The way she held herself aloof made him want to comfort her, but in light of what she’d just revealed, that was the very last thing he could do. Instead, they walked silently to his car and drove to Nyx’s house.

Chapter 10

Nyx was dressed in the closest thing to proper attire that she ever wore. Eavan knew when she walked in that they weren’t staying. She shivered. “Will you let Mr. Owens leave?”

“Mr. Owens?” Nyx repeated with a knowing smile. “Your Cillian is perfectly free to leave if he’d like to go.”

Eavan’s distancing tactic was, like most things, utterly transparent to Nyx. How many times had they stood in the kitchen in a standoff? Nothing had changed, not the ridiculously artificial country-shabby decor of the room, not the fear that she felt, and certainly not the fact that Nyx had the upper hand.

Nyx gestured toward the door they’d just entered. “He can go. No strings as long as he doesn’t tell anyone what he’s learned of our world. I’m not a monster, Evvie.”

Before Eavan could dispute that claim, Nyx held up hand and said, “Not now.”

“So…” Cillian’s tone was relaxed, but he stood nearer Eavan with his body slightly at an angle, positioning himself between the two women. He hadn’t left. Instead, he’d chosen sides. For whatever reason, he was still acting as if he was there to protect her.

Nyx stepped toward him, each pace measured and timed to give him a chance to back away, to acknowledge her as the alpha predator she was.

Cillian stepped forward, moving away from the kitchen counter to give himself room to maneuver. He grinned. “If you’re going to get hostile over her figuring out that you hired me because of Brennan, now’s the time, Grandma.”

Nyx paused.

Eavan winced.

“You’re either brave or foolish, Mr. Owens.” Nyx reached out beside him and took a pair of bone carved hair sticks from the counter. “My granddaughter is precious to me. I want you to keep her safe. In exchange, I will help you in your job. That hasn’t changed.”

Eavan was speechless.

“Done. I’ll do my best, but”—Cillian scowled—“I’m not a stud for hire. Eavan told me about…the other thing.”

“Of course she did. It’s a bit sooner than I expected, but this was all inevitable, my dears.” Nyx twisted her hair up into a coil atop her head. Tendrils snaked down on either side. Stylists would have to work for the look she achieved in a moment—of course, glaistig hair was a living extension of the body, so that did help.

Nyx stepped between them and put one arm around Eavan and the other around Cillian. “If she needs a bedmate she might not kill—which she seems fixated on—you’ll be handy. It’s the most progress I’ve had with her, so I’m content. Now, let’s go see Daniel, so that matter can be put to rest, shall we?”

Eavan hesitated. “Grandmama? Do you think that’s it’s a good idea for all of us to go?”

Nyx’s laughter was unrestrained. She patted Eavan on the cheek and walked out the door.

They stood in Brennan’s living room, after having Nyx charm the doorman, a maid, and two security guards. Cillian wasn’t sure at all of the protocol. B&E wasn’t outside the parameters of his job, but murder usually required either a series of paperwork or immediate threat.

“Much easier to tread quietly when he covers the floor with this.” Nyx looked gleeful as she walked across the plush carpet. “Poor bastard won’t know what hit him.”

“He’s unnaturally tempting.” Eavan spoke softly. “There’s something off.”

“He plays with voodoo, dabbles in zombification, so he’s abuzz with energy, and you’re”—Nyx paused and looked askance at Cillian—“you’re hungry. The privilege of age, Eavan: I’m not starving or unsure.”

Eavan stood, examining an obsidian sculpture to avoid looking at Nyx or Cillian as she admitted, “I don’t like this.”

“Noted.” Nyx didn’t bother to hide her amusement. She looked around Brennan’s house like an antiques appraiser. “He has good taste.”

“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” Cillian repeated for the sixth time. Unfortunately, after the second time, Nyx ignored him as if he hadn’t spoken aloud. Cillian wasn’t exactly sure why she even allowed them to come along. He did, however, know what he was doing there. Months of work would be wasted if Brennan was murdered. Admittedly, it would be satisfying. Having criminals simply arrested sometimes felt anticlimactic, but having them murdered before they revealed the information he needed to proceed on his case was a trouble of a different sort.

He tried again: “Unless he has records here, this will stall the whole investigation…Nyx!” He turned to Eavan. “Can she hear me?”

This time, though, Nyx paused. “He’s selling mortals. It upsets Evvie, and she’s behaving foolishly. He’s moving drugs that are causing you complications. If I kill him, she’ll be happier; your employer will have resolved a drug flow. I can always use a snack. Where’s the downside?”

Then she sashayed across the room and into Brennan’s bedroom, humming softly. She left the door wide open, so they could see her when she stopped beside a massive glass-block pedestal bed. With a wicked grin, she watched Cillian as she lifted one side of her skirt. He couldn’t look away—or stop the sound of shock. Her legs were not those of a human: they were muscular and furred like an animal’s legs.

“Told you that you didn’t want all of those questions answered, Cillian,” she said as she pulled out her hairpins. Her hair was writhing around her shoulders like angry serpents.

He took a step backward.

Eavan reached out and squeezed his hand. “We should look for his files.”

Brennan stirred as Nyx straddled him. The sheet was only partially covering him; his upper body was bare. His hands were under the pillow beneath his head.

“Wake up, Mr. Brennan.” Nyx sounded cheerful. “We have to chat.”

“Who—”

“Shhh.” Nyx put a finger over his mouth. “My dears, perhaps you could close the door before you go looking for whatever documents you needed? Daniel and I need some privacy, don’t we, dear?”

Cillian didn’t speak as Eavan pulled the door shut, closing in the two predators. He wasn’t sure which of them was worse. Good and evil weren’t always clearly delineated. Nyx intended to kill Daniel Brennan; Brennan drugged and sold people. Is it monstrous to kill a monster? Is Nyx evil? He wished, briefly, that his childhood catechism held up under such questions. It didn’t. Moral relativity made clear that black-and-white questions weren’t realistic in the world Cillian saw.

The world these people…creatures…all see, too.

“Come on, Cillian,” Eavan said gently. “It’s easier if you don’t think about it.”

“For whom?”

“For all of us.” She gave him a rueful smile. “That’s my family. My blood. And she’s about to kill him.”

“Is that all?” He hated that he wanted to know, but he did. He’d involved himself in the business affairs of Nyx and her family—not just because of the C.D.A., but also because he felt the stirring of interest in Eavan. That interest didn’t die when she’d told him that she wasn’t altogether human. He’d been pretty certain of that long before she’d kissed him. “What will she—”

“Don’t ask me that right now.” Eavan opened a door and peered inside. Fitness equipment filled the room. She walked to another door and opened it. “Here we are.”

“And her legs?” He had to ask now while he still could. “I mean, your legs aren’t…I’ve felt…” He looked at her bare ankles and toned calves. “You’re not like that.”

She didn’t flinch. “I’m still mostly human. I told you that there were things I had to do in order to be like the rest of my family.”

“Sex and…”

“Murder.” Eavan looked at the closed door. “Preferably at the same time.”

“And last night when we…were you going to kill me?” His heartbeat felt too fast, but he wasn’t sure it was entirely from fear.

“I don’t know.” Her tongue darted out to trace her lips. She looked straight at him and said, “I thought about it for a moment.”

“And Brennan?”

She stared at him still, a challenge plain in her expression. “Yes, I wanted to kill him.”

Cillian felt a strange—unhealthy—stab of jealousy. “And…”

“Maybe.” She shook her head. “I’ve never done either one. I can’t do both, so I do neither. I want to stay human.”

Cillian wasn’t sure what to say, other than, “Let’s start searching…If you see anything that could be business, set it aside.”

She nodded, and they searched in silence.

Chapter 11

Nyx screamed, but not in pleasure.

Eavan was out of the office before Cillian realized she’d moved. He followed her, not as fast as she moved but only a few steps behind her.

When he crossed the threshold of Brennan’s room and saw Nyx, he was horrified. Brennan had her bound with thick chains. White powder was all over her face, giving her lips a chalky appearance. She was unconscious. There were gashes in both of her arms and one high up on her thigh. Blood poured from those cuts into paint basins under each arm.

“Eve!” Brennan was blood-covered, naked, and far too happy. “I had no idea you would bring me such a present. Glaistig blood is ridiculously expensive in the open market, and for whatever reason, they’re averse to my presence so I can’t lure them in for love nor money.”

“Get Nyx,” was all Eavan said, and then she was on Brennan like a crazed person.

Brennan pushed her back like she weighed nothing and wrapped his arms around her. She leaned forward and bit him, grabbing his earlobe in her mouth.

He laughed joyously. “I knew you’d be perfect.”

Cillian unwound the chains from Nyx and looked up at Eavan. “She’s breathing.”

“Go,” Eavan said. She was held in an unwilling embrace by Brennan. “Bind her wounds in the car. Get her out of here before she’s too weakened.”

Cillian couldn’t stand the idea of leaving Eavan behind. “But—”

“Please?” she asked Cillian before turning her attention to Brennan and adding, “Let them leave, and I’ll stop fighting.”

Brennan kissed her. “Better yet, how about I let them go, and you keep fighting? I don’t like my zombie girls; I just like the money I make selling them.”

“Done.” She looked over at Cillian again. “Get her home. Now. Tell Chloe to call Muriel.”

Cillian lifted Nyx into his arms, but he hesitated. How do I leave her here? Eavan caught his gaze and asked, “Please? She’s…she needs help. If she dies…please?”

Brennan picked up a knife and held it against Eavan’s throat.

She didn’t move.

“Listen to Eve, or I’ll bleed her out.” Brennan drew a heart on Eavan’s throat with the tip of the knife. “If you go, Eve gets a fair chance at fighting.”

Eavan stood meekly as blood trickled slowly down her skin and vanished into her shirt. “Please, Cillian? I need Nyx safe.”

Eavan watched Cillian carry her grandmother out. Daniel held her still. She could feel how happy he was to be entangled with her. He nuzzled her bleeding throat and murmured, “Did you really think I didn’t know what you were, Eve?”

“How?”

“I drink glaistig blood. I mix it in my drugs. I knew who and what you were the moment you crossed my path. A virgin glaistig. Do you know what you’re worth on the market, lovely Eve?” He licked her throat. “I don’t want to share you though. Not now, and definitely not once your hooves are here.”

She didn’t speak. The words she had screaming in her head weren’t words to share with mortals.

“Tell me yes.” He traced the contours of her body. “Better yet, tell me no.”

“Why?”

He kissed her, and she couldn’t deny how easily her body responded. It wasn’t the mind-blowing reaction she had to Cillian, but it was a reaction. But he hurt Nyx. If he hadn’t done that, if he’d have been honest with her, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to resist.

“We could skip this whole messy business. Save me having to kill your lovely family…” He loosened his grip. “We could keep playing our games, but you’ll be stronger.” He got more excited as he spoke, rubbing against her. “It’ll be fun.”

He unbuttoned her blouse. “You can’t run.” He traced down her sternum with bloody fingers. “That’s what I said to your grandmother. A little glaistig blood, powder, and magic, and she was helpless. Just like you…I have your kind’s blood in me. Just like glaistigs, when I speak, you have to obey…”

He kissed her and laid her back on his bed. “Lose the skirt…and the gun, Eve.”

Over the years, Eavan had felt herself forced under Nyx’s will; she’d watched Nyx and the rest of the clan bend mortals to their wishes. No one but Nyx was strong enough to force her to obey. Daniel shouldn’t be, either.

He was though.

“Thought you didn’t like them mindless?” Eavan ran her thumb along her bellyband holster. Would death by bullet, not by my actual hand, still mean changing? She wasn’t sure.

“I don’t. Once you lose the gun, I’ll gladly give you control.” His eyes darkened at the thought. “You want me; don’t you, Eve? You wanted me the night we met. Tell me the truth.”

“I did,” she admitted.

“The skirt.” He sat up, so she could remove it. “But keep the panties.”

“Why?” She lifted her hips and slipped the skirt off. Then she loosened the holster, pulling it apart at the fastenings as slowly as she could. Years of resisting Nyx had helped her to learn the tricks of disobeying glaistig control. It was about finding the loophole that allowed disobedience.

“I want you to make the choice.” He shivered as he said it.

She slid the gun out of the holster. “I am. I’m still mortal, Daniel…with immunity to all but a matriarch’s control. I couldn’t have survived my family if I wasn’t immune. No unturned glaistig could.”

But she still let him take the gun from her hand.

“Lucky me”—Daniel licked Nyx’s blood from his forearm—“I have matriarchal blood right here.”

“You know what glaistigs do? I’m going to kill you. Is that what you want?”

“You’d have shot me before if you were going to kill me.” Daniel rolled her on top of him. “You can’t kill me, Eve. That’s the last order I’ll give you. You have your will but for this: as long as I’m breathing, you can’t ever kill me.”

And with that, she had possession of her will. He’d given her complete control, save for murdering him. He knew enough about what she was to say the words that could make her safe. He forbade her, and she had to obey. Could Nyx have done that? If Nyx had ordered Eavan not to murder anyone, she would be free to stay human, free to have sex and live like a normal person. She wanted to weep at how basic it could be.

“As long as you’re breathing,” she repeated. As she turned the words over in her mind, she saw the flaw. She sealed her lips to his and breathed in. Her hands tightened around his throat.

He clawed at her hands, but an instinct centuries in the making held her. He was her first, but her body knew how things were to be. She drew his life into her mouth, sucking his dreams and fears into her lungs, holding him to her with hair that was extending from her in the same serpentine tendrils she’d once thought were beautiful on Nyx.

She did what Nyx could not, what her matriarch had failed to do, what she’d never wanted to do. Then she dropped Daniel to the floor.

“I’ve worked for years to not kill anyone. I’ve lived like a virgin. I’ve done everything I could to avoid this moment.”

As she stepped over him, she could still see her feet, her normal human toes, her pedicure. She didn’t have hooves. Yet.

Chapter 12

Eavan was blood-covered when she walked into her house. Cillian didn’t bother asking if Brennan was alive. He couldn’t help glancing at her legs, though. Are they going to change? He wasn’t sure if such a change was immediate or not.

“Nyx?” she asked.

“Sleeping now. Muriel is with her. She says everything will be fine.” He didn’t know if he should reach out or what to do. If Eavan had been human, he’d have offered a shoulder to lean on; if she was a friend, he’d have offered an embrace. She was something else, so he settled for words: “Are you going to be all right?”

Eavan nodded. She dropped a stack of files on the table. “I didn’t know what you needed, so I brought these.”

He came to stand beside her. “Do you need anything?”

“A shower.” She looked lost, but resolute. “I’m a mess.”

He forgot his misgivings, his professionalism, and his common sense. He wrapped his arms around her and held on to her. She didn’t resist, but she didn’t crumble into sobs, either. For a moment, she stayed stiff, and then she relaxed into his embrace. Drying blood, some of it hers, streaked her skin. Traces of tears on her face made it apparent that she had cried, just not where there were witnesses.

“You should run, Cillian,” she whispered. “Being around us is unsafe.”

“I’m not going anywhere yet.” He wasn’t sure where he’d be or when he was going, but until his supervisors assessed the files she’d brought, he was untethered. “My assignment was to come to Raleigh. Until I get new orders, I’m here.”

“That doesn’t mean you need to be around monsters.” She didn’t move away from him as she spoke. “Nyx won’t force you to stay, and Daniel isn’t around to investigate.”

“He’s gone?” Cillian hadn’t wanted to bring it up, but they did need to deal with it. “If he’s dead, I’ll call it in, and the C.D.A. will clean it up.”

She nodded. “He’s dead.”

“It’s not your fault,” he said. “You—”

“Hunted him. Brought Nyx there. Left her in a room with him.” She made a bitter sound and stepped away. “No, it’s not my fault at all.”

She walked past him, ignoring the rest of her family and heading into the room where Muriel and Nyx were. She stopped in the doorway and bowed her head. “Forgive me, Grandmama.”

Cillian watched for a minute, and then he took the files with him into the sitting room to call the office. “I’ll be staying in Raleigh for a while,” he said when his supervisor answered. “I need a cleanup and containment though.” He filled them in, and then sat down in the gaudy room and started to read. There was plenty to do in Raleigh.

Eavan stood in the doorway and looked down at her matriarch. She’d always been imperious, seemingly invincible, and terrifying. Seeing her weakened was heartbreaking to Eavan. Why was she weakened by him? Why couldn’t Nyx kill him? Eavan realized that she had done what her matriarch could not. It wasn’t a comforting feeling to be the better monster when Nyx was the competition.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Later there would be time for questions; later there would be room to think about the unpleasant truth that she was going to need to make peace with being a part of her clan. Right now, all that mattered was that her family was unbroken. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be a fool, Eavan. You didn’t injure me.” Nyx opened her eyes. “Is he dead?”

“Yes.”

“By your hand?” Nyx wasn’t any less fierce for being injured.

“Yes,” Eavan admitted.

“It was worth it then. Now, if you want to make me happy, go celebrate with Cillian. Call it a cure for your guilt.” Nyx closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

Eavan stood there for several moments. Some things never change. Her grandmother was still the family matriarch, still focused on her personal agenda, still determined to save Eavan from dying from the “disease” of mortality.

Quietly, with only Muriel for a witness, Eavan walked over and kissed her grandmother’s forehead and whispered the same words she used to whisper as a girl: “You’re such a bitch, Grandmama Nyx.”

Nyx smiled but didn’t open her eyes. “Love you, too, Evvie.”

After her shower, Eavan sat in Nyx’s room and flipped through a manila folder she’d found in Daniel’s office, one she hadn’t given Cillian. He had looked up when she walked past the sitting room, but he hadn’t followed her into Nyx’s room.

Eavan flipped through the pages and stared at the names:

Christophe, James

Imlee, D—?

McKinsey, Rachel

Wall,???

There were more than a dozen pages on different people and other thicker packets of information that made no sense to her.

She wasn’t meant for a normal life, but that didn’t mean she had to give up hope of everything she’d believed. Maybe Nyx was right: maybe she couldn’t deny what she was. She was a murderess, a daughter of glaistigs, but she was also daughter to a long-gone human father. She’d commit a few murders to keep her appetites in control. She wasn’t going to become fully glaistig. There were choices left to her—not as many as before Daniel, but still enough that she could keep hold her of her humanity.

An excerpt from Melissa Marr’s Graveminder

Prologue

MAYLENE PUT ONE HAND ATOP THE STONE for support; pulling herself up from the soil got harder every year. Her knees had been problem enough, but of late the arthritis had started settling in her hips. She brushed the soil from her hands and from her skirt and pulled a small bottle from her pocket. Carefully avoiding the green shoots of the tulip bulbs she’d planted, Maylene tilted the bottle over the earth.

“Here you go, dear,” she whispered. “It’s not the shine we used to sip, but it’s what I have to share.”

She stroked the top of the stone. No grass clippings had collected there; no spider silk stretched from the top. She was careful of the smallest detail.

“Do you remember those days? Back porch, sunshine, and mason jars”—she paused at the remembered sweetness— “we were so foolish then . . . thinking there was a big ol’ world out there to conquer.”

Pete, for his part, wasn’t likely to reply: those who were properly buried and minded didn’t speak.

She made the rest of her rounds through Sweet Rest Cemetery, stopping to clean debris from stones, pour a bit of drink onto the ground, and say her words. Sweet Rest was the last of the cemeteries on the week’s schedule, but she didn’t shortchange the residents.

For a small town, Claysville had a high number of graveyards and cemeteries. By law, everyone ever born within town limits had to be buried here; consequently, the town had more deceased residents than living ones. Maylene wondered sometimes what would happen if the living knew of the bargain the town founders had made, but every time she’d broached the topic with Charles, she’d been rebuffed. Some battles weren’t ones she could win—no matter how much she wanted them.

Or how much damn sense they make.

She glanced at the darkening sky. It was past time to be back home. She did her duty well enough that there hadn’t been visitors in almost a full decade, but she still went home by sundown. A lifetime of habit didn’t wane even when it seemed like it should.

Or not.

Maylene had only just tucked her flask into her front dress pocket when she saw the girl. She was too thin, concave stomach showing under her ripped T-shirt. Her feet were bare, and her jeans had holes in the knees. A smudge of dirt outlined her left cheek like badly applied rouge. Eyeliner was smudged under her eyes like she’d fallen asleep with her makeup still on. The girl walked through the well-manicured cemetery, not staying on the paths, but crossing through the grass until she stood in front of one of the older family mausoleums beside Maylene.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” Maylene murmured.

The girl’s arms jutted out at awkward angles, not quite hands-on-hips-belligerent but not relaxed either, as if they weren’t all the way under the girl’s control. “I came to find you.”

“I didn’t know. If I’d known . . .” “It doesn’t matter now.” The girl’s attention was unwavering. “This is where you are.”

“It is, at that.” Maylene busied herself gathering up her gardening shears and watering can. She’d finished with the scrub brushes and already piled up most of her supplies. The bottles clinked as she tossed the watering can into her wheelbarrow.

The girl looked sad. Her soil-dark eyes were clouded over by tears that she hadn’t been able to shed. “I came to find you.”

“I couldn’t have known.” Maylene reached out and plucked a leaf from the girl’s hair.

“Doesn’t matter.” She lifted a dirty hand, fingernails flashing chipped red polish, but she didn’t seem to know what to do with her outstretched fingers. Little-girl fears warred with teen bravado in her expression. Bravado won. “I’m here now.”

“All right, then.” Maylene walked down the path toward one of the gates. She pulled the old key from her handbag, twisted it in the lock, and pushed open the gate. It creaked just a bit. Might want to mention that to Liam, she reminded herself. He never can remember without a nagging.

“Do you have pizza?” The girl’s voice was soft in the air. “And chocolate drink? I like those chocolate drinks.”

“I’m sure I have something I can fix.” Maylene heard her own voice quiver. She was getting too old for surprises. Finding the girl here—in this state—was a few steps past a surprise. She shouldn’t be here. Her parents shouldn’t have let her roam; someone should have contacted Maylene before it got to this point. There were laws in Claysville.

Laws kept in place for just this reason.

They stepped through the gate onto the sidewalk. Outside the boundaries of Sweet Rest, the world wasn’t nearly so tidy. The sidewalk had cracked, and from within those gaps spindly weeds were sprouting.

“Step on a crack, break your mama’s back,” the girl whispered, and then stomped her bare foot on the broken cement. She smiled at Maylene and added, “The bigger the crack, the worse it’ll hurt her.”

“That part doesn’t rhyme,” Maylene pointed out.

“It doesn’t, does it?” She tilted her head for a moment and then said, “The bigger the break, the worse the ache. That works.”

She swung her arms loosely as they walked, out of time with their steps, out of normal rhythm. Her steps were steady, but the pattern was erratic. Her feet came down on the sidewalk with such force that the broken cement tore at her bare feet.

Silently, Maylene pushed her wheelbarrow down the sidewalk until they came to the end of her driveway. She stopped, and with one hand, she pulled her flask out of her pocket and emptied it; with the other hand, she reached inside the postbox. In the back—folded up, stamped, and addressed—was an envelope. Her fingers trembled, but Maylene sealed the flask inside the envelope, slipped it inside the box, and raised the red flag to signal the carrier to take away the package. If she didn’t come back to retrieve it in the morning, it would go to Rebekkah. Maylene put her hand on the side of the battered box for a moment, wishing that she’d had the courage to tell Rebekkah the things she needed to know before now.

“I’m hungry, Miss Maylene,” the girl urged.

“I’m sorry,” Maylene whispered. “Let me get you something warm to eat. Let me—”

“It’s okay. You’re going to save me, Miss Maylene.” The girl gave her a genuine look of happiness. “I know it. I knew that if I found you everything would be okay.”

Chapter 1

BYRON MONTGOMERY HADN’T BEEN INSIDE THE BARROW HOUSE IN YEARS. Once he’d gone there every day to meet his high school girlfriend, Ella, and her stepsister, Rebekkah. They’d both been gone for nearly a decade, and for the first time, he was grateful. Ella and Rebekkah’s grandmother lay on the kitchen floor in a puddle of partially congealed blood. Her head was twisted at an odd angle, and her arm was torn. The blood on the floor seemed to have come mostly from that one wound. It looked like she had a handprint bruise on her upper arm, but it was hard to tell with the amount of blood around her.

“Are you okay?” Chris stepped in front of him, temporarily blocking the sight of Maylene’s body. The sheriff wasn’t an unnaturally large man, but like all of the McInneys, he had the sort of presence that commanded attention under any circumstances. The attitude and musculature that had once made Chris a sight to see in a good bar fight now made him the sort of sheriff that invited trust.

“What?” Byron forced himself to stare only at Chris, to avoid looking at Maylene’s body.

“Are you going to be sick or something . . . because of the”— Chris gestured at the floor—“blood and all.”

“No.” Byron shook his head. A person couldn’t be an undertaker and get squeamish at the sight—or scent—of death. He’d worked at funeral homes outside of Claysville for eight years before he’d given in to the insistent urge to come back home. Out there, he’d seen the results of violent deaths, of children’s deaths, of lingering deaths. He’d mourned some of them, even though they were strangers to him, but he’d never been sick from it. He wasn’t going to get sick now either, but it was harder to be distant when the dead was someone he’d known.

“Evelyn went and got her clean clothes.” Chris leaned against the kitchen counter, and Byron noted that the blood spray hadn’t touched that side of the room.

“Did you already collect evidence or . . . ?” Byron halted before he’d finished the sentence. He didn’t know what all needed to be done. He’d picked up more bodies than he could count, but never from a still-fresh crime scene. He wasn’t a pathologist or in any way involved in forensic investigation. His job commenced afterward, not at the scene of homicide. At least, it had been like that elsewhere. Now that he was back home, things weren’t what he was used to. The small town of Claysville was a different sort of place from the cities he’d roamed. He hadn’t realized exactly how different it was until he’d gone away . . . or maybe until he’d come back.

“Did I collect evidence of what?” Chris glowered at him with a menace that would make a lot of folks cringe, but Byron remembered when the sheriff had been one of the guys—likely to go into Shelly’s Stop ’n’ Shop to grab them a twelve-pack when Byron wasn’t quite old enough to buy it for himself.

“The crime.” Byron gestured at the kitchen. Blood spatter had arced across Maylene’s floor and cabinet fronts. A plate and two drinking glasses sat on the table, proof that there had been a second person at the table—or that Maylene had set out two glasses for herself. So she might have known her attacker. A chair was knocked backward on the floor. She’d struggled. A loaf of bread, with several slices cut and lying beside it, sat on the counter cutting board. She’d trusted her attacker. The bread knife had been washed and was the lone item in a narrow wooden drying rack beside the sink. Someone—the attacker?—had cleaned up. As Byron tried to assign meaning to what he saw around him, he wondered if Chris simply didn’t want to talk about the evidence. Maybe he sees something I’m missing?

The lab tech, whom Byron didn’t know, stepped into the kitchen. He didn’t step in the blood on the floor, but if he had, his shoes were already covered by booties. The absence of his kit seemed to indicate that the tech had already done what he needed in this room.

Or wasn’t going to be doing anything.

“Here.” The tech held out disposable coveralls and disposable latex gloves. “Figured you’d need help getting her out of here.”

Once Byron had the coveralls and gloves on, he looked from the tech to Chris. The attempt at patience vanished; he needed to know. “Chris? That’s Maylene, and . . . just tell me you’ve got something to . . . I don’t know, narrow in on whoever did this or something.”

“Drop it.” Chris shook his head and pushed away from the counter. Unlike the tech, he was very careful where he stepped. He walked toward the doorway into Maylene’s living room, putting himself farther from the body, and caught Byron’s gaze. “Just do your job.”

“Right.” Byron squatted down, started to reach out, and then looked up. “Is it safe to touch her? I don’t want to disturb anything if you still need to collect—”

“You can do whatever you need.” Chris didn’t look at Maylene as he spoke. “I can’t get anything else done until you take her out of here, and it’s not right her lying there like that. So . . . just do it. Take her out of here.”

Byron unzipped the body bag. Then, with a silent apology to the woman he’d once expected to be part of his family, he and the tech gently moved her body into the bag. Leaving it still unzipped, Byron straightened and peeled off his now-bloody gloves.

Chris’ gaze dropped to Maylene’s body inside the still-open bag. Silently, he grabbed the biohazard bag and shoved it at the tech. Then the sheriff squatted down and zipped the bag, hiding Maylene’s corpse from sight. “Not right for her to be looking like that.”

“And it’s not right to contaminate the exterior of the pouch,” Byron retorted as he dropped the gloves in the biohazard bag, removed the coveralls, and carefully put them in the bag, too.

Chris crouched down, closed his eyes, and whispered something. Then he stood. “Come on. You need to get her up out of here.”

The look he spared for Byron was accusatory, and for a split moment, Byron wanted to snarl at him. It wasn’t that Byron didn’t feel for the dead. He did. He took care of them, treated them with more care than a lot of people knew in their lives, but he didn’t stand and weep. He couldn’t. Distance was as essential as the rest of an under-taker’s tools; without it, the job was impossible.

Some deaths got to him more than others; Maylene’s was one of them. She’d had an office at his family funeral home and a longstanding relationship with his father. She’d raised the only two women he’d ever loved. She was all but family—but that didn’t mean he was going to grieve here.

Silently and carefully, Byron and Chris carried Maylene to the cot Byron had left outside the door, and then they put her in the waiting hearse.

Once the back of the hearse was closed, Chris took several breaths. Byron doubted that the sheriff had ever dealt with a murder investigation. Claysville, for all of its eccentricities, was the safest town Byron had ever known. Growing up, he hadn’t realized how rare that was.

“Chris? I know some people I could call if you wanted to call in help.”

The sheriff nodded, but he refused to look at Byron. “Tell your father that—” Chris’ voice broke. He cleared his throat and continued, “Tell him that I’ll call Cissy and the girls.”

“I will,” Byron assured him.

Chris took several steps away. He stopped outside the same side door where they’d exited, but he didn’t look back as he said, “I suspect someone will need to tell Rebekkah. Cissy isn’t likely to call her, and she’ll be needing to come home now.”

About the Author

Melissa Marr is the New York Times bestselling author of the Wicked Lovely series of young adult novels and Graveminder, a novel for adults. She currently lives in the Washington, D.C., area with her family. Learn more about her at www.melissa-marr.com.

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Also by Melissa Marr

NOVELS

Graveminder

SHORT FICTION

Love Struck

THE WICKED LOVELY WORLD

NOVELS

Wicked Lovely

Ink Exchange

Fragile Eternity

Radiant Shadows

Darkest Mercy

SHORT FICTION

Old Habits

Stopping Time

Copyright

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Two Lines originally appeared in the print anthology Unbound, published in paperback in 2009 by Eos, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.

Two Lines copyright © 2009 by Melissa Marr. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payments of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

Excerpt from Graveminder (9780061826870) Copyright © 2011 by Melissa Marr. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payments of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

EPub Edition September 2011 ISBN: 9780062119100

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