It takes a few moments to find a suitable response to an estranged aunt calling me back and sounding really irritated about it. The phone feels slippery in my hand; I'm sweaty-palmed from nerves. "Thanks for getting back to me. I called you guys because I have some questions about my mom."

"What kind of questions?" The words are made sharper by her voice, heavy as a growl and without much inflection.

The kind that'll help me fight a vampire. But how do I slide the conversation toward that? "Well, she died when I was a baby..."

"I know. I was there."

I'm beginning to think this was a bad idea. "Okay, so I don't know anything about her or her family."

"Uh-huh. You think you can learn everything about your mother and this pack through a single phone call?"

I grit my teeth, determined to remain pleasant. "No. I just hoped you could tell me a little about what it means to be a wolf witch. What you actually go through."

"For what, a school report?"

My voice dips into a snarl before I can help myself. "Like I'd take your hassling for some fucking homework. Look, my body's doing weird things. Growing claws and stuff. I don't know why, and I don't know who to ask about what it means. I obviously can't ask my mom."

There's a long pause at the other end, and when she speaks again, her tone sounds softer. "What signs are you showing, exactly?"

I clear my throat. "All my life, I could never change any part of me. But about a week ago, I started growing claws whenever I got upset. Each time it's a little easier, a little faster. Now I'm at the point where I can grow them out just by thinking it."

"That all?"

"Um. This morning, my hands and arms changed into something else. Not really a wolf's legs; except for the claws, the structure stayed human. But I grew fur and a lot more muscle, all the way up to my elbows. The rest of me stayed human. I think it did, anyway. It's not like I could check out the nearest mirror." I manage to keep my voice calm, but my body must go tense, because Gideon moves against me.

"Hm. What were you doing?"

"Fighting." I don't want to go into the vampire thing. She's already suspicious of me, and I'm damn sure she'll end the call outright if she thinks I'm playing a prank. "After I was done, my arms went back to being human."

There's a grunt on the other end. Then, "Your sister ever have problems?"

"Maria?" I hear my voice turn bitter. "No. Magic never confuses her. She's a full-on mech witch."

"Jealous, are we?" Her gruff words turn amused.

"You try being a dud throughout your life without becoming bitter."

But she only laughs. "You're no dud, girl. You're showing signs of being something rarer than a regular wolf."

"What?" I say, sitting up.

She says a phrase in Spanish, too fast for me to separate the syllables.

"Sorry?"

She repeats it more slowly, but I still can't grasp it. "I don't understand you. I was raised to speak only English."

Another growling sound, but then she says, "It translates to sister with boundless skin. Easier to just call yourself a sisterwolf; other wolves know what it means."

"Do humans know about sisterwolves?"

"Sort of. Some of their werewolf lore sprung from seeing them. Twisted around and fucked up, mind you, like everything else humans talk about. The way they tell it, silver burns a sisterwolf." Her bitter laugh sounds like a bark.

"So what's the difference between that and a regular wolf witch?"

"Obvious one is their look. Not full wolf or human; a blending of the two. And they're big. A full-grown sisterwolf stands nine or ten feet tall."

Hope bursts through me. Something that big must also be super strong. Strong as Valentine? Stronger? "How can I change over completely?"

"Don't know. Like I told you, they're rare. I know someone who can answer all your questions, but it'll take me a day or two to reach her."

My heart sinks. "Can you tell me anything in the meantime?"

She answers immediately. "Wear silver around humans. Won't harm you any; just keeps you from changing over. That's another difference; a regular wolf can't change with anything wrapped around a limb, whether it's a leather bracelet or a bone ring. A sisterwolf needs silver to keep her skin still."

Understanding flashes through me. That explains my fight with the vampire, then. And Valentine's slip-up with my silver earrings. If he knows enough about wolves to know how to kill them, then of course he didn't expect me to wear silver around him. Only an idiot or someone totally ignorant of their nature would.

When I say nothing, she adds, "Binds your strength, too. Important if you're feeling any urges."

"Urges?" I repeat, unsure of what she means. Will I have to deal with some kind of bloodlust? Wanting to chomp on people like chew toys?

"Sex, girl." Her voice turns amused again. "You'll end up ripping someone to pieces without realizing it in time."

"Oh. So, I'm really dangerous." I can't decide how that makes me feel. Every time someone talks to me about a threat, I'm always the potential victim. Don't walk alone at night. Don't take rides from strangers. Watch your drink at a party. That kind of stuff. I'm told to be on the defensive for things to happen to me, not for what I could do to others.

My silence must make her nervous, because she suddenly snaps, "Where are you, anyway?"

I blink at the change in subject. "You mean you don't know?"

"Why should I? Haven't sniffed so much as a hair off your head since Inez died in that human charnel house."

"It was a hospital," I say, automatically. "I remember the cold tile floors. And all the beeping machines."

"I'm calling it what it was. It reeked of death. Even you could sniff it, and you were just a pup. Cried and screamed unless your daddy held you."

I jerk with surprise. "You knew him?" Gran never spoke outright about the pack, but things she said here and there led me to believe no one on my mom's side came down from their mountain to mingle with humans.

"Of course I knew him. Now where are you?"

But I'm too stuck on the question itself to answer it. "How could you not know? Didn't anyone from the pack even read the letters I sent? When I was a kid, I'd write you all the time. And the last time we moved, I sent another one just to let you know."

"We never got any."

I'm so surprised, I stupidly repeat what she just said. "You never got them? But..."

"How many ways do I have to say it? The pack hasn't known where you were since the minute the mother of that sad sack Inez called a husband left the hospital with you. She was probably the one who got Bero thrown into a government holding cell for three weeks. Certainly gave her enough time to take you and your sister and disappear without a trace."

Anger writhes up through my belly. "What the hell are you talking about? Gran's taken very good care of me."

"Maybe, but that doesn't make her a good woman. She always hated Inez, and hardly liked you any better."

"You're wrong." Dimly, I'm aware of pushing myself off the bed, a small part of my mind not wanting Gideon so close while my fingers ache with claws.

"Really? Then she learned to look at your teeth without flinching?" When I don't answer, she adds, "Thought so. Bero always said—"

My temper snaps. "I don't know who the fuck Bero is, and I don't care, either."

"Don't know? You mean she told you Enrique was—" She sounds aghast, but I don't let her finish.

"I called to ask for your help, not to hear bullshit about the woman who did everything she could to take care of me. If all you're going to do is insult her, then we're done."

I end the call by throwing the phone across the room, my bones shuddering. Fuck, it feels like a change is coming on. Where did I leave my mom's silver? I make it to the laundry room with gritted teeth, muscles cramping throughout my body as I paw through my discarded jeans, still in the sink where I left them to soak. As soon as the tips of my fingers brush against the necklace, the cramps subside. I'm left shaking but pain-free as I wrap the necklace around my wrist to keep it against skin, tying the chain into a clumsy knot to secure it. The clasp looks okay despite how I ripped off the necklace earlier; maybe the links are spelled to separate for easy removal. But the earrings didn't survive the fight, reduced to shapeless, battered metal. A dull ache grows in my chest at the thought of throwing them away, so I leave them in a cracked egg cup used to hold safety pins.

After moving the laundry into the dryer, I slump by the machine, waiting for enough time to pass before I can reach in and grab clothes that are merely damp instead of soaking wet. Minutes slide by before the anger prickling throughout me fades.

I settle for a tank top so old it's faded to grey, and a pair of shorts that Gran never let me wear outside the house because she felt they revealed too much of my legs. Old clothes, comfy clothes. A glance in the mirror reveals my hair is a fucking mess, full of snarls from washing it and then going to sleep without brushing it out.

The hairbrush must be in my room somewhere. I make my way over, intending to grab it and slip back to finish the laundry. But when I reach the doorway, I see Gideon sitting on the edge of the bed, ink bright and fluid while he tests it. He doesn't notice me, but I still linger, watching lines of code and color graphics flash up and disappear in the blink of an eye. Some of the light reflects off his intent face, and I find myself watching him instead of the ink.

Suddenly, he looks over, startled when he sees me in the doorway. "Phoenix."

"Sorry. I didn't mean to spy." Embarrassed, I quickly flap my hand at the gnarled mess around my head. "Just came in here to brush this out."

"I can commiserate." He runs a hand over his own hair, which definitely shows the Chetli waviness in its disheveled state. The rest of him looks pretty good, though; the cut by his eye already scabbed over, and every movement he makes is sure and smooth.

"So, um..." I say, after realizing I'm still in the doorway and he's still watching me. "How do you feel?"

"Well." He turns enough to shoot a wry glance at the dresser by the bed. "Better than your phone."

"Oh. Thanks." I grab it with a sheepish smile and sink down next to him while checking to see if it survived my latest tantrum. "I tried to get in touch with my mom's pack. Her sister called me back a little while ago. We ended up fighting."

Just then, my phone buzzes, signaling someone left a message.

When I check it, Maya's gruff voice spills out, loud enough for both of us to hear. "Phoenix, it's Maya again."

In the background, a second voice hisses, "I can't believe you drove her away. Inez's daughter!"

Then there's the sound of Maya clearing her throat. "I was harsh on you and yours, earlier. Didn't mean to set you off. But there's plenty of bad blood slicking your past, and you'll need to learn about it to know about yourself, too. Need to take the bad with the good to get anywhere."

"Sweet moon, Maya, just apologize!"

She makes a huffing noise and then says, "I suppose I could've saved it for later. And been nicer. Truth is, we're worried about you; sisterwolves find their second skin only when..."

There's a short pause, and then she snarls. "This'd be easier if we knew how ignorant you been kept all these years. Just come to us if you get into real trouble, you hear?"

Then there's only the click of the call ending.

"Can you believe that?" I mutter, still glaring at my phone as it gives me options for what to do with the message.

My finger hovers over delete until Gideon says, "She apologizes like you."

I switch my glare to him. "No, she doesn't."

He's undeterred, putting on his glasses before raising an eyebrow at me. "And it seems she shares your impulsiveness in uncertain situations."

I push hair out of my face, ready to argue until I hear myself huff. It sounds just like the way she did it. Gideon must think so, too, because he tries to hide a smile.

My shoulders relax as I give him a half-hearted shove. "Well, maybe."

He nods at my phone. "Sometimes members of a family are too much alike to do anything except argue. My eldest brother can hardly stand to be in the same room as my father."

"You have a brother?" I'm intrigued enough to let what's left of my irritation drift away while imagining what he'd look like.

He nods. "More than one, though technically they're half-brothers."

Then his ink glows, light flickering until three graphics form between us, color images of three men. As soon as they sharpen in focus, Gideon says, "Lancelot, Tristan, and Perceval."

With each name, the corresponding image glows around its border. I study them carefully, trying to find glimpses of Gideon in each, but aside from the blue eyes, they look more like each other than like him. It's obvious at a glance that both Lancelot and Tristan are blindingly good-looking, but the first one has a cheerless, imperious expression that turns me off right away, and the other looks startled as a rabbit. Hmm. "Funny names."

"My father has a tradition of naming his sons after knights associated with the Arthurian legend." I can hear the grimace in his voice.

He lost me, but I take a stab in the dark. "Important guys, huh?"

"As myths, they're the epitome of impeccable conduct and honor, pure of heart and heroic. As names, they're perfect for inciting others in the schoolyard to shove you into mud." He brings up more images, paintings of men dressed in shiny, intricate armor that encases them like the scales of a snake; most are on horses or hold swords.

When I realize they all wear the same expression as Lancelot in his photograph, I have to bite back a smile. "Does that mean 'Gideon' is a knight's name?"

"No. I was born outside of the family, and by the time my father acknowledged me as his own, there was only my middle name left to give. He chose one in keeping with the G theme." His voice remains even, but I can read between the lines. If his dad's family is really caught up on these ancient dead guys and their values of conduct and honor, then being faced with a bastard to raise alongside their perfect Kingschildren probably made for a shitty situation for Gideon to be in.

It makes me wonder... "What's your father's name?"

"Arthur. The king who ruled the knights." When he doesn't bring up an accompanying photo, I realize my question needled a sore spot for him.

Keeping my voice light, I back off and redirect. "So, what is it? Your middle name that starts with a G?" Then I turn my attention to the photo of the third brother, Perceval. He's the only one smiling, but it's the type someone gives you right before shoving a snake down the back of your shirt.

"Gerbil."

I blink, not sure I heard right. "Like the rodent?"

When I look at him, he winks and gives me his own smile, an easy, playful one with an effect on me just the opposite of his brother's. I laugh, but my face goes hot, and suddenly I'm very glad there are images between us to hide it.

"It's Galahad," he says, eyes returning to the images of the knights.

"Gideon Galahad Glass." I let the words run over my tongue, feeling them out. "Now that's the kind of name that demands a bow from whoever says it. I like it."

When he doesn't reply, I look up to find him studying me. No, gazing is a better word for it, the way he leans toward me a little, eyes startled like he can't believe what he just figured out. Then he seems to snap out of it, straightening up and blinking. "Yes, well. Thank you."

We both study the images again, but I have the feeling he's really focused on me. I know I am with him. "Do..."

When I let my voice trail away, he looks at me curiously. "Go on."

"Do your brothers know you're an experiment?" I can already guess his dad was the one who signed him over in the first place.

The easiness in his face drains away. "Yes."

The clipped response is enough to make me back off, but then he adds, "It's all right; you can ask me about it. I'm sure you must have some questions."

Try a million. As the images fade between us, I search for the most tactful way to word things. When that fails, I just say it. "Is INKtech supposed to be able to control you?"

He nods. "Results from previous experiments suggested free will caused too much unpredictability. Researchers created levels of integration, testing, and adjustment for me in place of it. One of those is learning to interact with people in various situations. Such as helping teach a lesson in a biology class."

I stare at him. "That was a test for you? A bunch of sullen kids who believe down to their bones that figures of authority are full of bullshit?"

He shrugs. "The research team thought a loosely controlled environment would be a good way to introduce me to uncontrolled subjects."

"Then they're idiots."

"And are full of bullshit?" he says, and we share a wry smile before he adds, "Truly, most of the visit went well."

"Until Elliot's crack?" I grimace, remembering it.

"Until you, actually. The trouble began when I spoke with you."

"But you acted fine."

He plays with the ring on his finger. Reflected sunlight winks off it while he talks. "Well, I went further than I should've. I recalled a memory appropriate to our conversation and shared it with you. Granted, it was a memory they knew I had, but no one realized I'd advanced so well in applying myself to social situations. It worried Slake. Do you remember how he interrupted us?"

I nod. "And he ended class right after that. So, what? They don't want you acting like a regular human?"

"Oh, they do. Simply in a way that lets them retain full control. And to not know all I can do suggests gaps in the very least."

He talks about this so calmly. It makes everything he says sound even worse. A shudder goes me. "What did Slake do afterward?"

"Nothing; he's merely a handler, not an engineer, and altering my abilities is beyond his authorization. I will say I knew to expect any areas of unapproved growth to be reversed upon my return to the Kingdom. Like clipping parts of a plant to make sure it follows the shape of the wire cage built to guide it."

After that, we fall silent. It's not strained, but with our other words gone, I can feel the subject of Valentine circling in their place. Finally, I pull it out into the open. "What do you think he's going to do tonight?"

He doesn't have to ask who I mean. "Something to this house, I'd think. We invaded his home, so he'll likely return the favor."

"Right." I chew at my lip. "Then we have to get out of here. Find a motel room to stay in. There are plenty of cheap ones between here and Glimmer; I'll use next week's grocery money to pay for it. After that... I don't know. Keep trying to kill him, I guess. Especially since we know what works against vampires."

Absently, I rub the new scar on my arm. Gideon's fingertips brush my wrist. "May I?"

When I realize he wants to look, I stretch out my arm. He moves closer, leaning in until his head is angled over the ugly mark. One hand is still against my wrist, the light from the ink warming the sensitive skin there. Christ, I've never felt anything so good.

"It healed very well," he says, unaware of how I suddenly find it hard to breathe.

"Yeah. I guess it's from the wolf in me," I manage.

Then he reaches for my other arm, carefully extending it out, too. "And the wounds from cutting yourself on the window disappeared completely. Not even a trace of scarring. Have you always healed like this?"

Focus, Nina, focus. "No. I think I'm changing. That's why I called my mom's pack, to see if they knew what's happening to me."

I try to concentrate on something, anything to distract me, but all I notice is how the lines of his neck meet the strong slopes of his shoulders as he bends over me, face inches from my skin. It's enough to whip up half-formed thoughts that make my cheeks burn. Christ, with the things I keep thinking, I'm close to becoming a full-out sex fiend around him. And that scares me, because it means he'd only have to coax a little to get me to do things I'd punch anyone else for asking.

But as soon as our eyes meet, my fear drains away. No, I don't think he'd try that. I'm not sure about any other part of life, right now, but I do trust him. So, when I start talking, the words come out easy.

By the time I'm through explaining what Maya told me, I feel calmer, and the feeling of his thumbs absently rubbing my wrists while he listens is soothing instead of explosive. I finish off by saying, "Whatever. I don't want to go to them unless there's no other choice."

"Then we're left with a motel room." He twists toward the window and adds, "The sooner, the better. There are only a few hours of sunlight left."

Fine by me. I never liked this house, anyway, and even less so after seeing Gran die in it. "I'll be ready after I clean up and pack a few clothes."

He nods and lets go of my hands, waiting until I push myself up from the bed before moving for his traveling bag. I spend a few seconds finding my hairbrush and working on a knot in my hair. Then I catch him glancing at me while pulling out a fresh pair of jeans, and realize he probably wants to change.

"Oh. Sorry. I'll finish this up in the laundry room; take your time." Even though he's still fully dressed, I avert my eyes while moving for the doorway.

I'm halfway down the hallway when I hear the kitchen door open. I freeze, instinctively glancing toward the nearest window to measure the sun's level.

"Who's there?" I say, trying to keep the nerves out of my voice.

No one answers, and when I reach the kitchen, it looks empty. But the door is wide open, and as soon as I peer through it, I hear a clicking noise. Even before I snap my head toward that direction, my fear explodes into panic. Only one person would hide to take a photo of me. "Elliot?"

"Hey." He lowers his camera, letting it hang by the strap around his neck so he can brush a hand across my cheek. "Mom told me about Gran. I figured that's why you didn't return any of my calls."

Okay, he's a shit liar, so if he's this calm, then Frankie never talked to him about Gideon. Maybe I can wrap up this situation without it exploding. "Sorry. Things have been awful around here."

"Yeah, I guessed as much, so I came over to get you away for a while. After you open this."

That's when I notice he holds something in his other hand. A pink, grease-stained pastry box. My stomach, which has gotten so little food in the last couple of days that it tied itself into a permanent knot, growls appreciatively.

He laughs and opens the box. "Happy late birthday."

It's an enormous chocolate cupcake, slathered with pink frosting and decorated with sprinkles that form a smiley face. A pink-striped candle is stuck in the middle, unlit.

"You're amazing," I say, fervently. "I can't remember the last time I ate."

But when I reach into the box, he pulls back. "Wait. It's got to be lit so you can make a wish."

I groan. "What about if I eat it and make a wish afterward?"

"C'mon." He hurries into the house, turning around so he can look at me while he talks. "You still keep lighters in your room, right? So Gran couldn't get to them?"

"Yeah, but..." I follow after him, mind scrambling for a way to persuade him back into the kitchen. Christ, Gideon's probably naked at this point.

"It'll just take a minute. C'mon, you want your birthday wish to come true, don't you?" He turns the final corner to my room.

"Wait!" I reach out, ready to drag him back by his shirt if I have to.

"What?" He still walks backward, still looks at me. Which means he's nearly in the doorway to my room without seeing inside like I can. And what I see is Gideon, shirtless and in the process of pulling on his pants. He freezes when he sees us, the open fly of his jeans revealing a glimpse of low briefs and the sharp lines of his hips. Holy fuck. When I tear my gaze back to his face, I can tell he thinks the same thing I do. If Elliot finds him like this, no words on earth will convince him we haven't spent the last couple of hours fucking each other senseless.

"Elliot." My voice sounds strange, too high, as I reach out and catch his hand with mine, pulling him to me. "This, um, wouldn't have anything to do with wanting to take photos of me eating the cupcake?"

When he gets a guilty look on his face, I realize there's a way out of this. "No way am I doing anything without gearing myself up for it, first."

He opens his mouth to argue, and I quickly add, "Can we at least find somewhere else to do it? I hate this house."

"Well, I was going to take you to the diner as a treat," he says, eyes lighting up with ideas. "But I didn't think you'd do it where other people can watch. The lighting there is shit, but the whole kitschy look would work."

I nod, relief rushing through me. "Okay. Give me a couple of minutes to get ready and grab the lighter, and then I'll meet you outside."

"All right." He flashes the kind of sweet smile I remember from our days lying on the grass, and then kisses me.

The muscles in my neck go rigid as I wait it out, hating myself for not enjoying it. When he breaks off, I'm the one who walks backward, drawing him safely around the corner. "Go on; I'll be right out."

He gives me another smile and squeezes my hand before heading for the kitchen. When I'm sure he won't change his mind, I return to the doorway to my room. In that brief span of time, Gideon has zipped up his jeans and pulled on a plain white t-shirt. He works on his shoes, now. From the tense line of his jaw, I can tell he's pissed off, and as soon as he looks at me, I glance away.

Not because I'm afraid of his anger. It's because I suddenly feel like every lowest thought Elliot could think about me, and every lowest one Gideon could, too, and I'm not sure which makes me feel worse. Realizing I still have the brush in my hand, I rake it through my hair and mutter, "I'm going out with him for a while."

Gideon doesn't say anything, but his head turns toward the window, and I know he's measuring the sun's position.

I try again. "I'll be back before it sets. No way will I spend the night with him when Valentine's going to be so furious."

When I finally look at him, he nods, but I can tell he doesn't like it, and he remains quiet while I dig through my drawers for a lighter.

"Hey, Nina!" Elliot's voice drifts in from the open window.

I keep digging. "Yeah, I'll be right there."

"No, I forgot to tell you; take off the bracelet."

"What? But I really want to keep it on." God, I'll need all the silver possible to keep me calm through this.

"No, it's got to come off. It'll fuck with the composition."

"All right," I yell back, just as the tips of my fingers find the smooth casing of a lighter. I hold it between my teeth to work on the necklace on my wrist, still tied in my clumsy knot from earlier. But when I try to jerk it free, it only tangles together, straining against my increasingly desperate tugging until I'm sure it'll break.

"Please," I beg under my breath, knowing he'll come back inside if I take too long.

Ink ripples over my skin as Gideon catches my frantic hand. He's still silent, still tense, but his touch is gentle as he quickly untangles the necklace and slips it free.

"Thanks. Could you—" My mouth snaps shut on the rest of the question when he catches the necklace by its clasp, ready to put it on me. I lift up my hair and raise my chin, feeling the deft brush of fingers against the hollow of my throat, the warmth of ink mixing with the sleek weight of the silver. Everything collides in me, twisting until I feel as much agony as during a change.

When the necklace settles against my skin, I step back to grab my phone. "Thanks. Like I said, I'll be back before sunset. Or at least, I won't be with Elliot. Probably. Maybe." Then I realize I'm babbling, and sigh. "You know what, you should just make for a motel as soon as we're gone. My phone number's taped on the fridge; when you're there, call me and we'll work something out."

I start to duck around him for the doorway when he says, "Phoenix."

It's only my name, but the sound of his voice, raw and seething with worry, roots me to the spot. I find myself looking at him, the mess inside me falling quiet under his gaze.

"C'mon, Nina!" Elliot's voice cuts between us, physical as a push, and I jerk back.

"I have to go." This time, I make for the doorway so fast he doesn't have a chance to say anything. And though I don't look back, the spot between my shoulder blades itches, like he watches me leave. Stupidly, I feel ready to cry.

I don't. And I do a pretty good job of acting fine as Elliot drives me to the hospice center to sign an agreement that I'll be out of the house by the allotted time or before. Since there's an offer of a motel discount if I leave earlier, I go ahead and set my kick-out time for tomorrow morning, realizing there's nothing at the house I want to pack up and take with me. Another few calls on the phone from the worker who helps me, and I have a room reserved at the Nightshade motel over in Slocata, ready by tonight.

I notice the worker gives Elliot a few odd looks during spare moments, and once we're on our way to the diner, I ask him about it.

"Oh, I'm supposed to be grounded." He grabs the cigarette tucked behind his ear. "Hey, where's that lighter?"

As I pass it over, I stare at him. "Grounded? What happened?"

He shrugs, answering through a cloud of smoke. "Some medical spells disappeared from the nurses' supply room. I'm a good scapegoat; I smoke and everything. You know what all the teen risk pamphlets say; today nicotine, tomorrow red fairy dust."

A laugh bubbles out of me. "Seriously, your mom doesn't believe you?"

"Nah. Things are pretty bad between us. That fucking Greg."

I brush my hand along his arm. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well, fuck him. And fuck this conversation, too. Did you get the underwear set?"

My sympathy pops like a balloon. "Um. Yeah."

He waggles his eyebrows at me. "Are you wearing it right now?"

"Don't be a perv, man." I keep my voice easy, but mentally scramble for another topic. "When did you want me to spend the night, anyway?"

"Monday is my mom's next night shift." Then he gives me an uneasy glance. "You're still okay with it, right?"

That gives me two more days to kill Valentine. Should be doable. If I don't kill him by that point, I'll probably already be dead, with the way things are going. "Sure."

But he's not convinced. "Sometimes you get weird about these things. You wouldn't ditch out on me, right?"

Out of nowhere, Laci's voice flashes through my mind. Yeah, Nina. Run like you always do!

Ignoring it, I run my hand down his arm until I can fold my fingers with his. A treacherous part of my mind notes his hand doesn't feel as good as Gideon's. I squash it ruthlessly and give him a smile. "I'm here for you. Promise."

#

The sun hangs low on the horizon by the time we pick out a booth in the diner. There aren't many other people here; just a girl picking up a chocolate milkshake to go, and an old man in the corner booth, dozing despite the neon signs in the window blinking light over his face.

I can't remember the last time I ate. Since the diner offers all-day breakfast, I order scrambled eggs mixed with chopped onion and jalapeno, flour tortillas, a side of chorizo hash, and an extra pot of coffee. Elliot only gets a side of fries.

This is the kind of place that covers the table with a huge sheet of paper and offers a jar of colored pencils to choose from, so we doodle and talk while waiting. I'm not really paying attention, instead glancing out the window every other heartbeat to watch the sun sink closer to the horizon. My foot taps nervously. I want to eat and get the fuck out. Eventually, I realize Elliot asked a question. "Hm?"

"What are you going to do about school? You missed the final for bio. They flunked you."

"I don't know. Probably drop out. Fuck if I'll take summer school. Elliot, we've been here forever. Maybe we should just take the photos and go." I glance at the kitchen, looking for signs of our food.

"You're seriously going to drop out?" He sounds stunned. "But what about our college plans together?"

"Like I could get into one." Then I lean back into my seat. "C'mon, this is taking too long. I want to be home before it's night."

"Just relax. I'm the one who'll get into trouble for being here. It's not like you have to worry about being caught and grounded anymore."

That hurts, enough to make me physically flinch.

He notices. "Shit. I didn't mean it that way."

"It's okay." And it is; the worry filling me up suffocates every other feeling. Again, my gaze darts to the window. But this time, it's not the sun that catches my eye. It's the figure of a man striding toward the diner. Gideon. Shock ripples through me, and I sneak a glance at Elliot, focused on adding detail to his drawing of a woman bleeding rubies from her cut wrists.

I look back at Gideon, who sees me just at that moment. He veers toward the window, pointing over his shoulder at the sinking sun. I know exactly what he means. Running out of time.

I give a tiny jerk of my head in Elliot's direction and then widen my eyes, hoping he'll understand I'm still here only because Elliot isn't responding to my hints.

His gaze flicks to Elliot, and then his mouth tightens.

"Here we are, sweeties." The cheerful voice of the waitress startles me into looking at the plates in her hands. As she unloads them, my eyes shoot back to the window. Gideon's gone. Panic bursts through me. But...

Then I hear the door open. Elliot's back is to the entrance, and he's too busy scowling at the waitress while she sets the fries over his drawing to notice anything else, but I'm facing the door, and see Gideon walk in. When our eyes meet, I can't help shaking my head. The fuck are you doing?

He raises his eyebrows. Trust me?

God help me, I do. At my tiny nod, he sits in the booth ahead of ours, taking the seat that butts up to Elliot's so they're back to back.

"Be with you in a minute, hon," says the waitress, giving him an appreciative second glance when he smiles at her.

Then she sets down the last plate for me. After another glance at Gideon, I look at the food, stomach growling as I pick up my fork. Maybe I can gulp down a few bites before getting out of here.  After asking if we need anything else, the waitress leaves.

Elliot blinks at all the food set before me. "Shouldn't you be more careful about what you eat?"

I douse the hash with half a bottle of ketchup. "No."

"I mean, for the photo session."

I give him a wink while loading a tortilla with eggs. "Breasts are fatty tissue. Maybe it'll all go there."

He grins, but that doesn't stop him from dragging the plate of hash over to his side. "Seriously, no one needs to eat that much."

Indescribable rage bubbles up, frothing against the silver on me. That's my food. It takes every ounce of willpower to not stab his hand with a fork and snatch the plate back. "Elliot, c'mon. I haven't eaten in two days."

"Excuse me," says Gideon, even those simple words sounding clear and refined through his Kingdom accent.

I jerk my head up, genuinely surprised he waded into this. He's twisted in his seat to look at us, and as Elliot stares, slack-jawed, Gideon glances from him to me and smiles. "Sorry to interrupt, yet I noticed you have extra creamer. I'm afraid my table is all out. Do you mind...?"

"Um." I shove several packets to where he can reach over and grab them.

He does. "Ms. Belmonte, wasn't it?" He shifts enough to settle one arm along the top of the booth, the act revealing the hard muscles his t-shirt can't cover up. That's when I get it. He's playing Elliot's idea of him as a sleazeball to the hilt, hoping to upset him enough to drag me out of here. It's a good idea, but at the same time I feel anger spark in my chest. A man with Galahad for a middle name shouldn't have to play a slimebag just to save me some trouble.

Before I can respond, his smile widens, easing into something that's goddamned sexy. Then he says, "Thank you."

I'm left blinking as he turns back around, speechless despite myself. But Elliot isn't.

"Are you for real?" he says, twisting around to glare at Gideon.

Gideon barely gives him a glance of dismissal.

I use Elliot's distraction to grab a forkful of hash. Unfortunately, he decides at that moment to grab my hand. "C'mon, we're getting out of here."

"But..." I barely have time to pull out enough cash to pay for the meal and toss it onto the table before he tugs me out of the booth. As we haul ass for the door, I manage to glance back at Gideon. He's dropped the sultry look, face serious as he watches us go.

Low rays of sunlight run over my face as we step outside. Elliot is already talking. "I can't believe this. Why's he still here?"

"I don't know." And I'm not lying; I thought he was angry enough to just go when I gave him the chance. "Hey, we forgot the cupcake."

When we both turn back automatically, we find ourselves staring at Gideon through the window. He's taking a drink of coffee, but that doesn't stop him from giving me a wink that shoots right past flirting and approaches the realm of eye-sex.

Elliot grabs me by the arm. "Fuck the cupcake. We're not going back in there. He remembers you."

I grimace. He'll only get worse from here. Which is why I let him drag me to his car. My foot starts tapping again as he stews all the way out of the parking lot, muttering about pervert Kingsmen hitting on high school girls.  We make it halfway to my house, just close enough for me to relax about getting there in time, when a security guard's car pulls us over. I gnaw on my knuckles while listening to one of the guards tell Elliot his mom wants to know where her son and vehicle are. And when the other one opens the door to the back seat of the security car for Elliot, I know I better walk the rest of the way home if I don't want to go with him and later find myself kicked out of his house by Mrs. Hopkins, who doesn't like me even at the best of times.

And in another five minutes, here I am, walking as fast as possible as my shadow blends in with the rest of the darkening street. Fucking great. I'm tired, still hungry, and scared as hell of not making it back in time. So, when the engine of a car slows to a growl behind me, I whirl around, breath hitching in my chest as my claws grow out.

Gideon leaves the engine running as he gets out from the driver's side to open the passenger door for me. "We'd better hurry. It's seventeen minutes to sundown."

His voice sounds only brisk, and considering how I saw Elliot react to him, I should only be brisk back. Instead, I hurry over and grab him in a hug. He's so startled that at first he only freezes.

"Thank you," I mutter into his shirt. "For staying, I mean."

"Did you truly think I wouldn't?" When his arms ease around me, ink ripples across my skin in patterns that hum soothingly.

"Sure. I could tell you were pissed off. Once I gave you the chance to go, I figured you would."

"Like hell." I feel him take in a breath, ready to say more, but then there's a soft chiming sound.

I pull back, realizing it came from the ink.

"Fifteen minutes left," says Gideon, one hand still on my back as he glances over the lines of data scrawling from the ink.

"Shit," I mutter, rubbing my head as we turn for the car. That means it's too late to go back to the house for anything. "I snagged a room in Slocata. The Nightshade motel. Want to see how fast we can get there?"

Wrong thing to say to a speed freak. I fumble for my seatbelt before we're even past the first block. "Christ. Aren't you worried about cops?"

"No. I can sense their equipment." Without taking his eyes off the road, he jerks his head toward the seat behind me. "There's something in the back for you."

I twist around to see a take-out food container stamped with the diner's logo. When I open it, a duplicate of everything I ordered is there, waiting to be eaten. He even remembered a fork. "Okay, I think I love you."

The next few miles pass in silence. When we hit the desert road, I'm still eating, but my single-minded devotion to the act fades. Gideon seems to sense that, because he suddenly says, "He didn't kick you out of his car, did he?"

I have to swallow a mouthful of food before I can answer. "No. He snuck out after his mom grounded him, so she sent security to drag him back. They took the car, too, so I had to walk."

"Hmm." His fingers tap the wheel, but he doesn't say anything else.

I glance at him. "Go on. I know there's something else burning up your throat."

"Well, yes. Does he always do that?"

I scoop up another bite. "Do what?"

"Pick on you. Take away your food, push you around..."

"He was in a bad mood."

He makes a noncommittal noise, gaze fixed on the road.

I try again. "Elliot isn't a bad guy. I think..." I hesitate, searching for the right words. I had these thoughts for a while, just no one to say them to. "His mom is a nurse here, not a patient, but I think he's still got plenty of problems about death. I think he's scared, looking for something to help him forget how messy, and confusing, and gross things are. And he believes I'm that thing. So when I'm messy, and confusing, and gross, it's like a betrayal to him, and he freaks out. That's all."

No response.

"If you're trying to look neutral, you're failing miserably. I can tell you don't like him."

"You're right. I don't."

When he doesn't elaborate, I sigh. "Look, this isn't the Kingdom, and I'm certainly not a Kingswoman. Fuck all that repressed emotion bullshit; if you got something to say, you can just say it. So what's wrong?"

"It's impudent," he warns.

I make a face. "Gideon. C'mon."

"Do you truly love him?"

I hesitate. A lie would be quicker and cleaner at this point, but considering all we've been through, I should give him nothing less than the truth. "No. Not as a boyfriend. But back when we were friends, I was so happy to have him. There were days when my heart felt like it was on fire because I knew we'd hang out later. But then he wanted more. I didn't, but I didn't want to lose him, either."

He glances at me. I can tell from his expression that he's filling in the blanks, so I quickly add, "I don't care if you believe me or not, but he wasn't like he is now. Things went all wrong when we started going together. What you laugh about as friends turn into huge arguments as a couple."

My fingers nervously rip a tortilla into shreds. "Anyway, I can guess your next question: Why stick with him? Mostly out of fear. It sounds pathetic, but I'm scared I'll regret breaking up even more than I regret getting together. Some part of me still hopes for figuring out a special combination of things to unlock the part of me that's supposed to be happy as his girlfriend."

Gideon clears his throat. "Having met him, I doubt anyone could enjoy being that. Not when he doesn't know how to act like a boyfriend."

I don't have it in me to defend Elliot, not right now, so I deflect instead, putting a skeptical note into my voice. "And how do you think a good boyfriend acts?"

"Are you truly asking me?"

I have a joke ready when I realize that... "Yeah. Yeah, I am."

He looks at me for a long moment. "He should act like he cherishes you."

The muddle of emotions hanging inside me these days turns into a full-on roar, and suddenly locking gazes with him is just too much. Unable to even speak, I swing my head back to stare at the road ahead of us.

And that's why I see the distant forms before he does. My heart starts pounding for a different reason. "Gideon."

He's still focused on me. "I shouldn't have asked you such questions; I'm sorry."

"No, Gideon."

Finally hearing the warning in my voice, he looks ahead and sees what I do: A van in the distance, veered off to the side with all four doors flung open. And strewn over the road, limp and barely recognizable, are human bodies.