The food is delicious. Chorizo and chopped liver, flavored with garlic, lime juice, and chili pepper. I have two helpings. Nohemi doesn't offer Gideon any, and he seems more interested in the vampire book, anyway. But when I insist on helping Nohemi clean up the kitchen afterward, he pitches in to help, drying the dishes I hand over to him.  None of us talk much while we work, but Nohemi gives Gideon a curious glance now and then, like she tries to figure him out.

Once we're done, she shoos me toward the porch. "Don't overtire yourself; go on and relax outside. Fresh air and hot sunshine helps a bitch as much as Grandma Roja's recipe. Kingsman, got a moment? I want to show you where we put things like that book for safekeeping."

The food leaves me feeling good enough that curiosity wins out over everything else, and I move around the side of the house, wanting to see what's in the back. I trail fingertips along the wall, only now realizing how big of a building it is. It's a three-story with balconies supported by pillars, chimney stacks higher in the sky than many of the surrounding trees. It makes me wonder how large the Red Devil pack used to be.

Every window I pass gleams with magical wards; they weren't kidding about setting up protective spells to keep anything—anyone—from getting in. An image flashes through my mind of Valentine crawling into the room while I sleep, mouth already bristling with teeth. I shake my head, trying to clear it, but he's still there, eyes gleaming. He'd taunt me about getting in, let me struggle before going for unscarred skin.

My feet stop moving, but my lungs drag in breaths like I just finished running. Sweat rolls down my neck, and the bite mark there burns as if still fresh and raw. My hand jumps up to it, expecting to find mangled flesh, and then I'm afraid to pull my fingers away, so sure they'll be covered in blood.

"Phoenix."

I jerk around to see Gideon a step or two away, hand stretched out like he's ready to shake me if I don't respond.

My own hand drops to my side, unbloodied. The scab on my neck is still there, still proof the bite mark is healing. A trickle of sweat runs down my face, and I swipe at it. "I'm okay."

Then I start walking, wanting something else to fill up my mind, even if it's only the sound of footsteps on the ground.

Gideon catches up, looking apprehensive. "The land in this direction is all uphill, and you're moving as if still in pain."

I make a face. "Don't baby me. I'm fine."

For a while after that, we walk in silence, navigating between the prickly leaves of sagebrush and chamise. Behind the house, scattered manzanita offers an obstacle course, gnarled, red-barked shrubs that lean out over the ground so far I'm surprised they don't fall over. A few are big enough to cast dappled shade over us like trees, and cicadas sing from their branches, loud and droning. Here and there, I see rusted metal settled into the ground, too corroded to even guess what might've been there.

The area seems endless. I have to catch my breath before asking, "Did they say how much of this area is pack land?"

Gideon nods. "Your Aunt Maya said the last hour of yesterday's drive covered a small piece of their territory; the rest includes the taller of the mountain's two peaks."

"The horns on the devil's head," I mutter, remembering the detail from one of the few times Gran let something slip about my mom.

Soon, my muscles ache enough to make me think about slowing down, even stopping. But after a few more minutes, I catch sight of a cottage half-shielded by a huge manzanita, its wooden walls painted yellow and the steps to the door cleared of weeds. There are two more like it even further ahead.

"Guest cottages," says Gideon, as I shield my eyes from the sun to get a better look. "I'm sleeping in the first one."

"They won't let you stay in the house?" I growl.

"Your Aunt Nohemi implied many traveling wolf witches visit them. The end result is they keep spare beds away from the house. Something about avoiding scents from mingling too quickly."

"You're no wolf." I glance over the windows and door, which brim with the same type of wards as what protects the pack house.

"No, but I make them nervous." His ink gleams for emphasis as he opens the door, letting me go in first.

I step inside, scrutinizing everything. But it looks clean and well-kept. The wooden walls and arched ceiling are stained a light amber color, and a hand-sewn quilt covers a wide, neatly-made bed. The smells of cedar, lavender, and sun-warmed oak hang in the air.

"Seems nice," I say, settling on the bed as if to test the mattress, but really just needing to sit before my legs give out.

The sudden alertness in his eyes tells me I didn't hide it well enough, and I try easing the moment with a wink. "Comfy."

When he only smiles wryly in response, I lie back on the bed. The headboard is pushed up against a wall, and a glance up reveals a sun-bleached skull hanging a few feet above my face. Even at this awkward angle, I know it's a wolf's. "Maybe a little creepy, too."

"I suspect it's a watcher." When I give him a blank look, he adds, "Sometimes a witch is willing to give their body back to their family after death. With the help of a bone witch, you'll get creations like that."

Pushing myself up on my elbows, I take a closer look at the designs running over the skull. They look like stylistic flowers. "What does a watcher do?"

"It's hung over a guest's bed to protect the family from harm. If the traveler sleeping beneath it carries treacherous thoughts toward the people giving them shelter, the watcher will warn the family. In one way or another." The dip in his voice suggests that means something bloody for the guest, maybe fatal.

I blink at the large, vicious teeth, currently locked together. "Did the pack tell you about this?"

"No. I remember a bit about the ones my mother's family had."

"So they stuck you in this room as a trap?" I feel my fingers start to itch and throb. What if this watcher thing had done something to him? Killed him?

The bed shifts with his weight as he stretches out next to me. "A test. You can't blame them for being suspicious of me. Of my name."

I glare at him. "Are you serious? Do you really not care how they act?"

"Desmond Healy's nose would suggest otherwise," he says, and smiles.

But I'm not about to be put off. "I mean for yourself. Why don't you get pissed off when someone does something to you?"

Face falling serious, he studies me. "Because it means someone sees me as a person. People don't hate pieces of code. They don't antagonize experiments. There is a difference between the contempt for the son of a hated politician, and the disregard for a piece of thaumaturgy set in a dead man's body."

A chill runs down my spine. How fucked up was his life at INKtech if getting harassed makes him feel human? Impulsively, I reach for his throat, finding the steady pulse there. "You're not dead."

"It won't beat without artificial support. This body needs the ink's control to run." After a moment, his hand finds mine. "Believe it or not, I have some very selfish reasons for hiding myself." His thumb runs down my palm, easing over the fresh scar tissue at my wrist, but his eyes are distant.

I recognize that look; he had it while talking about his family. "What Rhys said about your dad. Is it true?"

His gaze sharpens again, focusing on me. "From the memories I have, yes. His hatred is hardly overwrought; I'm sure he's lost family thanks to mine. I know it all seems very quaint to anyone outside the Kingdom, but my father's obsession with the old knights and their shining swords has a much darker side. Their code of living holds no lenience for anyone who isn't human."

My fingers run along his ink.  "So skin witches..."

"Are simple beasts unfit for larger society. Their magic is considered primitive, their ways savage, and many Kingspeople want them out entirely."

"Basically, you'd have a hard time introducing me to your dad." It's just a joke, but to my surprise, he tenses up.

"I wouldn't. I would never subject you to his hatred." His ink prickles against my skin, sharp and hot. Now, he's angry. Now, he's fucking furious.

So, I wriggle my hand free and run it through his hair. "I'd survive it."

"You'd likely not," he says, grimly, but his ink simmers down.

"It's really that serious?" I shift a little, finding a more comfortable position while I keep stroking his hair.

"The wolves are right to be afraid. I think he's in collusion with INKtech to make sure a wolf witch remains the best suspect. INKtech isn't planting evidence—I think Valentine is the culprit of that—but they are making sure any other possibility raised is quickly dismissed as absurd."

"Like my report with that detective in Glimmer?"

He nods. "I found out he did put it into the system, but the system was designed by INKtech, and once Melanie Burnett was linked as a possible connection to the case, they made codes to isolate and hide any reports tagged with her name for their own private investigation. It's why I couldn't find Detective Tanner's at first, not until they'd done the same to my own."

"Valentine told me that people only see what they want to," I say, fingers pausing in his hair as I think back to the sick, choking feeling that filled me up when those two bar hopping girls kept walking. "I think he's really good at exploiting that." Then I glance at him. "Have you talked about this with the pack?"

"They're already very aware of INKtech's corrupt behavior." Then he hesitates. "I wanted to tell you about this, all of it, for a while. The codes in place were simply too strong to break with one attempt. It took time to dismantle them bit by bit."

"It's okay. And anyway, you're telling me now." I give him a smile.

After that, our words die away. I keep stroking his hair. Eventually, though, my muscles start shaking in this half-twisted position. I move a little, seeing if I can lean over him, but that puts a lot of stress on my body, too.

I must grimace or something, because Gideon suddenly says, "Are you hurting?"

"Yeah," I admit, sliding my hands from his face down to his stomach so I can straighten up. "Christ, I hate this."

He sits up with me. "We could switch positions."

Fear prickles down my spine at the thought of being trapped against a body. "I don't think I can handle that. Not yet." It makes me feel like a flake, saying that even while my fingers are one step away from feeling up his abs.

He considers. "What if you lie on top of me?"

No instant revulsion to the idea, so I decide to test it. "I thought Kingsmen always follow tradition," I tease, trying to cover my lingering unease as I move onto him, ready to slide off at the first hint of Valentine slipping into my mind.

When nothing happens, I lower myself until our noses almost touch, and he gives me that rare, playful smile I love seeing. "Well, my name does mean 'destroyer.' I think I can extend that to convention."

It gets a smirk out of me, but I still feel uncertain. Brittle. Like my body isn't sure if it can like this feeling, just like it wasn't sure it could breathe when I woke up in the desert. He must feel the stiff way I hold myself, because he doesn't move in for a kiss or anything like that, and only slides his hands along my arms, thumbs tracing patterns along my skin.

Slowly, I relax, taking in how he feels. The crisp material of his shirt wrinkling against mine, and under that, the hard muscles in his stomach and chest shifting as he breathes. We're both sticky with sweat from the walk and the heat, but his skin pressing against mine still feels good.

I let my body settle more firmly against his, moving enough to get one hand in his hair, again. "So, what have you told the pack?"

"About myself? That I disagreed with INKtech over their treatment of the Scheer case, left the organization, and now one of their agents is determined to bring me back to the Kingdom headquarters. All truth, technically."

"Do they believe you?" Now that his hair shows some messiness, I start tracing the features of his face. Smoothing my thumb over his eyebrows, trailing fingertips along his jaw as he relaxes under my touch, closing his eyes.

"Not entirely. Rhys and Desmond both have enough experience with INKtech to guess there's more to my story, especially as I haven't been terminated by this point. Throughout its history, the few agents who turned renegade had their ink remotely locked off. The act fries the brain of the human carrier. Problem solved." He shrugs.

What a creepy organization. "But they won't with you."

His eyes open at that, clear and incredibly blue as he studies me, and I realize that, no matter how much of the man he was still exists, at this moment, he's entirely ink. "They can't. I don't die, and they know it. The ultimate goal of the experiment is to create ink that can be transferred from a failing body to a new one. No new agents would strain resources with their need to be trained as replacements, and no thaumaturgy would lost with an agent's death. Ink would become a renewable resource. I'd be a decent step in that direction if I wasn't picking up influences from the host body's brain."

I blink at him. "And because you're totally uncontrollable, too."

He smiles a little, eyes warming up again. "That, as well."

"Okay, so you don't want the pack to know too much about what you are to INKtech. But what about telling them you got Chetli blood? Maybe that'd get them off your back."

"I thought about it, yet there's a good chance Rhys and Desmond would only grow more insecure. At the moment, they believe they have a high advantage because I'm an ignorant, bewildered Kingsman out of his element. If they learn I was born hardly ninety miles from here, I'll become a bigger threat."

It sounds about right, but I can't help frowning. "It's not fair."

He looks amused. "Well, I'm used to hiding."

"Wrong tactic with wolves." Odalis' wry voice sends me jerking up. She's leaning through one of the windows by the bed, arms relaxed and easy against the sill. She didn't catch us doing anything risky, and our clothes aren't even disheveled, but I still feel myself flush. The easy, intimate atmosphere is gone, evaporated by her smirk.

"How long were you watching us?" I growl, dimly aware of Gideon's ink lashing along his arm while I slide off him.

She holds up a hand, focusing on me. "Easy. Didn't mean to embarrass you. But now's a bad time to get hot and sticky with your boy. The pack's all here, and we want to show you something."

"Now?"

"It's something you both need to see."

I take a deep breath to push down my anger. "Fine."

"Good, otherwise I was going to drag you over myself," she says, looking pleased. Then she gives Gideon a dismissive glance. "Better wear clothes that can take some dirt and sweat, Kingsman."

Before I can do more than flash my teeth at her tone of voice, Gideon calmly says, "All right. I'll be ready in a few minutes."

She doesn't bother acknowledging him before leaving. Her footsteps are loud and clear, and it sounds like she stops by the front steps to wait for us.

When I look at Gideon, he shakes his head. "Your family is brilliant at interrupting us."

Irritation still prickles at me, but I shove it away long enough to run a hand along the ripples of his ink. "I'll give you some privacy, Kingsman."

We share a smile before I move for the door, feeling my annoyance spark again.

Odalis gives me a sidelong glance when I stop next to her. "Guess you haven't fucked him yet."

"Nope," I say, crossing my arms. She's extremely mistaken if she thinks being blunt will embarrass me.

"Are you looking to, or did the vampire rip that to hell, too?"

I shrug, feeling the movement pull at the scab on my neck. "I'm still bruised up, if that's what you mean."

"It's not." She gives me a wry smile that suggests I should cut the bullshit.

But I only keep quiet, unsure of where she's going with this.

"Fuck me, you're more close-mouthed than even Maya," she says, voice slipping between amusement and exasperation.

Finally, I turn and look at her. "What are you trying to say, that it's too soon?"

"No. I just want to make sure you're not acting in shame. That you're not letting him rub against you just to prove the vampire didn't hurt you so bad, or because you're scared he'll shy away if he finds out you're not the same. I'm—" and then she laughs, like she can't believe what she's about to say, "I'm worried for you. Don't want to see you go through more pain, especially right under our noses."

I stare at her. "Are wolves always like this? Having all this concern?"

She shrugs. "We fight a lot, too. But we're pack. Of course it's like this."

We study each other, and I have a feeling my face looks as baffled as hers. Finally, I say, "We haven't talked about it. Having sex, I mean."

She raises her eyebrows. "Talk? What do you mean to do, draw up a diagram showing your favorite spots?"

I laugh despite myself, because I really can see Gideon studying something like that if I filled one out and gave it to him. "No, it's just complicated. Even before Valentine. Up until two days ago, I was someone else's girlfriend."

"Hm. But you've known him for..."

"A week." I wince, realizing how bad it sounds.

To my surprise, she says, "A week of hell if a vampire was after you the entire time." Then she leans to the side long enough to glance through the window. "Nice body, if nothing else. Not much hair on his chest."

"He's got some," I say, defensively.

"Fuck off, that's hardly even a dusting of fur. Odd for a Kingsman." Her sly expression makes me wonder whether the pack is onto Gideon's genetics after all. But when I don't bite, she lets it go. "Still, I guess he really means something to you."

The words don't sound mocking, so I nod. "I've been with other guys, but he's different. Being around him just wakes up something in me, you know?"

She seems to think about it. "Can't say I do."

I blink at her. "But... Rhys..."

"Oh. So, that's what you thought. Sure, I run with him. That doesn't mean I'm tethered to his dick. Matter of fact, I work easier with Des. If he wasn't scared of a bitch with muscles, I'd run with him, too." Then she looks at my face and laughs. "Sorry, did I shock you?"

"No," I say, truthfully. "It just sounds exhausting."

That gets her to laugh again, but before she can say anything, the door opens and Gideon steps out, wearing a plain t-shirt tucked into his jeans, and well-worn sneakers. The strong build of his body is much more obvious without crisp, tailored clothing to distract from it. "Sorry to keep you waiting."

Odalis frowns, but it's a puzzled one, like she's trying to figure him out. I take a quick step toward her. "So, what are we going to see?"

Her eyes are still narrowed at Gideon, but she answers. "A hunt. C'mon."

We follow her back to the house. With each step, she grows more excited, almost bouncing by the time the pack truck is in view. A rusted, beat-up trailer has been attached to it, and from the way it rocks, something is inside, struggling to get out. Nohemi, Desmond, and Rhys stand nearby, already in various states of undress as they get ready. Desmond is the first to see us, and winks at me just as he drops his pants. I glare back before fixing my gaze on the rocking trailer.

Odalis nudges me with her elbow. "Go on over to Maya; she's the one who told me to get you two."

After sharing a glance with Gideon, we both move for the truck, which Maya is unhooking from the trailer. By the time we make it over, she's driven the truck to a safe distance from the trailer and is getting back out. Thanks to the yellowed cowboy hat and the sunglasses she wears against the blistering noon sun, her face looks more inscrutable than ever. But I do get a quick nod in greeting. "How you feeling?"

"Better than yesterday."

"Good." She reaches into the open driver's window and pulls out another cowboy hat to toss at me. This one is stiff and new. "Here. You'll be out in the heat for a while. I want you to see how wolves hunt. Better get up in the truck bed to keep clear; I angled it so we'll get a good view."

Without waiting to see if we'll agree, she hops into the bed herself. After settling the hat on my head, I manage to scramble in after her, biting back a grimace of pain. Gideon is beside me in a moment, the ink changing his glasses to shades. Maya looks at him, but only says, "Watch, now."

By the time I turn my attention back to the pack, Odalis has already stripped down to her skin. With her clothes tossed aside, it's easy to see how well-developed the muscles in her arms and torso are. Scars cover her body, but she moves as if comfortable in her skin, anyway. She shakes hair out of her face and then in the next heartbeat turns to wolf, a lean and long-legged bitch with sleek fur shifting from black to red, except for the white on her muzzle and chest. The change is as quick and easy for her as taking a breath. Remembering how my own body lurches between forms, I fight a tide of envy while watching her bound toward Nohemi, who just finished carefully draping her dress over a manzanita branch. With a yip, Odalis jumps up and snags the dress free, running away with it as Nohemi shrieks.

"Bring that back, or I'll throw your jeans in poison oak!" Then she turns into a wolf a lot like Odalis, but with more black to her fur, and chases after her sister.

The thing in the trailer goes wild, probably smelling the sudden presence of wolves. The rusted, beat-up metal holding it in shakes and shudders, and Desmond pounds on it and grins before changing over. Now I understand why Nohemi made sure to point out Saint wolves as being different than us; compared to Odalis and Nohemi, he's burlier in the muzzle, chest, and legs. His dark, silver-grey fur is thick and shaggy, and when he moves up next to Nohemi, it becomes obvious how much bigger he is. He looks like a creature that should be in fog-filled forests, not sun-baked scrubland.

Rhys makes a twitching motion with his fingers, setting off a spell that unlocks the trailer door. By the time it swings ajar, he's changed into a wolf similar to Desmond, only his fur has as much white as grey. Odalis and Desmond both trot back and forth in half-circles, never wavering as they watch the door.

With a twang of metal, the thing that's inside rams through, revealing itself in a blind charge.

Holy hell, it's a feral pig, big as a wolf. The bristling, grey-brown fur looks like it'd be hell to bite through, and the long, yellowed tusks angling out from its lower jaw must be sharp as knives. I feel my claws grow out and scrape against the truck, horror and excitement burning through me as Odalis and Desmond cautiously test the pig's willingness to stand and fight instead of run.

Several times, the pig charges, sending the pack scattering from those vicious tusks. But the wolves always circle back, their number and movement bewildering the pig. Finally, Odalis lunges in while the pig is distracted by Desmond snapping at its hind legs. Her jaws clamp down on the bridge of its long snout, holding on no matter how quickly it twists and screams. But even though she keeps its head low, Desmond has trouble getting a good bite in, his teeth glancing off the pig's tough skin. Nohemi and Rhys retreat toward the truck, already panting in the heat.

It takes longer than I thought. A lot longer. Even from here, I can smell the pig's blood and panic, and when I start shaking, I'm not sure if it's from shock or exhilaration. For a while, the pig keeps breaking free of Odalis' grip, squealing as it tries to outrun her and Desmond. Each time it does, my skin seethes against the silver necklace as I fight not to lunge after it myself, so sure it'll get away. But Odalis always grabs it by the snout again, giving Desmond time to bite its belly and hind legs.

"Why doesn't he go for the throat?" I ask Maya. I know it's probably a stupid question to anyone who knows how to hunt, but the pig screams too loudly for me to whisper it.

"Bigger creatures like this, it's easier to make them bleed out. Three or four good bites to really open them up, which is what Des is trying right now." Maya leans against the side of the truck and adds, "Easier when there's more of us."

Nohemi and Rhys treat it like a signal, rushing over toward the pig. Its screams hit a new pitch as they find places to bite, tails wagging as they bowl it over. And just like that, the pig's escape goes from possible to unlikely. Somehow, it surges up, but with four wolves hanging on, there's nowhere to go, and eventually it sinks again, scrabbling against the ground with weakening legs.

I glance at Gideon and find him watching expressionlessly. But all I have to do is look at his ink, coiling in sharp, flickering patterns, to know he doesn't like this at all. When my hand covers his, he looks over. "You okay?"

He smiles a little. "I'm not about to throw up, if that's what you mean." His fingers flex against mine before he adds, "You're enjoying it, aren't you?"

My gaze follows his, finding that my claws slipped out even with the silver. "Yeah. Guess I am."

I search his face for disappointment or revulsion, but he only nods, and a yip of excitement draws both of our gazes back to the fight. The pig twitches in its death throes as Desmond and Rhys flop to the ground, panting. Odalis releases her grip, sides heaving. Only Nohemi has enough energy left to begin ripping at the wound on the pig's belly.

"This is why we need Rhys more than we don't," says Maya, quietly. "It's not fast, and it's not easy."

I get it. When we fight Valentine, it's going to be hard, bloody, and long. The more jaws available, the better. "But a pig isn't human-shaped, so how will we bring down Valentine?"

"We're going to grab him by the neck, arms, and legs. Hold him down while someone breaks into his chest, tears out his heart, and squeezes it to the last drop of blood. He'll crumble to ash except for his teeth. And that's when it's over."

I play with my necklace, taking comfort in the sleek weight while I think over her words.

"So, she let you keep it after all." There's an odd tone to Maya's voice. I look up to find her staring over her shades at the silver.

Feeling self-conscious, I shrug. "I found it in a drawer. It was separate from Gran's jewelry, so I guess it was my mom's."

"It was. Inez wore it every day, though the fiddly clasp gave her trouble. Bero would always put it on her."

My hand drops from the necklace, fingers finding Gideon's. "Yeah, it's still fiddly."

Her gaze flickers to Gideon before settling on my face, and then she seems to decide something. "You interested in seeing what your mam and daddy looked like? Then let's get back to the pack house. It's time we talked, anyway. About everything."

"What about..." I turn back to the silent pig. The rest of the pack is busy ripping at the lifeless body, the fur on their muzzles and chests stained red.

"They're going to feed, and there's no need to watch that. C'mon back with me to the house."

The room we end up in is painted cream and dark red. There aren't any doors, just doorways cut into two of the walls. One of the solid walls is a bookshelf from floor to ceiling, filled with leather-bound volumes of various size and color. The opposite wall is a lot more gruesome; wolf skulls and dried flower wreaths hang from the upper half. The lower half is taken up by wooden shelves holding framed photographs in different shapes and sizes.

There's also furniture pushed against the walls with the doorways, old, comfy-looking chairs and couches. Maya waves me toward one while hooking her shades in her shirt, but I'm still focused on the skulls. "What is this place?"

"The family room," she says, without the slightest hint of irony. When I blink at her, she adds, "Humans keep their houses for the living. Wolves and other witches often keep them for the dead, too."

I have to swallow hard before my throat opens up enough to speak. "Which one is my mom?"

She points to a wreath with flowers that still have a touch of orange in their dried petals. Marigolds, I realize. "We couldn't get her body back. Any Fivefield victim that died within the first year was burned to prevent spell contamination."

When Gideon's hand brushes my elbow, I realize my entire body is trembling. Quickly, I sink into the nearest couch, dimly aware of him settling next to me. "You know, I don't remember her at all. Sometimes, I try really hard to bring up a memory of her voice or what she looked like, but there's nothing. All I remember is the hospital she died in, and someone holding me while I was there, but it couldn't have been her."

"No, it was Bero," says Maya, and I look at her, a cold feeling going through my gut even before she adds, "A Saint wolf, and your daddy. Your real daddy, not the human Inez married."

Then she picks up a small photograph with a plain, black frame and hands it to me. "Here's a picture of your mam and him, back before you were born."

The photo is faded, but I still pore over it. My mom looks hardly older than I am, hair spilling loose over a breezy sundress and cowboy boots kicking dust at the camera while she laughs up at the guy next to her. Even with the grainy quality, her necklace—the same one on me—gleams. I can't help touching the silver before turning my attention to Bero. If my mom is all motion and bubbliness, he's a column of alert stillness, dark hair contrasting with the light color of his eyes and skin as he stares warily into the camera. I take in the grim line of his mouth, the confidence in his stance, and the way he angles himself toward my mom.

"What happened?" I say, looking up. "She looks really into him, and he doesn't seem ready to blow her off, either."

Maya sighs. "After you were born, things began turning bad. I won't go into a history lesson—you can look through those books for that—but let's just say that Necalian politics went through a lot of what's happening in the Kingdom. Certain people grabbed power in the government, and it slid down to skin witches in a bad way.  Doesn't take much to get humans, even other witches, to see someone who changes to beast as being only beast."

"It's a powerful hook," says Gideon, quietly.

She gives him a sharp look. "Hm. Anyway, things got bad enough that it seemed some laws might pass that would take away pups from their mothers and place them into orphanage-type places. A chance to grow right, was the thinking. Well, no way in hell was Inez going to let that happen with you, but she didn't want to leave the territory and pull you away from the land you belonged to, either. Not if it was possible—just— the law might go belly-up.

"So, she decided on marrying a human to make sure you got his name. At the time, it was the safest thing to do if you were a bitch wanting to keep your pups and stay here in Necali, too.  She hoped she'd only be with the human for a few years, long enough for the law to fail. But even if the law passed, you'd still be safe and able to grow up here."

Christ, I never knew about any of this. "What about Bero?"

"Bero is one of the best blood witches there is, and he's strong and stubborn. But he's still a wolf. He couldn't offer legal protection like a human could." Maya finally settles in a chair. "They had a vicious fight over it. Hell, we did, too, but once Inez got an idea in her head, she followed it to the end, no matter how much hurt it brought her. She was determined to protect you."

My eyes are burning, and I quickly wipe them before any tears can escape. "So, what happened?"

"Fivefield. The same politicians pushing against wolves also pushed for raw leyline wells like Fivefield. You think any of them kept their careers after that disaster? They faded, and their proposed laws went with them. So did most of the Necalian government, but I can't say I'm torn up over that."

There's a long silence afterward. Maya remains in her chair, gaze distant. I have my head against Gideon's shoulder, using the glimmer of his ink as an anchor to keep me here. Words swim around my head while I try to figure out the gaps between what Gran always told me and what I heard just now. Finally, I say, "Why was Bero at the hospital if he wasn't together with my mom, anymore?"

"You think he'd give up as easy as that? Far as he was concerned, you were his pup no matter what name you carried. And he never stopped loving Inez, and she with him. I should know, I had to hear it from both ends often enough," she says, voice turning sour. Then she shakes her head, as if pulling free of the memories. "Truth be told, I was surprised her second child really was the human's. But we met your sister. She's clearly Enrique Belmonte's."

"You met Maria?" How many more surprises are going to club me over the head during this conversation?

"Once. About a year ago. She called to see if we had Inez's medical history, if you can believe that. Something to do with getting into a special school. Came over to get it and left just as quickly after refusing to tell us anything about her or you. If there's any wolf in her, she's squashed it good."

Light footsteps enter the room. I look up to see Odalis and Nohemi standing by the doorway, back in their clothes but damp, like they just finished cleaning themselves up. Both eye Gideon with obvious surprise.

"I let him in," says Maya, answering their unspoken question.

Odalis' gaze jumps to the photograph still in my grip. "For family business?"

"Yes." This time, there's a growl to her voice.

Gideon's ink flickers suddenly, but that's the only sign of unease he shows. Odalis looks pissed, but she flops down with Nohemi on the other end of the couch from us. When Maya seems certain that she won't be interrupted, she looks at me. "There's not much more to tell. The same day Inez died, I went to some government office to make sure they'd let us claim her body. Got back to the hospital with the papers of proof only to find out Bero had been taken in by the police and that you had disappeared right after being separated from him. Figured out soon enough that Teresa Belmonte got her own legal papers and left the city with you and the other child. Bero started searching as soon as he was released, but..." She shrugs. "We never saw you again."

Odalis shakes her head. "And then Desmond meets you in a fucking waiting room in Glimmer. Were you really there all this time?"

It takes everything I have to keep my voice even. "No. I lived just outside an Amstar city—Orion—before spending the last year in Mercywing."

"Mercywing? Fuck me, that's even closer," mutters Odalis. "Bero was here just three months ago."

Maya must notice me start at that, because she says, "Oh, he still looks for you. Works traveling jobs because no one thought Teresa Belmonte would dare keep you close to our land. But he does visit the mountain every year, hoping you somehow found your way back to us."

"And you have," adds Nohemi, her smile trembling a little.

I hurt. I hurt so much it's hard to breathe. Everything feels muddled in my head, like I'm in a fever dream. "I don't know what to say."

Nohemi leans over, fingers brushing my one of my shaking hands. "Neither did we, at first. We couldn't get a yelp out when Des found the message left on his phone from a girl saying she was Phoenix Belmonte."

"Sounding scared as hell," adds Odalis, her scowl softening a little.

"I'd just fought Valentine for the first time and wanted someone to talk to." Then I manage a huff of a laugh. "Not that I thought you'd believe me if I babbled about vampires. No one did. Gideon was the only one who didn't brush me off."

Then I sneak a glance at him, smiling as his ink glimmers in calm patterns against my arm.

"Well, that's nice," drawls Odalis. "But he's still a human sitting in our most sacred room."

"We need him," says Maya, standing up to take the photo from me. "He's better at tapping into the mountain's leyline than either Des or Rhys. Doesn't that tell you something?"

Before Odalis can respond, Gideon says, "He's back, isn't he? You're speaking about this much differently than from yesterday."

Maya doesn't stop setting the photograph back with the others on the shelf, but her mouth twitches. "We found signs. Our wards held, but past them we found bodies, drained and torn apart afterward."

Blood rushes to my head, pounding in my ears. My voice sounds funny, too high, as I say, "Who?"

"Only humans. But when we drove over to Marrow's, we learned she'd been attacked, too. He caught her in a patient's home at night, and made the house collapse on them both. She's alive, but barely." Maya's teeth show more than usual, but that's the only sign of her anger.

I watch my hands tremble. "We're on our own, aren't we?"

"Yep. No one else we know and trust can make it here by tonight." Then she glances at Gideon. "You get why I'm including you in this, boy? Letting you see the hunt and listen to some of our past? Even if all goes well, the pack will be exhausted. If anything else shows up after the vampire, can we trust you to fight it off?"

"Yes," he says, evenly. His ink crackles once, a miniature bolt of lightning along his arm.

She appears almost impressed, but her expression hardens when she looks at me. "I been thinking about how good an idea it is to let you join us. Only a sisterwolf's claws are strong enough to kill a master vampire. And I know you're no coward; I'm not worried about you losing your nerve. But you're still weak, and it'll be a grueling hunt. So, I need an honest answer, now. There's no shame in admitting you're too hurt, but if you lie about this, we'll all die."

When I don't say anything, she stares at me fiercely, every word a sharp edge. "Can you take looking him in the face while breaking his ribs? Can you strangle his heart through all the minutes it'll take to get the blood out?"

Can I? If my stomach churns here in bright sunlight, how will I hold it together when he's actually in front of me? But then I take in the tingling at my fingertips, the solid weight to my bones. They're as much a part of me as any bite scar. After taking a deep breath to make sure my voice doesn't shake, I look at her. "I can, and I will. And I'll probably spit in his eye while doing it."

Maya smiles a little. It's the first one I've seen from her. "Then get some rest, if you can. There's a rough night ahead."