Florence woke before dawn. For a moment, she only lay there in the dimness and marveled in the reassurance of Tobias' body against her own. His unshaven chin rubbed against the crown of her head. His skin still smelled like cedarwood, rain, and musk. The steady beat of his heart lulled her senses. It felt so comfortable, so right, to match her breath with his, to bask in the warmth of his arms.

Temptation lost to the reality of her situation, and she eased out of bed without disturbing him. Her skin prickled immediately, chilled without his presence while she found one of the new robes in her closet and pulled it on. The kiss of silk brought back memories of the past night, and she shivered again, this time for a very different reason.

Although she remained a virgin in the strict sense, Tobias had covered her body with his scent and seed through acts that had seemed impossible outside the red covers of those slim Arrowpoint novels. Her innocence had been thoroughly sullied, and she'd savored every moment. Indeed, she couldn't resist smiling while at the bathroom sink, running fingers over the suck marks on her neck and breasts even after washing herself clean.

Tobias hadn't woken when she returned to the bedroom, and she watched him with a feeling close to amazement as she dressed for the day. In the carelessness of sleep, his composure had eased into glimpses of who he might be behind the mask of manners. Those powerful muscles had relaxed into the simple rise and fall of breath. The slight grimness to his jaw had faded. Faint morning light picked out the lighter hues of brown in his uncombed hair. Her heart squeezed at the impossible idea of waking beside him for the rest of her life.

Trying to remain quiet, she gathered his syrup-stained clothes and hung them in the spelled armoire. The magic would clean the tuxedo within minutes, enough time to collect some coffee for him. In the faintness of dawn, the kitchen remained empty and unlit. Cook likely wouldn't be up and at work for another half-hour. Some of the old mischief to her nature returned when she noticed the cezve pot gleaming from its hook, rarely used. Well then, why not make the coffee herself? She remembered that much from her travels. Within minutes, she held a steaming cup in one hand while returning up the staircase to her rooms.

Hilda caught her on the top step, approaching from her own quarters to open the shutters and curtains for the day. "Miss Flossie, what on earth?"

The other woman's presence intruded on her bubble of satisfaction, but not by much. "Don't worry, I didn't leave a mess for Cook. I know Molly and Annie are afraid of wolves, so I decided to do things myself."

Hilda's face paled. "Are you implying he's here at this moment? That he spent the night?"

"Yes. There seems no point in lying about it." Then she hurried on, eager to see if Tobias was up.

The bed was empty, but the armoire doors were partially open and she heard him washing himself in the bathroom. Her very being lit with anticipation as she glanced over the rumpled sheets and set the coffee on the nearby dressing table, belatedly realizing she hadn't brewed a cup for herself. A minor mistake, yet one that left her flustered enough to look away until her gaze found the mirror.

She didn't recognize herself. Her skin glowed with her smile. Her eyes glimmered behind her spectacles. Every feeling shimmering within her ribs had etched itself on her face, there for all to see. Just as quickly, uncertainty smothered her expression. This wasn't the right reaction for a casual, if satisfying, night. Her giddiness betrayed the depth of her emotions. She acted like—like a bride having the first taste of her honeymoon.

She acted like a fool caught up in a fantasy.

What words could she say with composure? What tone could she take that wouldn't sound heartfelt? Perhaps even time spent over coffee would seem too eager, too passionate. After a moment, she reached for the pen and paper on the table and scrawled the first thing that came to mind.

Thank you for giving me a taste of a normal life. I fully understand it's time to move on and will not ask nor expect anything more.

Her hand hesitated at writing goodbye. Her mouth trembled, and she had to bite her lower lip to still it. Any attempt at indifference would fail the moment their eyes met, and her graceless behavior would surely make things harder for them both.

The splashes of water stopped, startling her like a deer hearing a footfall. Without thinking, she turned and fled, feet barely touching the stairs on the way outside. It was a childish action, one that gave in to her worst impulses, but she didn't stop running until she was on the edge of the property where the garden turned wild and the ancient oak tree rose as tall as the mansion itself. Its gnarled roots hugged her in rough comfort, hiding her in their tangle, and she found herself staring at the hedge of blood-red roses that bristled several feet away, leaves and thorns blocking out the world. Trapping her. Then her breath hitched in her chest. No, she had to be honest with herself. The hedges were protecting her. She must never forget what she was and why she lived this way.

Strange how she and Louise had argued beneath this very tree less than a week ago. If she thought back much further, she could also remember hiding in its branches the morning after she had killed her parents. Curling up like a wounded animal...

With a deep breath, she forced herself to circle around the oak to where an old swing hung from one of its branches. Father had built it for her and Francine. Even as an adult, she insisted on making sure neither the rope nor the seat rotted with the years. Sometimes, she still sat on it, rubbing rueful fingers along the roses carved into the wood.

Weeds had sprouted up with the recent rains, brushing the underside of the swing, and she knelt to pull them out despite her bare hands. As she worked, the morning mist drifted past, chilling her body into the sensation of being as hard and remote as stone. A fanciful thought, and a lie. Her heart was too hot, too vulnerable even within its protective cradle of bone. One word would be enough to wound it—the very word she had failed to write.

Some part of her sensed Tobias approaching the oak, but she kept her head firmly bent toward her task. Of course he would find her; his nose was better than any hound's.

"Morning."

Why did she flush in embarrassment now when, merely hours before, she had writhed against him in ecstasy, damp-skinned and heedless? She tried her best to use the crisp tone that always placated her sister's scrutiny. "Good morning. It doesn't seem as though the sun will break through until this afternoon. The fog looks very thick."

He made a noise in the back of his throat, the same suggestive one as when her fingers had brushed his cock for the first time. "Are you always an early riser?"

"I try to be." It was a fair attempt at neutrality, but then some of her true thoughts slipped in, and with a slight wistfulness, she added, "The world always feels so fresh at dawn, as though it really has been reborn for the day."

A brief silence passed between them before he spoke once more, sounding nearer. "These are pretty. What made you decide to plant them among the oak?"

She glanced at the ground around her and bit back a groan. Patches of primroses stood out against the dark earth and moss-covered roots, their petals as bright in color as the moon and just as illuminating to those who knew what message they conveyed: I can't live without you. Deep, fervent love.

Her gaze returned to the remaining weeds as she said, "I didn't. Sometimes, flowers will sprout around me where they never existed before. It's a strange type of magic, but harmless as far as anyone can tell. Unfortunately, I can't control any part of it."

If he was surprised by the answer, his voice showed no sign of it. Instead, it grew slightly teasing. "Any meaning behind primroses?"

"Several, yes, depending on the color."

The tips of his shoes appeared within her line of vision. "In that case, I hope you're still willing to loan this to me."

She looked up, careful to focus on his hands. The purple binding of The Language of Flowers seemed much brighter away from the dim atmosphere of the mansion. "Of course. In fact, you may keep it. I memorized all the meanings long ago."

"I'd rather borrow it and have an excuse to see you again."

Her next breath felt shallow. Was he playing with her feelings? She refused to believe it of him but also refused to be blinded by hope. "I thought our circumstances were settled. Finished. That's why I came out here."

Wryness slipped into his next words, as though he knew exactly what she was doing and wasn't about to let her get away with it. "It was a great cup of coffee, I'll admit that, but not enough to wrap things up. Where'd you learn to make it that way?"

Surprise jolted her restraint, and she rose to her feet without thinking. "How did you know I made it and not Hilda or Cook?"

"Because either of them would've poisoned me instead."

A giggle escaped her. "You are so..."

Before she could finish the sentence, her eyes met his, and a rush of sweetness erased her thoughts. His irises were as molten in the grey fog as they were in bright sunlight. It was impossible to remain detached while their dark depths widened, drawing her in and stoking her desire to be open with him. To be seen, no matter how flawed or graceless a creature she was.

"Unrepentant?" he suggested, in a murmur.

"Yes," she said, still smiling. "I love it."

Then her fingers jumped over her lips, dismayed that her passion had slipped out after all. "I shouldn't have said that. I meant to act like a proper lady when we parted ways, especially as I couldn't compose myself at any other time in your presence."

Now he grinned, offering her a hand to help her over the roots. As they walked along the path that would bring them out of the garden and to the side gate of the service driveway, he said, "I've known many proper ladies. They're nothing to envy."

With a nod, she fell silent, memorizing the warmth of his fingers. An ache already seared her chest. She didn't want to be alone again. She didn't want to sit in a room still blackened by smoke and hear her heartbeat mark the passing of time.

The rusted bars of the gate drew a sigh out of her, as did the sight of Tobias' car waiting beyond. When he opened the gate, expression now serious, her dread thickened into something suffocating. Her feet refused to move more than a few steps past the wrought iron; perhaps her body had accepted the inevitable even as her mind fought the fact that she had to stand there and watch him drive away.

Then he pulled her close, grip gentle. Her hands jumped to his chest as he caught her beneath the chin for a deep kiss. Desperate heat rushed through her, burning away the last of her reserve. Her fingernails bit into the fine fabric of his tuxedo before finding its unbuttoned collar and then the hard muscles of his chest. Her touch drove away the smoothness of his movements, and his mouth grew rougher, hungrier.

In response, a wild urge rose from within her, stoked by each slide of his tongue—the desire to pull his head down to her throat and feel his fangs sink into her skin. The mate bite, as the Blackridge Pack had called it. A vow of teeth, a seal of scars. The bloodiest promise of trust and devotion between two wolves. If he had to leave, then let him mark her body as he had her heart. She would never love anyone else now that they had met.

Then his kiss truly did move to her neck. When she arched into the points of his fangs, his growl brushed her skin like velvet. His hands tightened against her as if to keep her close and still. The air tasted sweet on her tongue while she gasped, anticipating the agony and bliss of his bite. "Please. Make me yours."

A mistake. He stiffened at her soft voice. The press of his teeth disappeared as he broke off, breathing hard.

"I'm sorry." The words burst out of her as the morning mist numbed her throat. Her cheeks burned at her stupidity. "I didn't mean to say that. I didn't mean to imply... I just lost myself."

He shook his head a little. "I know the feeling." Then he kissed beneath her ear and added, "You're irresistible, you know that?"

She wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe his voice had roughened with true emotion rather than that he'd already learned how to soothe her embarrassment.

When she refused to meet his eyes, he sighed and caught her chin once more. "Florence, it's all right. I lost my head, too. I came looking for you because there's something we need to talk about."

Her pulse pounded in her ears, thinning her voice to nothing. "All right."

"You should leave this house."

The words were so unexpected that, for a moment, she only stared. "With you?"

At his hesitation, she flushed, realizing how foolish she had sounded. "No, of course not. I don't know what's wrong with me. Why should I leave?"

"Every instinct I have is telling me you're in danger."

The idea that her situation was perilous for her felt absurd enough to laugh at. Yet the intensity in his eyes couldn't be dismissed. "How? I've lived this way for years without issue."

He glanced in the direction of the mansion, jaw tense, and then back at her. "The floorboards you almost fell through weren't rotten enough to snap. They had cuts in them. I saw the marks myself. And the way that book waited on the ladder... everything about it smells of a trap."

She didn't know what to think. "The door to Father's study was boarded shut. My sister clearly intended to keep me out."

Tobias raised his eyebrows. "Did she? You got in easily enough on your own. And if you'd fallen through and died, it would've looked like an accident from disobeying her."

"My sister hates me, yes, but I'm the murderer. I can't believe she would bear so many years of my company and only now decide to kill me."

"Maybe she's bored of torturing you." The heat in his voice shocked her. "Or maybe she hoped you'd survive as a cripple and be even more helpless against her."

In silence, she watched as he pulled away to pace beside his car. He appeared as lethal as when he had faced Thane Frost, as though the mere idea had enraged him.

"You seem angry enough to kill her," said Florence, quietly.

"When I think of the things she's done to you, I am."

"I don't understand."

When he looked at her with a trace of disbelief, she added, "Our time together is—is over. There's no need to think of me at all, let alone of my situation."

"That doesn't mean I'd be fine with opening a newspaper one day and finding out you're dead. There's some decency left in my heart." He sighed, facing her again. "Can you at least believe that you don't need to live this way?"

Her fingers brushed along the bracelet he'd given her before she answered. "I don't know. It's apparent that silver keeps me in human form, and while I'm very grateful for that, there's still nothing to protect others from me during a full moon. Yet I would love to leave this house and my sister's control."

He nodded, now calmer. "I'll be out of town for several days. Once I'm back, I'll find you some help."

"I'm not sure that's possible. My sister tried various professionals without success."

"Were they all human? I'm not surprised. They wouldn't know anything, but some of the other lone wolves living in this city might. I have one or two in mind. In the meantime, we'll get you out of here today if you want. I know the safe areas to live in this city and how much their rent should cost. I can—"

The crackle of the car's radio cut through his next words. Florence turned toward it in confusion even as Tobias growled, also looking over. The dials glowed with the eerie white of a casted spell, twisting back and forth on their own until the jolly voice of a man boomed into life, slightly distorted with static.

"Tobias, my boy. Gloria has been out of your apartment since midnight. I'm surprised you're not back yet. You're off to New Obsidian, aren't you? Better get to that train before the storm sweeps in."

The radio fell silent, and the sheen of magic faded into the typical gleam of whalebone and walnut. There was no mistaking the voice. It belonged to the squat, old man she'd seen at Tobias' the night before. When she glanced at Tobias, she saw that tension had returned to his face.

At last, she accepted the fact that their time together had drawn to a close. As her raw grief took on the chill of a marble gravestone, she quietly said, "You've done so much already. It's time to see what I might achieve on my own."

"I hardly did anything," he replied with a scoff, yet the heat had faded from his voice. When he ran a hand over his hair, his expression smoothed out as well.

She didn't know what to feel, much less what to say, and so she glanced down at her clasped hands, hoping the sick sensation in her stomach wouldn't persist past this parting of ways. "It hasn't seemed that way to me. You were kind even when you didn't need to be."

The words came out calmly enough, yet her mouth still trembled, and he noticed.

"Hey." He stepped close to kiss her, this time a gentle press of the lips that coaxed hers out of their tight, unhappy line. His eyes had brightened to the color of fire. "You'll see me again, and we'll break your curse."

"Yes." Her heart felt too heavy, straining against her lungs as she finally spoke the right word. "Goodbye."