Alice studied the front of her parents' house while she and Colton pulled into the driveway. It had been a week since they'd all returned from the resort, a week since she had seen them. She didn't know what to expect.

The path through the yard looked freshly swept and the surrounding hedges neatly clipped. Bird feeders coaxed in jays and finches with their full trays of seed. Flower beds blazed with color, the lush scent from the roses following them up the porch steps. With its neat brickwork and white trim, the house fit with its neighbors like perfectly aligned teeth. Only a note taped to the front door implied anything being out of place.

TO THE MEDIA: WE HAVE ALREADY MADE A STATEMENT. FOR FURTHER INQUIRIES, PLEASE CONTACT JOHN GARNER & ASSOCIATES AT THE NUMBER BELOW.

Alice read it and murmured, "It's the same one Dad told me to use. And now I remember why the name sounded familiar—it's the firm he hired after a documentary about my mother's disappearance came out and implied he murdered her. He must expect the frenzy to linger."

"Probably will," said Colton, tone already sinking into a particular indifference that was his form of civility during dinner get-togethers. Considering how his usual response to anything social was to disappear if he grew bored and maul egos if he grew irritated, Alice felt flattered that he tried this much with her family.

She watched while he knocked on the door, movements easy and calm. "It really doesn't bother you, does it? Being part of so much scrutiny when you're used to living away from humans."

Even before he shook his head, she knew the answer and marveled at it. A childhood in suburbia had shaped her ideas of danger like a back brace correcting a crooked spine, and she always felt stunned by the concept of simply not caring what others might say. And yet it came so naturally to him, this monster from the woods. What reputation was there to ruin? What weakness could be exposed? The power of whispers shriveled against jaws that crushed throats.

It made her smile despite the numbness behind her ribs and the headache behind her eyes, made her remember how to tease him. "Does anything bother you?"

"Sure." In the late afternoon sunlight, his eyes looked more yellow than green, bright and wry and direct. "When you stop sleeping, eating, and talking."

At that, Alice realized he'd waited all week for her to admit the obvious: that something kept her awake at night and left her sick in the day. That she wouldn't speak about Fleur's kidnapping or the glimpses they'd caught of the coven. That she withdrew into a shell of silence unless answering a direct question.

It hadn't been a conscious decision, not at first, but the more her heart had hurt, the less she'd wished to examine it.

"I'm fine," she said, and knocked on the door to give herself something to do. "Just a little tired."

That drew out his full stare, the one that left people shrinking back. She rarely experienced this side of his intensity but still understood exactly what it meant. Don't bullshit me.

A pang went through her—not fear, nothing he did could ever scare her. It felt more like anguish. "I'm not trying to shut you out. It's just that..."

Then the door opened, revealing Denise with her bright smile. "You're here!"

Alice felt a smile of her own snap in place, felt the tension between her and Colton thicken as she turned to her stepmother. There were streaks of flour on Denise's face, and splatters of chunky, red sauce covered her peach-colored apron, but she otherwise looked as fresh and well-kept as ever. "I'm so sorry nobody answered right away. Fleur and I were up to our elbows in sauce, and whenever your father is in his office, he can't hear anything outside it. Come in, come in!"

She pulled Alice into an awkward hug to avoid staining her clothes and then ushered her inside, leaving Colton to follow behind. "Fleur might need a few minutes. Some of the ingredients for dinner had to be made in advance, and things got a little messy, especially when we tried making pesto in the food processor. She just went into the shower to wash it out of her hair."

"What are you making?" said Colton, a trace of resignation in his voice. He never trusted Denise's idea of a meal.

"Pizza," said Denise, and beamed again. "It's Fleur's favorite."

Alice hardly listened, too struck by all the changes made in the rooms. A large oil painting had replaced the TV. The modem setup in the corner of the kitchen had been unplugged and hidden behind a vase of flowers. The original curtains, all pastel hues and transparent fabrics, were now wooden blinds that could be pulled shut. It was a house transformed into armor.

As Denise set steaming cups of coffee for them on the granite countertop separating the living room from the kitchen, Alice asked, "How bad have things been?"

Her stepmother's hesitation proved answer enough. "I wouldn't call it bad. Compared to what those other poor families are going through, we've got nothing to complain about at all. I just thought some time away from the TV and internet would be good for us."

Then her phone rang. She declined the call without looking at the screen, and her smile remained fixed while she stirred at a pot bubbling on the stove. The air smelled vaguely of tomatoes and desperation. "It's so sweet of you to help Fleur with her essay. Everything is set up in the dining room. There's usually more light in the sunroom, but now with the new blinds... It's nothing to worry about, though. We bought a ceiling fan with a light to replace the one that's in there, and your father will try installing it when he has a few hours free."

Alice nodded, fidgeting with her cup while trying to remember when her father last attempted anything involving wiring. No one in her family had much self-sufficiency outside the narrow confines of an office meeting or a cocktail party.

"I've installed those," said Colton, already halfway through his coffee despite its scalding temperature. "Tell me where it is, and I'll have it up in an hour."

Denise looked torn between elation and doubt. "Are you sure? I don't want you getting electrocuted on our behalf."

"It won't be a problem." Then he drained his cup to the dregs, obviously ready to get started.

Before Alice could catch his eye, her stepmother said, "It will be a huge help. Tom will certainly appreciate it. I think the box is in the garage."

Alice felt sick at the idea of the tension between them continuing any longer. A whole evening of this stiffness? Of his quiet seething and her feeling like she was starting to rot from the inside? No, she couldn't bear it, and as soon as he was out of sight, she straightened up from the counter, working hard to keep her tone casual. "I'll say hi to Dad while Fleur's getting ready."

"Of course, sweetheart," said Denise, measuring cashews into a blender. Intent on her work, she didn't notice how Alice followed after Colton instead, slipping through the doorway that opened into the second half of the house and then down to the garage.

She caught up to him on the stairway, her voice no longer steady. "Wait."

He stopped and looked, already halfway down. There were no windows and no lights, and in the dimness he appeared even more feral than usual, what little light there was now picking out the sharpness in his jaw, the strength of his outline. When he started back up to her, she shook her head and took the last few steps herself until she could touch him, until he was more than one shadow among many.

In the dark, it was easier to let the words out, and they left her in a rush even as the narrow stairway pressed them close. "I'm sorry. Sometimes, I still put on a mask because it feels like the safest way to get through something. But I don't like hiding from you, even when I end up doing it."

"Alice." Despite the roughness to his voice, his touch was gentle as he traced her cheek, urging her closer. "Fuck apologies. You've been miserable. I just want to know why."

"I'm not sure. I can't stop thinking about my mother, or what those witches did. That night cut me in ways I don't understand, and I'm scared that talking about it will only open the wounds further."

There was a soft growl from him. The heat of his hand matched his mouth as their lips brushed. "Not if they're licked clean."

Even as she closed her eyes, the numbness of her heart burning away with each beat of his, a noise came from somewhere upstairs. Nothing more than a creak of floorboards, but still enough to break the illusion of privacy. She sighed, limp against the lingering tension in his body. "I'll talk about everything when we're back home. I promise."

His kiss was brief yet devouring, each flick of his tongue a promise of his own. Then they broke apart, and she returned upstairs with lips tingling from the scrape of his teeth.

Fleur still hadn't appeared. Alice found herself drifting in the direction of her father's office, aware that it was only polite to say hi. Fresh nerves stiffened her spine as she drew near, and she wondered whether she'd ever be able to talk to him without feeling like each word had to be as carefully chosen as a chess move.

Then she sighed and forced her chin up. She wasn't four years old anymore, and she had faced things much more terrifying than her father's opinions on what she was doing with her life.

The door waited ajar. She knocked on it out of courtesy and then pushed it all the way open. The familiar smells of computer paper and leather furniture reached her even before she saw him.

Her father sat behind the large oak desk set in the back of the room, rubbing at his forehead while he spoke into the phone. When their eyes met, he motioned at her to come in and wait.

She did so, gaze drifting along the walls. It had been years since she'd stepped inside his office, but it looked as stern and sterile as ever, a relic back to her childhood. The only difference she could find was a number of picture frames added to the plaques and awards scattered throughout the room.

Most held photos of Denise or Fleur, spanning years and marking occasions. Fleur grinning in a dirty soccer uniform. Denise planting flowers. The two of them together on the beach, wearing matching hats against the sun. There was even a picture of Denise glowing despite the circles beneath her eyes, a newborn Fleur in her arms.

Then Alice started, seeing one of herself. It was from her high school graduation, taken right after the ceremony had ended. She remembered how hot it had been, leaving everyone except her stepmother short-tempered and sullen. Her father had barely spoken a word, glancing at his watch to mark every minute the ceremony ran over its expected length.

In the end, Denise had insisted on a photo of Alice and her father together, urging them to pose in the shade of a tree while the sun blazed through the bleachers nearby. The picture had caught her just as she'd felt—shiny-faced, awkward, and relieved it was all over. Yet her father showed no signs of impatience or disinterest, and his smile wasn't the broad, automatic type he used when masking his feelings. Instead, he looked... proud of her.

Just then, she heard him finish the call and hang up. The office chair creaked as he turned in her direction. "Alice."

She swallowed back the sudden lump in her throat. "Hi, Dad. How are things?"

"Terrible." Despite the grim answer, he look strangely gratified over the situation turning out just as expected. "We can't let people into the house. When I called in a handyman to replace a ceiling fan, he took pictures of Fleur's bedroom and tried to sell them. Most of our neighbors are agreeing to interviews with the media, as are all of Fleur's friends. And this morning, a psychic showed up with her own film crew and claimed she could use Fleur's aura to locate the other riders. In short, it's an invasion of privacy from all angles."

All Alice could think to say was, "I'm sorry it's been so rough."

He waved it away. "I've kept most of it from Denise and Fleur. That's what matters."

"But what about you? That's enough stress for a heart attack."

"We went through worse with your mother."

Broaching that subject still felt raw and unexpected, and they both fell quiet. Alice picked at the hem of her sleeve. Her father got up and straightened one of the awards on the nearest wall. The hum from his desktop computer sounded overloud.

Finally, he stiffly said, "How are you?"

She went with the shortest answer. "Nothing happened after that first day of reporters calling us. I think we live too far into the woods to be bothered."

He turned to look at her. "No, how are you? Are you worrying about any of this? Because you have the same hollows under your eyes as when your mother..."

Now it was her turn to be frank. "As when she left me and disappeared."

The words lodged like splinters. She didn't want to say anything else. But her father now wore a haunted expression that turned the silence into something worse, and it drove her to add, "I've been thinking about her a lot. What happened at the resort brought up a lot of memories, but I still don't remember any new details. I wish I did."

He didn't look like he agreed that would be a good thing. "One of the child psychologists used to warn me that your stress-induced insomnia could become a problem well into adulthood. If you need help—"

"I'm fine, really. Colton makes sure I eat and sleep."

When her father grimaced at the mention of Colton, her tone changed. "Dad. He's good to me."

"I know," he said, voice falling quiet. "It's more and more obvious that he makes you happy, and you never had much chance of that."

The air between them had shifted into something raw and uncertain, vulnerable enough for honest questions and harsh answers. Alice suddenly felt terrified of the chance it provided, and of that same chance slipping away as soon as the world outside intruded on their private grief. Even as her heart clenched, she found herself saying, "Do you think she's really dead?"

He suddenly looked very, very tired. "She's been legally deceased for twelve years."

"But do you think that's what happened?"

"Alice..."

"She's nothing more than a few memories for me, but you knew her, Dad. You'd have the best chance at understanding why she left us. If she died, or if..." Then Alice stopped, feeling her eyes start to burn. "Or if she just never wanted to come back."

His sigh was interrupted by the sound of footsteps, and they both turned to look as Fleur leaned against the doorway, hair still damp from her shower. Aside from her sweatshirt being even baggier than before, as if she'd lost weight, she seemed the same, expression as bored as her tone. "Hey. I'm ready whenever."

Alice managed a smile. "I'll be right there."

When her sister disappeared back into the hallway, Alice started to follow. Then her father called her name. He had returned to his desk, a handful of papers already spread out and waiting, but his attention remained on her. The grey in his hair glinted as he said, "There's no way to know what happened to your mother. And in the end, no one needs the answer. We can still move on."

She only nodded, sensing the subject was as good as closed, and left him to his work.

Fleur waited in the dining room, notes spread all over the polished table while she flipped through a leather-bound tome of Shakespeare's works. In the next room over, Colton worked on a ladder. The prim, white furniture and delicate, glass decor only magnified his ruggedness, the muscles in his arms bulging as he pulled off the old ceiling fan, holding its weight with ease while separating the wiring.

Before Alice could catch his attention, Fleur looked up and said, "Did you bring another copy?"

Alice brandished a worn paperback. "The same one I used in high school."

The clatter of pots drifted from the kitchen as she joined her sister. Fleur said nothing while Alice searched for the opening scene, seemingly focused on her notebook instead. Yet as soon as Denise turned on the blender, creating an effective noise barrier, Fleur dropped her pen and came alive. "You look horrible."

It was too true to take offense at. "It's been a rough week for everyone."

"Not really. Dad's in his element sending lawyers after people, and Mom's just happy we're all safe."

Alice studied her sister. "How about you?"

"I don't know. I hate having to talk to so many people. They want to hear things I can't tell them. I don't remember much about what happened, and what is clear seems too crazy to be real, anyway." Then she looked up at Alice. Her hair had fallen into her face, giving her a skittish, suspicious appearance, as if she expected yet another adult to reassure her that it was all over and didn't matter.

"It happened," said Alice, quietly. "And you're not crazy."

Fleur blew out a shaky breath. "So... you really changed into a wolf."

Alice nodded.

Her sister's focus switched to Colton. "And he's a maniac."

He didn't look away from his work. "When I feel like it."

"He's also very sweet when he feels like it," said Alice, smiling when that drew a glance from him. Then she fell serious again. "But he's killed, if that's what you mean. We both have. And if you want to know anything about that night, I don't mind explaining what I can."

Fleur shrugged. "Not right now. I mean, we're safe, right?"

"Yes. I wouldn't say so unless I was sure."

"Then that's good enough for me."

Alice simply nodded, so surprised by her sister's calm that she didn't know what to say.

Even as Fleur's gaze dropped to her notebook, she added, "Everyone acts like that night must be the worst experience of my life, but it just feels like a bad dream. You know, where you're scared shitless at the time, but once you wake up, it can't follow you. It stops being real. What happened with Hayley fucked me up so much more. Does that make me weird?"

Alice smiled a little. "Who's normal?"

Her sister looked up, almost smiling back. Then the roar from the blender finally ended, and her voice quickly changed. "Anyway, thanks for coming over to help."

Alice took the cue and opened her copy of the play. "Don't thank me yet. Shakespeare was the only homework assignment I got a C on."

"That's still better than my first grade for this. Now that I'm trying to pass, I'm even more screwed."

"What are you stuck on?"

Fleur grabbed at some of her notes. "Every word. The assignment is pretty simple. We're supposed to write an essay describing what themes of family the play explores. I can do that on my own if I just understood what the characters are saying. But I don't. It's like trying to read a different language. Old English is a different language, right?"

"Um..." Alice hesitated, realizing she didn't know the answer.

"It's not in Old English," said Colton, already screwing the lightbulbs into the new fan. "It's in verse."

Fleur didn't look convinced. "What does that mean?"

"That it's hard to read," murmured Alice, flipping through a few pages. Then she shook her head. "All right, let's try the opening scene."

They struggled through until the simple lines of dialogue thickened into speeches too obtuse for Alice to puzzle out. She already had a throbbing headache when Fleur stopped taking notes and chewed on her pen instead. "None of this makes sense. Why does it matter that Horatio is a scholar?"

Alice glanced at Colton in a silent plea for help. He responded while testing the lights. "He's the most capable one in the group to face the spirit."

"Are you serious?" said Fleur.

"He reads a lot of classic lit," said Alice, thumbing ahead to find a dismaying amount of speeches. "And enjoys it. Shakespeare isn't even a stretch for him."

Colton didn't react, but Fleur still turned to him with a scoff. "You act like you're pain whenever you have to talk. Reading doesn't seem like your thing at all."

At that, he finally glanced over. Alice could tell by his expression that he was ready to ignore her sister for the rest of the evening, and gave him a pleading look. The glint in his eyes softened just before he said, "Scholars knew Latin. Latin was used to exorcise evil spirits. Marcellus wanted to hide behind someone who could drive off the ghost if it turned out to be evil."

"Holy shit." Fleur stared at him. "And you can do that for the entire play? I mean, break it down so it makes sense?"

"Sure." Then he turned off the fan and began gathering up the tools he had used.

When Fleur realized he wasn't going to say anything else, she turned to Alice and hissed, "Make him help us. We're getting nowhere on our own."

Alice raised her eyebrows at the idea of anyone making Colton do something he didn't want to do, but just at that moment, a dismayed "Oh no!" came from somewhere in the kitchen.

Fleur pounced on it. "Besides, Mom definitely needs help. She's making the pizza from scratch, and she's never tried this recipe before."

Alice hesitated, not wanting to drag Colton into another tedious task, but to her surprise, he jerked his head at the kitchen door and then said, "Pizza's beyond me. Hamlet isn't."

The frustration melted from Fleur's face as he sat in one of the chairs across from them and added, "I won't go through the whole play. Just the best scenes for the theme."

"Sure. We're supposed to write about—"

"I heard."

As Alice handed over her copy, she mouthed thank you at him, and there was a sudden smolder in his eyes that assured her he would make sure she made it up to him later. It left just as quickly when he turned his attention to the book. "Take notes because I'm not repeating myself. If something confuses you, just say so."

Fleur nodded, pen ready.

Alice didn't wait any longer, catching the first hint of something burning in the kitchen. She hurried to it, unsure of what to expect.

It looked like a disaster. Sauce splattered the ceiling above the stove. A scorched pot had been shoved into a corner where it couldn't burn anything else. The blender had spilled over, its sides streaked with a grainy, sickly grey paste. In the middle of it all, Denise furiously chopped away at something on the cutting board while two round pizza pans waited nearby.

"Need any help?" said Alice, already grabbing the spare apron hanging by the fridge.

Denise sagged in relief. "Oh... would you?"

Alice scanned the recipe while twisting her hair into a quick bun. It didn't take long to realize the pizza was vegan and gluten-free, requiring a huge list of substitutions to mimic basic ingredients. "How far along are you?"

"I was almost ready to put it all together, but something went wrong with the cheese swap." Denise looked at the blender. "I'm not sure why it turned so sticky. Or grey."

Within a few minutes, Alice had cleaned out the previous attempt. As she started measuring the ingredients, Denise chattered away while chopping up sun dried tomatoes and fresh herbs for the toppings. "Fleur's stayed home this past week. Her principal was very understanding. We're also lucky in how there are only a few more weeks of school before it's out for summer. We've been thinking about putting her in independent study in the fall. She seems to like the idea. I'm just glad she's talking to me at all."

There was a brightness in her voice that sounded artificial, and Alice suddenly realized how wildly she chopped at the basil. "Denise, you just did what you thought was best. What happened wasn't your fault."

Her stepmother sighed. "When I think of how lucky you and Fleur were, and how we might have been just another family waiting to hear about something, it makes my stomach turn. But I know I shouldn't feel so guilty. I realized that when Vanna tried blaming herself for it."

"Vanna?" said Alice, unable to keep the sharpness from her tone as she remembered Fleur's wild words from that chaotic night, her insistence that she had recognized a family friend as one of the witches. "Vanna Moore, your old college friend?"

"Yes. She was the one who recommended the resort. A few days ago, she called to make sure we were all fine. She couldn't believe what had happened."

Alice stared at the blender, feeling a muscle jump in her throat. A snarl bubbled there, thick as the paste forming in the wake of the blender's blades, and it took until the 'cheese' was the right consistency before she could sound calm. "Did she say anything else?"

"Oh, not much. She wanted to visit and offer her support, but her schedule just couldn't allow it. Her business has taken off in the last few years. She's a food blogger now, did I tell you that? Well, she started as that and then turned it into so much more. I'll get you a copy of her new cookbook. It's coming out next week."

Alice hoped the wordless noise she made sounded interested at the idea. She now remembered the woman from past social gatherings, distinguishable from the rest of Denise's friends only through the extra effort she put into the food when hosting a party. Alice wondered whether Vanna had even remembered she existed, much less expected her to be more than human. The thought somehow made her even angrier. "Does she still live in the area?"

"No, she moved to Texas a few years ago. What was it called... Fort Worth. I think it's by Dallas, or maybe Houston. One of the bigger cities, anyway." Then Denise saw that she was scraping the cheese from the blender. "That looks perfect! Now we just have to layer it all together. Here are the crusts."

They were flat, dark green, and slightly pulpy looking. Alice winced for Colton's sake.

As if sensing the turn of her thoughts, Denise brought him up while they began assembling the pizzas. "It's so nice of Colton to help with the fan. He's been a rock for our family since this all happened. Even your father is warming up to him. I don't think he'll have any objection at all to the wedding."

Alice blinked. "The wedding? What wedding?"

"Yours, whenever it happens. It's obvious that you're both very serious about each other." At Alice's silence, she looked over. "Aren't you?"

"Yes, but..." Alice struggled to explain how such a ceremony seemed inconsequential as an act of devotion compared to the things they had already fought through together. "It's just not on our minds right now."

"Maybe not, but it's a natural progression for many people. Your father and I have gone to so many weddings in the past year, and most of them have been for couples about your age. People settle into the life they've made for themselves, find a loving partner, and feel ready to move on from there. There's nothing holding you back."

Alice could only stare while her stepmother spread the cheese over the sauce.

"Holding her back from what?" said her father, stepping into the kitchen. He looked tired but relaxed, and obviously hadn't caught the rest of their conversation.

Denise didn't enlighten him. "All done with work? Good, you can help me finish the pizzas so Alice isn't stuck in the kitchen."

"I don't mind," she started, but her parents waved her off.

"Go tell Fleur to gather up her homework," said Denise. "Dinner will be on the table in ten minutes."

As Alice approached the dining room, she saw that Colton and Fleur still sat at the table. Colton had leaned back in his chair, arms folded and book thrown aside, as if he hadn't needed more than a glance through it. Fleur was just the opposite, scribbling in her notebook with the same concentration that filled her words. "I think I'm good. The only thing I don't get is why Shakespeare put a play in the play. Is it a commentary about how all the characters are performing to each other to cover up their lies and schemes?"

Colton's gaze unerringly found Alice as she stopped in the doorway, but he answered without a pause. "More because the drunks in the audience couldn't remember what happened back at the beginning, but you can say that instead, sure."

Fleur nodded, looking satisfied. "Thanks. I think I'll be able to pass now."

Just as Alice was about to mention dinner, her sister's face suddenly changed, and she started fidgeting with her pen.

Colton noticed it, too. "What?"

With her back to Alice, Fleur couldn't see that she was right there. "Is Alice all right? She looks really bad. I think she's taking it the hardest."

"She saw more."

Even as Alice felt herself flush, both embarrassed and touched by her sister's concern, Fleur said, "The rest are all dead, aren't they?"

"Yes." His tone was flat and pitiless.

Her sister fell quiet for a heartbeat. "I never saw a body before. Not until that night."

"You'll be fine." Then Colton cracked his neck and rose to his feet.

Fleur scoffed. "Thanks for the sympathy. But weirdly enough... yeah, I think I will be."

Alice stepped into the room, then, drawing her sister's attention. "Hey. Dinner is almost ready, so we need to set the table."

As Fleur started gathering her notes, Colton handed Alice her copy of the play. His mere nearness worked like a balm on her spinning mind, and she smiled as he jerked his head in the direction of the kitchen. "It doesn't smell like pizza."

"It's vegan," said Fleur, not missing a beat.

"What?"

"And gluten-free. The crust is just kale mashed together and baked until it's crisp. There's also some marinara sauce, and a bunch of vegetables." Then she grinned at him. "You'll be fine."

Alice bit her lip to keep her smile from growing. As soon as her sister was out of earshot, she murmured to him, "Thank you for helping her."

He shrugged it off, but she felt a gentleness in his hand as he stroked up her back. "They're all doing good."

It was a sentiment reinforced by the sight of her family settling around the table with their pizza slices. Her father still looked tired, and every time Denise and Fleur spoke to each other, the words felt stiff and careful, but the first signs of recovery were there.

No lingering shadows for them, and no savage questions that bit without relief. They had left the forest without taking anything except their memories, and even those were wrapped in the peace of knowing it was all over. Alice felt glad for them, very much so. And yet... she had never felt more isolated from her family. They were ready to move on. She wasn't.

Stars winked far above when they finally left for home. Alice sank back in her seat, glad that the cab of Colton's truck had very little light. She already felt too exposed, too raw, and the shelter of night was a small relief. She couldn't bring herself to speak until they reached the highway. "Dinner wasn't that bad. As long as you didn't think of it as pizza."

A twitch of disgust was his only response, but she still sensed his attention, and still remembered her promise to open up once they were alone. It made her entire body feel like a live wire, and she switched on the radio to distract herself.

"Hey, hey, hey, it's Johnny Kicks and the Rattler, coming to you live to shake up your Saturday night. And boy, have we got something to send shivers all over your body. Tell us about it, Rattles."

"You know those people missing somewhere in the Sierra National Forest? And how two were found really fast? The weird thing is, one of them has done this before. Alice Corrigan. Remember her? Maybe not if you're too young to buy a drink for your date, because it was twenty years ago when her mother dumped her in the forest and disappeared. She spent three days there and had to eat crickets to survive. Pretty creepy, right? Call in with your wildest theories about why this keeps happening to her, and we'll bless the one we like best with two—TWO—tickets to the Skyhorse concert happening next week at the—"

Alice snapped off the radio again, her breath coming quick and hard. Colton's hand found her thigh and gently squeezed it. Her fingers clung to his as she fought not to cry or scream or do both.

"I am so sick of people thinking they have all the answers when they don't know a fucking thing," she said in a low voice.

In the darkness of the cab, she sensed Colton turning to her, but only dropped her face into her hands and muttered, "I just want to be home. Please."

That drew a low growl from him, but neither of them spoke for the rest of the drive.

Once they parked and got inside, Alice heard the metallic slam of the large deadbolt Colton had installed for them locking into place. Locking the rest of the world out. Before she could switch on the lights, he caught her shoulders from behind and steered her into the bedroom, the air between them now thick as tar.
Moonlight shone through the windows, too soft and diffuse to reveal much of his face as he gently but unmistakeably pushed her to sit on the bed. Then he sat beside her and said, "Enough. Talk to me. Whatever it is, I'm not letting you do this to yourself another night."

Her next breath was a slow sigh—a week's worth of strain slipping out of her at last. "The reason why I haven't opened up at all is because there's no way to fix what's bothering me. No way to find answers to the questions I have about my mother. No one will ever know or find out."

Then she smiled a little despite the burning in her eyes, reaching out to stroke the side of his face. Her fingers rasped against the day's growth of stubble. "Not even you. It's impossible."

At that, he tilted his head. The moonlight caught the color in his eyes, brightened them into something piercing. "Even if there's no answer, I can make you feel better in other ways."

It drew a small laugh out of her. "I could definitely use some stress relief. You probably could, too."

This growl of his was much different from the last one she'd heard. It felt like velvet against her skin as he pulled her onto his lap, noses brushing, hearts pounding. Then he caught a handful of her hair and pulled her head back to expose her throat. At the first scrape of his teeth, a shudder ran throughout her body, as bone-deep and exquisite as when she changed into her fur.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "For this past week, I mean."

"No more apologies." His tongue pressed against her pulse with each word. Then he tore open her shirt with a jerk of his free hand, and she started gasping instead as that dangerous mouth found her breasts.

It wasn't long before he pinned her to the bed, fully dressed even as her clothes lay in shreds around her body. She waited open and eager. Sweat prickled at the backs of her knees and against her neck even as the slickness on her breasts cooled with each breath, leaving her nipples hard and aching. He watched her writhe beneath him, the feral light in his eyes now wry.

She recognized that look and managed to say, "You're going to tease me, aren't you?"

He almost smiled before leaning in to flick his tongue against her nipple. The brief hint of heat and softness left her arching for more against the firm pressure of his hands. He only licked the salt from the skin over her ribs, ignoring how she twisted and offered him her nearest breast instead.

Eventually, he kissed up along her throat again, working his hips against hers in a slow, hard rhythm. The roughness of his jeans against her exposed, swollen cunt left her panting against his mouth. Then he shifted enough to put some of the pressure directly against her aching clit. Sweet heat filled her full, pushed her to the edge as she began to shake.

A heartbeat before she climaxed, he pulled back again. She almost howled in frustration while pushing herself up on her elbows, watching him strip to his skin. He was always feral, inhuman, but now he looked completely wild, the muscles in his chest and stomach covered in a light sheen of sweat, and his hard cock thick and throbbing as he stretched over her again.

She was greedy, wanting more than the brush of his erection against her thigh, wanting more than the cool air playing with the wet heat of her cunt. He just continued to tease, easing his cock along the planes of her body to drive her further into a frenzy. She felt the tip of the head against her stomach, soft as velvet, and the weight of the shaft, pulsing and hot. A thrust of his hips left her jerking against the sensation of him skimming over her skin, stoking an agonizing anticipation of its full length inside her.

Just when she thought she would pass out from sheer need, he straightened up, pulling her with him. She felt the lips of her cunt part as she straddled his lap, felt his hand catch her jaw and draw her close. She moaned into his mouth, already shifting her hips for the best angle, but he teased her again by pushing a hand between them.

She whined as his fingers slid along her slick lips, feather-light even as his mouth remained rough. Her own hands curled against the hard planes of his chest, running past the dusting of hair to find his lean stomach, delighting in the strength of the muscles there.

The heat of his mouth found her throat just as his thumb pressed in, and her body felt like it was on fire as she panted raggedly at the ceiling. His teeth caught her when she would have floated away, hands moving to her hips and bringing her onto his cock with one hard thrust. Her voice rose into something raw and frantic. Skin slick, fingers digging into his shoulders, she worked her hips with his, following the rhythm of his thrusts.

She was limp long before he finished, the delicious friction of his cock driving her breaths quick and fast, begging for things she couldn't even name. His climax was quiet, a growl against her neck that pushed her into another of her own. Afterward, she turned her face into the comforting warmth of his throat, not wanting that hollowness to slip back inside her. "Don't pull out," she whispered. "Not yet."

He didn't, instead kissing the salt from her breasts, the movements of his mouth now slow and soothing.

Once her breathing slowed, the words slipped out easy and free, as slack as her body. "I always just wanted to know why she left us. An answer of any kind, even if it wasn't one I liked. Because if I knew why, then..."

She trailed away as the rest of it throbbed within her. Painful, insistent, old as a scar. Even in the dark, she blushed to reveal this out loud, to expose it to the monster that had tasted every inch of her, to the wolf she trusted her heart to. "If I knew why, then maybe the fear of loss wouldn't hurt me anymore. Or control me. Maybe I would know what to do whenever I was threatened by it again."

A dangerous jaw nuzzling against her cheek. A rasp of a voice stirring her hair. "You're thinking about the coven."

"Yes, and I'm so angry. They almost took my family, and what happened? They just slipped away, leaving even more questions behind. I'm glad my family is taking it so well. I really am. But I don't understand how they can just let it go. My father told me it's easier to live with the questions instead of the answers, but I can't believe that. I want each one of those witches to explain themselves. I want to find out why they did this."

"You want to continue the hunt." Then he tasted at the skin of her neck. "What's stopping you?"

When she felt the edges of his teeth, she arched into them. "It seems too dangerous."

"I've hunted worse things than a coven. I'd keep you safe."

"I meant for you."

There was a rumble of a laugh against her. "Nothing's dangerous to me."

"Colton." She shifted enough to run a hand down his chest, fingers still sure of where the wound had been. "We met because a bullet had taken you out. And the scar tissue is now gone because a fire caught you."

"I was different then." His voice held a certain flatness that appeared whenever he wasn't about to explain himself further. "Believe me, I remember how to tear through this other world."

As she licked her lips, searching for some other excuse to use, some other rational argument to quell the hurt, and horror, and bloodthirst simmering in her heart, he caught her by the chin and gave her a long, lingering kiss. "Alice. Don't leash yourself."

She nodded and released a shuddering sigh, fingers digging into him.

"What do you want?" said the nightmare creature that now held her close, the shadow that had slipped into her life and shown her a world where she need not be meek, and frightened, and hopeless.

Her answer was soft yet sure. "I want to finish the hunt."