Author: Kalayna Price

He also flinched at the name, his shoulders nearly touching his ears. A fine tremble shook his body, but he pushed off the ground. Stood. This time he kept his gaze down.

I searched his face, searched for signs of insanity. And exactly what does that look like? Steven just looked scared.

Tired. And young. Way too young.

“It’s not a curse,” I finally said. “You’ll be a shifter until you die.”

Which wouldn’t be by my hand, if I had anything to say about it. I’d send him back to Firth with Bobby. Hopefully one of the clans would take him in. Teach him how to be a shifter.

How to accept the new animal soul sharing his body.

He looked up then. His green eyes wide. “No,” he whispered. “No. You have to take it back. You have to. You don’t know what it’s made me do!”

Bobby growled and spat in the snow. “Your beast doesn’t make you do anything.”

Steven cringed again, and I frowned at Bobby. A month ago, I would have whole-heartedly agreed with him, but now I had the memories of a pair of tagged shifters. I knew from those memories that the human mind was too confused to curb the beast’s instincts during their first shift. Humans who were intentionally tagged were guided through their first shifts to help them adjust, but even then the insanity rates were high. I had no doubt Steven believed his beast controlled him.

Bryant had, too.

But Bryant had shown no remorse for his actions. He’d given into his every impulse and then compartmentalized the guilt by believing he had no control over his beast. That was why Bryant was dead.

“What did it make you do?” I asked, ignoring the shocked look Bobby gave me.

Steven didn’t answer. He stared at the ground. Gil moved closer to me, her shoulder brushing mine. The touch sent a thrill of body heat through me. I swallowed. I had way too little blood in me to be rubbing elbows with anyone. Oh yeah, I understand impulses.

Scuttling away from Gil put me closer to Steven. Even stronger than the scent of unwashed body was the reek of fear still pouring off him. Around the edges of my vision, I thought I saw faint yellow outlines twisting around him.

Ghostly yellow lines that looked a hell of a lot like what I saw when my mezmer ability decided to help me hunt. I ignored it. I did not need my vamp powers rising to the surface right now.

“What are you waiting for?” Gil asked, her eyes widening and brows lifting to emphasis her words.

I was too busy calming my hunger to follow her meaning, and Gil jerked her chin indiscreetly at Steven. Oh.

“I don’t think he’s rogue,” I whispered, though at this distance, Steven probably heard me better than Gil. I turned back toward him. “What did your beast make you do?”

Steven glanced between Gil and me. “You’re here to kill me?”

I opened my mouth to deny it, but no words came out. If he were rogue or on the verge of turning rogue, it was true. I had to destroy him. I’d tagged him. He was my responsibility.

“I tried to do it myself,” he whispered. “Twice. But both times I woke up as that… that thing instead.”

I shared a glance with Bobby. A suicidal shifter?

Antidepressants don’t work on shifters—our metabolism’s too fast. If he were unstable enough to attempt suicide…?

“I’m your second. Do you want me to take care of him, Kita?” Bobby asked.

I shook my head. I’d never actually accepted Bobby as my second. Not that he’d care. He’d probably walk right up to the elders and tell them he was ready to accept his share of my punishment when he returned to Firth. Stubborn bobcat.

According to our laws, a second could execute a tagged shifter in danger of turning rogue. But I didn’t want Steven executed. He wasn’t rogue—not yet, at least. He was confused. Scared. But why wouldn’t he be? He was alone. He just needed a chance. He was so young. And so familiar…?

“Bobby, I want you to take him to a safe-house until the gate opens.”

Bobby stared at me. He opened his mouth. Closed it.

Opened it again. “Kita, it would be a mercy kill. You heard him.”

“Yeah, and I tried to sunbathe a couple days after becoming a vampire. Do you think someone should have mercy on me, too?”

His jaw dropped. “Kitten, you wouldn’t—”

“Can you arrange for the safe-house or not?”

He nodded.

“Then it’s settled. Now, Steven, the other men with you the night you attacked me, did any of the others change?”

His sour scent of fear turned sharper at my words—which was not the response I expected. I frowned, and the world went black for a second as my eyelids closed. Crap. I pried them back open.

“I think I need to get back,” I said.

Then my eyelids fell again and I slipped into darkness as dawn approached.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Consciousness hit with a jolt. My eyes flew open, pain blossoming in my chest as my lungs expanded with my first breath of the night.

The pillow under my cheek smelled like Nathanial. I snuggled against it, breathing in more of the scent before my brain caught up with my actions. Realizing what I was doing, I pushed away from the pillow, and the gold-and-creamcolored sheets slid off me.

Apparently Gil had magicked me back to the mansion before full dawn. I frowned at the pillow and then looked around. The blankets hugged the corners of Nathanial’s side of the bed, the comforter not turned down until a couple inches from where it pooled around me. At home, Nathanial always made the bed. But never before I got out of it. Either he didn’t sleep at all during the day, or…?

“We have been summoned.”

I jumped, my head swinging toward the sound of Nathanial’s voice. He’d been so still, I hadn’t even noticed him leaning against the wall. Good survival instincts Kita, don’t notice the predator in the room. I pulled aside the gauzy curtains and met his eyes. His cold glare spoke volumes.

None of those volumes happy.

“Sorry about…” I waved my hand through the air because I couldn’t apologize for leaving out loud. Besides, I wasn’t that sorry. “We found something.”

Nathanial continued to stare, not moving, his arms crossed over his chest. He’d never been mad at me before, not like this, at least. I dropped my gaze, looking for something else, anything else, to focus on. My gaze trailed over to the bed. It was my pillow that smelled of him. Only my pillow.

“Did you—?”

Nathanial cut me off. “Anaya and Clive arrived with an ambassador from Haven late last night.”

“Oh.” Then we’re out of time. “How did your negotiations go?”

Nathanial pushed off the wall. His movements were stiff, lacking their usual casual grace. He grabbed a pair of garment bags from a hook in the bureau and tossed them over the edge of the bed.

“The Collector has requested our presence in the grand parlor. Get dressed.”

I raised an eyebrow and frowned at the bag. Nathanial turned his back. Illusion of privacy, or display of frustration?

“So now what?” I asked as I unzipped the first garment bag. Nathanial didn’t answer as I pulled out an awful, creamcolored skirt covering layer upon layer of tulle. The stiff material practically stood on up on its own. “Uh…”

Nathanial glanced over his shoulder as I stared dumbfounded at the skirt-thing. “You wear it under an outer garment,” he said.

When I didn’t move, he stepped around me and unzipped the second bag. It held a satin emerald gown with enough material on the bottom to use as a tent, but only a small, corset bodice that would leave my chest mostly bare.

“Please get dressed.”

“Not like I have much choice,” I muttered, gathering the clothes. Appearing before the Collector in only the slip wasn’t an option. Speaking of the slip… where had the gown I’d worn last night gone? I frowned, but one glance at the stiff set to Nathanial’s shoulders told me now was not the time to pick a fight. When this is all over, we’re having a talk on personal boundaries. With my arms filled with garment bags, I headed for the bathroom. Nathanial caught the door before it shut.

I rounded on him. “I’m not going anywhere,” I whispered, the words louder than I meant because of the annoyance bleeding into them. “I’m just dressing.”

He didn’t say anything. He just looked at me with his carefully empty expression and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. Oh hell.

I opened my mouth to protest, and he laid a finger over my lips, silencing me. “I felt you succumb to dawn,” he whispered, moving close enough that his body heat filled the space between us, but only his one, silencing finger touched me. “I felt the distance. I had no idea if you were safe. And I could do nothing.” His hand dropped. “Nothing.”

His expression wasn’t empty now. The fear, the worry, the aggravation at feeling helpless—it was all there on the surface, exposed and vulnerable.

“I’m here. I’m safe,” I whispered because I couldn’t look at him and not say anything. I almost reached for him, almost closed the space between us. But I didn’t, and the moment stretched, turned awkward. I looked away. “The Collector’s waiting. I should dress.”

I struggled into the petticoat, all but swimming through the scratchy layers of tulle. The gown presented the next difficulty. By the time I put on the corset, I was ready to search for fire and burn the damn dress. I fought with the lacing, and warm hands slipped over mine, taking the cords and undoing the mess I’d made. Nathanial’s long fingers worked methodically, gently tightening the corset as he moved toward the center of my back.

Once he tied it, his hands slipped over my shoulder-blades and moved into my hair. He plaited my hair with practiced movements, and I watched as he piled the tri-colored braid atop my head. He didn’t say anything.

“Did you reach a compromise with the Collector?” I asked as the silence stretched sharp enough to abrade my skin.