Vic came toward me with his arms open wide, his eyes magnified by tears. He was half again my size, but when we embraced, I felt like I was holding him up, and it was al I could do to remain standing. He buried his face in my hair, his body shaking against me with the spasmodic rhythm of unrestrained sobs. It was almost more than I could bear gracefully.

“She deserved better, Faythe,” he whispered against my cheek in halting syl ables separated by wet, gasping breaths.

“I know,” I murmured. “We’l get them.” My hand moved automatical y to stroke his head, like I would comfort a toddler with a skinned knee. Or like I might soothe a scared cat.

The other guys surrounded us in a living cocoon of support, thumping Vic and Anthony on the shoulders in the proper masculine display of sympathy. Parker met my eyes over Vic’s shoulder, and I blinked at him, pleading desperately, wordlessly, for help. He eased me out of Vic’s grip and took my place, whispering private words of condolence as Sara’s brother struggled visibly to compose himself.

We must have been quite a sight: six large, distraught men, and a young woman with a battered face. No wonder people stared.

Marc took charge, herding us al away from the gate. In the main lobby, he nodded toward the Hertz car-rental booth and a line of people chatting and snacking on vending-machine candy. He took my hand, squeezing it as we walked. I glanced at him, but he was watching the people in the rental line. He growled, too low for anyone other than us to hear.

No one said anything or made any overt movements, but suddenly everything felt different. The guys’ feet made no noise on the floor. Their bodies seemed to slink forward with each graceful step. They were moving more like cats than like people, and I followed their example out of habit.

The difference was nothing any human would have noticed consciously, but it definitely spooked them. People walked out of their way to avoid us, creating an open path in a fairly crowded lobby. They snuck furtive glances at us, gasping openly when they saw my battered face, yet no one dared approach to offer me assistance or sympathy. Thank goodness.

We stopped at the end of the line, with Marc and Parker in the lead. Several wide sets of eyes peeked back at us in short, nervous glances. Most of them needed only one look at our group to decide they’d rather buy a souvenir or have a drink before renting a car. Their excuses for leaving the line were a defense mechanism al owing them to retain a sliver of self-respect, rather than acknowledge their own fear. Humans were never wil ing to believe what their instincts had to say about the nature of the beasts they’d just faced. And that was fine with us.

I smiled to myself as a man in a generic black business suit stepped out of line in front of us to shuffle toward the restroom. After less than two minutes, the only customer left was the one currently being served. Behind the counter the harried employee wore a white plastic tag reading Please be patient, I’m in training.

Great. Enforcers out for blood are no good at being patient. Alternately curious and apathetic, yes. But not patient.

Marc tapped Parker on the shoulder. “Get something with dual climate control.”

“And satel ite radio.” That was Ethan, who thought life without music wasn’t worth living. He’d left his MP3 player at home for Jace, who was bedridden and apparently bored.

Parker grunted. “I’l do my best.” From the look on his face, I doubted he even knew what satel ite radio was.

When the employee-in-training brought out the third copy of an insurance form, dropping the botched second attempt in the trash, I ground my teeth, barely stifling a request to speak with his manager. Logical y, I knew that my problem was nerves, not the nitwit behind the counter. But knowing that didn’t help.

Coffee. I needed coffee. I couldn’t get my thoughts together without a little more caffeine in my system. Luckily, the line at Seattle’s Best moved faster than the one at Hertz, and I was passing out steaming insulated cups from two cardboard trays by the time Parker took possession of a set of car keys.

He’d rented a standard seven-passenger minivan, with leather seats and two sliding doors. It had dual climate control but no satel ite radio. Ethan got over his disappointment pretty quickly when Marc threatened to find a creative new storage compartment for his headphones.

I was worried that the van would be too smal , but Lucas reminded me that we didn’t plan to bring back Sean or Miguel. At least not enough of them to need an extra seat. So a seven-passenger van should do nicely.

Parker drove, because he was the most reliable driver. Marc was the fastest, but he’d lost his driving privileges on the way to Mississippi. Which was fine with me.

Having ridden with him countless times, I’d say my odds of surviving another attack from Miguel were better than my odds of surviving a fifty-mile drive with Marc, especial y considering the cloud of nervous energy surrounding him like a cocoon.

We’d been on the road less than fifteen minutes when Marc’s right leg began jumping uncontrollably. I glanced at him and he smiled, but his knee kept bouncing.

I put my hand on his thigh, and his smile changed. It, like his eyes, grew deeper, somehow hotter.

Marc had misunderstood the purpose of my touch, but hey, it worked. His leg stopped bouncing; he’d found a new outlet for his energy. His nostrils flared as he breathed in my scent, and the yel ow specks in his eyes seemed to sparkle. It was a look I hadn’t seen in a while, and it was so intense it almost scared me.

He leaned into me, and his mouth found mine before I’d fully realized what he had in mind. I couldn’t have resisted even if I’d wanted to. But I didn’t want to. No matter what else was going on or how mad I was at him, it was always the same.