With his fists up, Devon watched the mystery man draw closer. Hate blazed in his green eyes, but instead of backing away, he dropped one hand to his neck and started rubbing his throat, as if that would somehow keep the other man from killing him.

“Stop right there!” I yelled, trying to buy myself a few precious seconds to get close enough to protect Devon.

The mystery man’s gaze flicked to me, and I finally got my first good look at him. Brown hair, brown eyes, skin that was neither dark nor light. Everything about him was exceptionally average—height, weight, build. He was the sort of nondescript person you wouldn’t remember five minutes after you met him. A guy who would fade into the background any place he went. I couldn’t even really tell how old he was. He could have been twenty, he could have been forty, he could have been any age in between.

My gaze scanned over him, but his pants and polo shirt were both dull, anonymous khaki, and no Family cuffs or crests of any kind flashed on his wrist. Even his sword was plain and featureless.

His gaze locked with mine, and I sucked in a breath. Because as forgettable as his appearance was, his emotions were anything but—boiling rage mixed with bitter jealousy. He wanted to hurt Devon, but he also . . . wanted something from him. Something important. Something that would somehow soothe his jealous rage.

Devon finally managed to croak out something, although I couldn’t quite hear the word. The mystery man winced, as though the low, raspy sound hurt his ears, and he turned and ran out of the shop. Coward. Apparently, he didn’t have the guts to finish the fight himself, now that his murderous companions were dead.

I rushed over to Devon, who was leaning against one of the counters. “Are you all right?”

“Ash . . . ley . . .” he croaked. “Fe . . . lix . . .”

I helped Devon over to his friends. Felix was still groaning, but his eyes were fluttering, as if he wanted to open them. He’d be okay in a few minutes.

The same couldn’t be said for Ashley.

The bodyguard was lying on her back, staring up at a set of crystal wind chimes shaped like stars and dangling from the ceiling. Her sword was lying on the floor, and she had both hands pressed over the wound in her stomach. As soon as I saw it, my own stomach clenched. It was even worse than I’d thought, and the thick, metallic stench of her blood filled the air, overpowering the sweet, floral scents from the shattered perfume bottles.

I let go of Devon just as the last of the magic burned out of my system. My extra strength evaporated, the cold sensation in my veins vanished, and my body returned to its normal temperature.

Devon fell to his knees beside Ashley. I grabbed several white silk handkerchiefs from a rack, dropped down beside Ashley, and pressed the silk to her wound, although all the fabric immediately turned a bright crimson. She stared at me, her brown eyes two pools of pain in her face, the light in her gaze getting darker and darker as the blood drained from her body.

“You’re good,” she said. “Much better than me. Which Family do you belong to?”

Instead of answering, I pressed the silk even tighter against her stomach. Hot, sticky blood oozed over my fingers like a waterfall and puddled on the floor.

“You should snap her up, Devon,” Ashley said, smiling at him through the pain. “Smart, pretty, and wicked good with a sword. And look at those blue eyes on her. I know how . . . crazy you are for . . . baby blues like that.”

Devon shook his head and took her hand in his.

I scanned the counters around us. Among the many things in the shop, Mo sold bottles of stitch-sting, a healing liquid made from evergreen bushes of the same name. I didn’t know if he had enough to help her, though—

“Don’t bother,” Ashley rasped, picking up on my thoughts. “It’s too late for any healing. Besides, his sword was poisoned with copper crusher venom. I can feel it . . . running . . . through my veins. It . . . burns. It burns . . . so bad.”

Devon tightened his grip on her hand. “I’m so sorry, Ash. If I hadn’t wanted to come out today—”

She shook her head. “I knew the risks when I signed up for the job, remember?”

He didn’t respond, but anguish tightened his face—along with guilt.

“Tell Oscar I’m sorry,” Ashley rasped.

“Don’t even talk like that. You can tell him yourself.”

She gave him a sad smile. “Sure—”

Ashley let out a violent, racking cough, blood dribbling out of her lips. She sighed, her head lolled to the side, and her whole body relaxed.

I didn’t have to look into her eyes and use my sight to know that she was dead.

For a moment, everything was quiet—so quiet.

The only sounds were the steady, faint, mechanical tick-tick-ticks of the grandfather clocks that clustered together in one section of the shop.

“Ashley? Ashley!” Devon rasped, shattering the silence.

He leaned down and started shaking her shoulders as if he could bring her back to life if only he tried hard enough. I got to my feet, stepped back, and let him get it all out. It didn’t take long.

“Ashley . . . Ashley . . .”

Devon’s voice broke off into a choked sob, and he cradled her to his chest and started rocking back and forth, the way a child might with a favorite stuffed animal. He really had cared about his bodyguard after all, and Ashley had paid the ultimate price for protecting him.

Just like my mom had.

My stomach started churning, so I looked away from them, trying to distract myself from memories that were best forgotten. This was why I stayed away from the Families. This was why I didn’t get involved. This was why I didn’t let myself care about anyone.