“You were right—you win.” I shake my head, remembering how she reacted just like he said. “She’s thrilled beyond belief. Can’t thank me enough. Feels just like a rock star. No—scratch that, better than a rock star. She feels like a vampire rock star. But you know, the new and improved kind—without all that nasty bloodsucking and coffin sleeping.” I shake my head and smile in spite of myself.

“A member of the mythical undead?” Damen cringes, not liking the analogy one bit. “I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s just a side effect of her recent goth phase. The thrill will die down eventually. You know, once the reality sinks in.”

“Is that how it is for you?” he asks, finger just under my chin, making me look at him again. “Is the thrill dying down—or perhaps even—gone?” His gaze deep, knowing, attuned to every shift of my mood. “Is that why you find it so hard to look at me now?”

“No!” I shake my head, fully aware that I’ve been caught and desperate to refute it. “I’m just—tired. I’ve been feeling a little—on edge lately, that’s all.” I nuzzle closer, burying my face in the hollow of his neck, right next to where the cord for his amulet rests. That edgy prickly feeling I’ve been carrying for days, tempering, melting, as I inhale his warm musky scent over and over again. “Why can’t every moment be like this?” I murmur, knowing what I really mean is: Why can’t I always be like this—feel like this?

Why is everything changing?

“It can.” He shrugs. “There’s really no reason why it can’t.”

I pull away and meet his gaze. “Oh, I can think of at least two very good reasons.”

Nodding toward Romy and Rayne, the twin terrors we’re now responsible for as they bound down the stairs. Identical in their straight dark hair with razor-slashed bangs, pale skin, and large dark eyes—but complete opposites in their dress. Romy wearing a pink terry cloth sundress with matching flip-flops, while Rayne’s barefoot and dressed in all black, with Luna, their tiny black kitten, riding high on her shoulder. The two of them shooting Damen a happy, warm smile and glaring at me—business as usual, and pretty much the only thing that hasn’t changed around here.

“They’ll come around,” he says, wanting to believe it and wishing I would too.

“No they won’t.” I sigh, fumbling for my flip-flops. “But then, it’s not like they don’t have their reasons.” I slip on my shoes and look at him.

“Leaving so soon?”

I nod, avoiding his gaze. “Sabine’s making dinner, Munoz is coming over—it’s a whole bonding thing. She wants us to get to know each other better. You know, less student teacher, more future nonblood relations.” I shrug, realizing the instant it’s out that I should’ve invited him. It’s incredibly rude not to include him. But Damen’s presence will only mess with my other evening plans. The ones he may suspect but can’t possibly witness. Especially after making his feelings on my foray into magick so abundantly clear. Tacking on an awkward, “So—you know . . .” and leaving it to hang there, dangling between us, since I’ve no idea where to take it from there.

“And Roman?”

I take a deep breath as my eyes meet his. The moment I’ve been avoiding is now here.

“Did you warn Haven? Tell her what he did?”

I nod. Recalling the speech I practiced in the car all the way over, about how Haven could be our best chance to get what we need from Roman. Hoping it’ll sound better to his ears than it did mine.

“And?”

I clear my throat, allowing myself that, but nothing more.

He waits for me to continue, the patience of six hundred years stamped on his face, as I open my mouth to launch into my speech, but I can’t. He knows me too well. So instead, I just lift my shoulders and sigh, knowing words are unnecessary, the answer’s displayed in my gaze.

“I see.” He nods, his tone smooth, even, without a trace of judgment, which kind of disappoints me. I mean, I’m judging me, so why isn’t he?

“But—it’s really not like you think,” I say. “It’s not like I didn’t try to warn her, but she wouldn’t listen. So I figured, what the heck. If she’s going to insist on hanging with Roman, then what’s the harm in her trying to snag the antidote while she’s at it? And I know you think it’s wrong, believe me, we’ve been over that, but I still don’t think it’s all that big a deal.”

He looks at me, face calm, still, betraying nothing.

“Besides, it’s not like we actually have any real proof that he would’ve let her die. I mean, he had the antidote all along, he knew what I’d choose. But even if I did prove him wrong, how do we know he wouldn’t have given her the elixir himself?” I take a deep breath, hardly believing I’m borrowing Haven’s argument, the same one I balked at just a few moments earlier. “And then—maybe he even would’ve tried to turn the whole thing around! You know, tell her we were prepared to let her die and end up turning her against us! Did you ever think of that?”

“No. I suppose I didn’t,” he says, lids narrowed, concern clouding his face.

“And it’s not like I’m not gonna monitor the situation cuz I totally am. I’ll make sure she’s safe. But she does have free will, you know, it’s not like we can choose her friends for her, so I figured, you know, when in Rome . . . and all . . . so to speak . . .”