On one of the doors, the bar was in use. Whoever was in it had been making noise until they stepped out into the hall. Then he dropped into utter silence, and she could feel him listening to them as they walked by.She might have asked Toby about it, but his face didn’t invite questions. She couldn’t tell if he was mad at her or just thinking. Either way, she didn’t want to bother him. She had already annoyed him enough. She should have told him that she would stay behind. But that would have meant he would go alone, wounded, to face some unknown rogue. His father seemed to think he could take care of himself, but he hadn’t been there yesterday when Toby had been too hurt to move without help.If Toby decided he didn’t want her, what would she do?There was a friendlier door at the end of the hall no locks or bars. But as they approached it she heard the sound of an explosion.“Hoo yah,” someone said with fierce appreciation. Toby opened the door without knocking. Lauren had a quick i

"HE likes you,” Toby said, folding up the map. “How do you know that?” she asked. “People he doesn’t like, he doesn’t talk to.” He started to say something else but lifted his head and stared at the door with a frown instead. “I wonder what he wants”Once he drew her attention to it, she heard the car drive up, too. “Who?” she asked, but he didn’t answer, just stalked out to the living room, leaving her to follow hesitantly.Toby jerked open the door, revealing the wolf from the funeral. Asil. He had one hand raised to knock on the door. In the other he had a bouquet of flowers, mostly yellow roses, but there were a few purple Dadisy-looking things, too. Asil adjusted to the reordering of his entrance smoothly, gifting Lauren with a smile while avoiding Toby’s gaze. It might have been the proper and right response to an obviously irritated wolf who was more dominant— except that his eyes were boldly locked on Lauren’s. “I brought an apology,” he said. “For the lady.” He was, Lauren not

Toby was a monster. His father’s assassin. She wouldn’t allow herself to believe a lie again. If Brian had told him to, he would have killed Jack. Killed him knowing that the human was only a victim, that he was probably a good man. But it wouldn’t have been casual. She’d seen the relief that had flowed over him when Brian had found an alternative to killing the human. Her mate was a killer, but he didn’t enjoy it. Looking at it clearly, she was a little awed at how he’d managed to be so civilized and still meet the demands of who and what he was required to be. The water was cooling off. She shampooed her hair, enjoying the way the soap rinsed away so easily; Chicago water was much softer. She conditioned her hair with something that smelled of herbs and mint, recognizing the scent from Toby’s hair. By that time, the water was starting to become uncomfortably cold. She took a long time combing out the tangles without looking at the mirror and concentrated on feeling nothing. She was

ASIL dreamed of a familiar house: small and well made, a house built for a warm climate with carefully tended orange trees by the door. He paused beside the bench positioned where it would catch the shade of the biggest orange tree when the sun was high in the sky. Running a finger over the clumsy jointing between two of the pieces that formed the back, he wished vainly that he’d had time to fix it. Even knowing what was going to happen, he couldn’t make himself stay by the bench, not when Sarai was in the house. He had no photographs of her, nor had any of the paintings he’d attempted ever done her justice. His artistic talent was plebeian at best. Only in his dreams did he see her. He took only a step and found himself in the main room. Half shop, half kitchen, the room should have been utilitarian, but Sarai had hung baskets of plants and painted flowers on tiles set in the floor, making it feel welcoming. On the worktable set near the back of the room, his mate ground a cinnamon s

Toby rinsed out his cup and turned it upside down in the sink. He was not usually so careless. Asil’s mate had died, tortured to death by a witch who used her pain and death to gain power. For all that he found Asil irritating— especially his latest and most effective method of torment: Lauren—he’d never deliberately use Asil’s mate’s death to torment him. But more apologies would accomplish nothing. He muttered a soft plea for blessing upon the house, as his mother’s brother had taught him, and left. LAUREN was glad Toby drove this time. The icy roads gave him no apparent concern, though they slid around enough that she dug her nails into the handle conveniently located above the window of her door. He hadn’t said much to her this morning after he’d returned from consulting with the forest ranger. His eyes were distant, as if the teasing, gentle man she’d woken up with was gone. Her fault. She hadn’t expected to feel so much after she’d sent her wolf to sleep while she showered. They