Every limb heavy with exhaustion, her brain fuzzy with sudden desire, Skye dressed for bed. Just before she put out the last light, though, she stood at the window for a moment, knowing the illumination from her lamp would outline her to anybody watching from below.

Tonight she knew Redgrave wasn’t watching. Balthazar was.

“Good night,” she whispered, before turning out the light.

Chapter Thirteen

BALTHAZAR PACED THE LENGTH OF HIS BARE carriage house; the sheets were rumpled from his brief, futile attempt to get some sleep. The early morning sunlight filtering through the curtains seemed to fall on his mistakes, making them clearer, and therefore worse.

No humans. It’s a simple rule. How could you forget it?

His mind’s reply didn’t take the form of words; instead, he remembered Skye’s face last night—drawn and pale, and yet trying so hard to be brave that his defenses had crumbled. The way she’d leaned against him on the bus, glowing with warmth like the last ember of a fire. The feel of her mouth against his.

Frustrated, Balthazar tried to push the memories away. Skye was a beautiful girl. He enjoyed spending time with her. He knew he was already committed to keeping her safe from Redgrave and his tribe. That was all there could ever be to it, though. Going any further than one impulsive, mistaken kiss would be unfair to her in the end.

But it had been so long since anyone good and decent had wanted him that way—and her silhouette against the window last night, looking for him in the darkness—

No humans.

As he got ready for the day, slicking back his hair and dressing as tweedy-preppy-conservative as he could manage with his wardrobe, Balthazar thought again of how fragile Skye had been the night before. Being pushed away after a kiss like that: That couldn’t have helped her state of mind. How could he have gotten so carried away, been so selfish, as to pile one more thing onto the burdens she already had to bear?

He shrugged on his blazer and looked at himself in the mirror; his reflection was crisp and bright, no doubt thanks to the sip of Skye’s blood he’d drunk the night before. Even in small doses, living human blood gave vampires a kind of vitality nothing else could. Not that he deserved it.

“You bastard,” he said to the man in the mirror.

A knock on the door startled him. His first thought was Skye, but he hadn’t told her exactly where he was staying yet. To find him here, somebody would have had to be following him.

Balthazar tensed. He walked to his small kitchen and looked in the knife drawer; nothing in there was larger than a ten-inch carving knife, but the blade seemed sturdy. It would do. Palming the handle so that the knife lay flat against one arm, he put one hand on the doorknob, took a deep breath, and opened it—

—to see Madison Findley on his doorstop, a coffeemaker in her hands.

“Madison!” He put his hands behind his back, the better to conceal the knife. “Good morning.”

“Sorry to intrude, Mr. More.” Madison didn’t look sorry; her eyes darted around the bit of his carriage house she could see, the gesture of the perpetually nosy. “My dad remembered last night that the coffeepot in here broke and we hadn’t gotten around to putting in the replacement.” She hoisted the coffee maker a little higher in her arms. “Meet the replacement.”

“Oh, thanks. Some caffeine would be good around now.” Balthazar didn’t respond much to caffeine; he just needed something to joke about, so he could laugh to cover the sound of his sliding the knife onto his table.

“They said you took Skye home last night. Is she okay?”

“Fine, I think. It can get hot in the gym, and just after you come in from the cold—you know.” Which made no sense, but hopefully Madison would skip over it. “Just dropped her off at the house. She should be in class this morning.”

“That’s good. Hey, want me to set this up for you?”

She’d taken one step inside before Balthazar’s hands were free to collect the coffeemaker from her. “That’s okay, Madison. I’ve got it. But seriously, thanks for bringing it by.”

“Well, okay.” Madison hesitated a moment before stepping back out again. “See you in class!”

“Don’t be late!” he called cheerfully as he shut the door. That was a teacherish sort of thing to say, right? At that moment he was too relieved to worry about it much.

It never occurred to him to wonder whether Redgrave and the others would really have knocked on the door if they’d come intending to do violence.

He suspected they wouldn’t knock on his door the night they came to kill him.

Balthazar walked into his first class just before the bell, so all the students were in their seats. Though he gave the room a glance he hoped was professional, his eyes searched for Skye first of all—

—and found her. Instead of looking crushed by last night’s events, as he’d feared she would, she gazed back at him evenly. Serene, almost. As if she didn’t have a care in the world. And she’d dressed accordingly.

That skirt … that cannot possibly pass the dress code.

Skye’s outfit wasn’t outrageous; her sweater was slightly oversized, even, and the colors were all blacks and dark grays and plum-colored tights. But he could see a whole lot of the tights, almost all the way up her thighs, because that skirt…

Drooling over one of the students in front of the rest of the class is definitely not professional, he told himself, pulling it together as best he could. “Good morning, everybody. We’ll be diving into chapter one today—though I haven’t had much time to review, I’m afraid. Had to catch the game last night.”