As the waitress went through her spiel about the evils of lactoid alternatives, Helania wondered what she was going to talk to Boone’s friends about. And as another couple settled into the next booth and laughed loudly, her old fear of not being able to hear properly came back.

Lips, she told herself. She could always read their lips.

While Paradise and Craeg ordered, she resisted the urge to wipe her brow. Under the table, her heel started bouncing and her palms sweated—

“So, tell us how you two met,” Paradise said. “Boone’s always so quiet, and we want details.”

Helania blinked and shook herself back to attention. Ruth was gone, the menus cleared, and Craeg was halfway done with the mug of cold black coffee.

“Ah . . .” The idea of going through everything about her sister and the slain female made her upset stomach worse. “At Pyre’s Revyval.”

“Oh, that club.” Paradise linked an arm through her hellren’s. “I didn’t know Boone was into that kind of stuff. He mostly stays to his own, but you’d think it would come up. Then again, even though it turns out we’re distantly related, I never knew him before now. He stayed away from society.”

“You’re an aristocrat, too?” Helania blurted.

The female laughed and popped the collar on her plain fleece.

“Hard to believe, right?”

Not if you go by those cheekbones, Helania thought.

“Boone and I are like fourth cousins or something.” The female shrugged. “But then everyone’s related to each other, aren’t they.”

“I’m quiet, too.” Helania flushed, and wondered why she felt the need to bring that up. “In case you haven’t noticed.”

Craeg spoke up. “Nothing wrong with that.”

“I agree,” Paradise tacked on.

Helania looked across at their relaxed shoulders and their open, welcoming faces. “How did you two meet?”

“We both joined the training program,” Paradise said. “But even before we did, as soon as he came through the door . . . I knew he was the one for me.”

“Same over here,” Craeg agreed. “And listen, don’t worry about this late thing. Boone is a stand-up guy. He always does the right thing, shows up when he says he’s going to, takes responsibility and commitments seriously.”

Paradise nodded. “That’s right. He’s one of the most dependable males I know.”

Standing in the glow of the surgical van’s red taillights, Boone stared at the closed doors of the RV’s back end like they had the answer to the universe on them. Dr. Manello had readily agreed to treat the human woman, and to keep too much attention from being drawn to the big-ass bloodstains in that alley, Boone had picked her up and carried her four blocks over to be examined.

Whereupon the good doctor had helped her into the treatment bay and shut things up tight.

Watching the exhaust rise up through the red glow reminded him of when Syn’s little ocular trick had turned everything Freddy Krueger. Who knew that vampire eyes could do that? Then again, there were all kinds of subspecies in the world.

Maybe the male had a little something else mixed in his veins. Who knew. But there was a more pressing issue with that Bastard—and not just the fact that, for some inexplicable reason, Syn had decided to take the blame for the dead human male back there in the snow.

Which was something Boone had tried to rectify in the alley. Syn had just talked over him, however, and then things had had to be sorted with the victim. But that misattribution of castration and other fun and games was going to be dealt with.

Back to Syn. When the Bastard had appeared in the alley, Boone’s memory had fired off with a connection made, but there had been no piecing together the mental triggers. Now he remembered. Last night, when he’d gone to Pyre to search for—read: look after—

Helania, he had sensed a presence in the crowd that he recognized, but couldn’t immediately identify.

It had been Syn. He was absolutely certain of it.

And ordinarily, that wouldn’t have been any big deal. The Bastard might have been a full-blooded warrior, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t blow off steam around some humans. Other members of the species did go there. It was just . . . why hadn’t he mentioned it to Butch in the group text that included everybody? The Brother had been updating everyone on the investigation, and had specifically asked whether anyone had been to Pyre’s Revyval.

Maybe Syn hadn’t seen the message, though. Or had had a conversation in private?

The surgical RV’s back doors opened, and Dr. Manello stepped down into the snow. After closing things back up, he shook his head at Boone.

“Can I ask you something?” the man asked.

“Yes?”

“Did you catch the bastard who did that to her?”

“I did. And I took care of things.”

“Thank fuck. Because that poor girl . . .” The physician shook his head. “She’s in rough shape. I’m giving her an IV right now to replace fluids and get some antibiotics into her. I stitched her up where necessary, but she’s going to need follow-up with a doctor to get them all removed. And more immediately, I don’t think she has anywhere safe to go and we can’t just leave her here.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“I don’t know.” The doctor stared at the closed doors. “I’m going back in. I’ll let you know when she can have a visitor—and you, or someone else, is going to have to wipe her memories.”

How far back to go, Boone wondered as the physician reentered the RV.

Boone was still standing in the taillights when heavy footfalls brought his head around. Syn was striding toward him, the warrior’s heavy legs eating up the distance.

“The mess is gone,” he announced.

“What did you do with the body?”

“We wrapped it up and hauled it out of there. Started a trash fire on the blood in the snow. But no one’s going to give a shit—”

“Why did you cover for me?” Boone demanded. “And then not let me talk.”

Syn crossed his arms over his chest and there was a period of silence. Just as Boone was about to ask again, the Bastard nodded over his shoulder in the direction of where things had gone down.

“How often do you do that.”

Not a question. And even though Boone knew what the male was asking about, he said, “Do what?”

“Sing Christmas carols at the top of your lungs,” Syn snapped “What the fuck do you think I’m talking about?”

Boone looked away. In truth, he recognized that what he’d done with that assailant went way too far—and that was only part of the problem. The reality that he could not have stopped himself was the even bigger issue.

He was not about to talk about all that, however. “I killed him. I saved her life and I took her assailant’s—”

“You disabled the fucker and then castrated him while he was still alive. And then you started cutting pieces of him off until he died.”

“Balthazar did the same thing. You said so yourself.”

“Not even close. He toyed with a slayer. You, on the other hand, inflicted pain in a deliberate manner.”

“Splitting hairs.”

“You think? You had a victim waiting for aid, and you still had to get the suffering in, right? Even though she needed medical attention, you just had to get that release or the roar inside your body was going to destroy you. Am I right.”

Again, not a question. And Boone became acutely aware that any of the Brothers could show up out of thin air at any moment.

Boone cursed at himself. At what he had done. At the fact that the Bastard seemed to be walking around in Boone’s own skull.

Syn’s voice dropped in volume, the deep tones nearly seductive. “When you came out into the field tonight, even though you’re not supposed to be here, you would have kept going until you found something to play with. Until you got the poison out of you. Until you slaked your thirst for bloodshed.”

With a slow pivot, Boone turned to Syn. “How do you know so much about . . .”

The change in the Bastard was instantaneous. Gone was the snakelike knowing stare, as if it had never existed.

“I’m just giving you feedback on your performance,” Syn said dryly. “Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do with you trainees.”

Bullshit, Boone thought. You know exactly what I was doing in that alley. And your eyes lit up because you know how good it feels to have something at your mercy.

A sudden feeling of dread washed over Boone. “Have you ever been to Pyre’s Revyval?”

The warrior’s expression didn’t change. And his body didn’t shift. And his eyes didn’t flicker in the slightest.

“No,” he said evenly. “I haven’t.”

* * *

Helania was back at her apartment, sitting at her little kitchen table in her P.J.s, her laptop open and hard copies of work fanned out in front of her. Not that she was getting much editing done. She had been in this chair, staring into space, for how long now?

Two hours. It was a little after four a.m.

After a nice-enough meal at The 24 Hr. Diner, she had left Paradise and Craeg in the back parking lot around one-thirty. Dematerializing home, she had taken a load off on her sofa and cradled her phone in her palms like it was a crystal ball, soon to tell her what the future held.

Following about a half hour of that nonsense, she had forced herself to get up, get changed and move over here. Like this was so much more productive, her papers lying untouched on the table, her screen saver spitting bubbles out over the Word document she should have been typing into, her butt going numb.

With a stretch, she looked toward her door as if that would send vibes out into the universe that someone needed to be coming through it. And no, she wasn’t talking about old school Avon.

That black cloak hanging with her other jackets by the exit was a reminder of the distraction from her true purpose. The time wasted. The neutral that she had allowed herself to fall into.