Ellison’s Lupine eyes flashed gray white. “Hold on there now, my old friend. We were just dancing.”

“Stay away from her.” Sean’s voice was grating, throat clogged with rage.

The song wailed to an end, and the jukebox clicked off. Silence descended on the room as the two males faced each other. Andrea breathed hard from the dance, her br**sts rising most distractingly under her low-cut shirt.

Ellison saw his sideways glance at her and laughed. “Woo, Sean.” He clapped Sean on the shoulder. “You’re walking on a knife edge, my man. Better get this thing blessed, or you’ll be challenging every male who even looks at her.”

Sean knew he should calm himself, laugh it off, but instincts were a bitch. He stepped to Ellison, everything in him wanting to gut the Lupine for coming near Andrea.

Ellison lifted his hands, beer still in one. “Steady, big guy. I’m leaving.” He backed slowly out of range, making sure not to turn his back on Sean.

When Sean didn’t pursue him, the bar relaxed and conversation and laughter started up again. A blood-drenched conflict had been avoided, and Shifters could go back to drinking and enjoying the night.

Andrea was glaring at Sean, hands on hips. “I was dancing, Sean. Get over yourself.” Before Sean could reach for her or say a word, she slammed away from him and marched back to the bar.

After the bar closed, Andrea stashed her apron in the office and left through the back door, only to find Sean waiting for her. The sword’s hilt rose above his shoulder, glittering in the moonlight.

The night was brisk though not as cold as previous nights, spring at last touching the air. The sky had cleared, and the moon was a round disk of white.

Andrea said a silent prayer to the moon goddess and pretended to ignore Sean as he fell into step beside her. He was still angry at her for dancing with Ellison, she felt that, and she was still angry at him for trying to keep her home tonight. The Ellison thing had been partly her fault—she’d been dancing to show Sean what he was missing by being so high-handed.

They reached Shiftertown without either of them saying a word. Though it was late, Shifters lingered on porches, enjoying the brisk night and the bright moonlight. “Now then, Sean,” they called out, in a friendly fashion. “Andrea.”

Sean raised his hand in greeting, and Andrea waved too, secretly pleased that they greeted her by name. The Shifters here were gradually accepting her, and the thought warmed her. She wasn’t fool enough to think they’d welcome her half Faeness with open arms without Sean, but even so, she liked the feeling of belonging.

Glory wasn’t home, the house dark and silent. Dylan hadn’t asked Andrea about Glory tonight, and he’d departed right after Sean had interrupted Andrea’s dance. Andrea had sensed Dylan’s sorrow when she’d brought him the beer, but she doubted he’d make the first overture to Glory. It was too bad. They were two lonely people who needed each other. No, correction, two lonely, stubborn people.

Speaking of stubborn, Sean followed Andrea upstairs and into her bedroom. Andrea sat down on the bed, pulled off her shoes, and stretched her aching feet as Sean unbuckled the sword and laid it across the dresser.

Andrea studied the moonlight on the sword as she rotated her ankles. “Can anyone wield the sword but a Guardian?”

Sean gave her a quick, questioning look. “Legend says no.” He skimmed his fingers over the sword, then came to sit on the bed next to her. Right next to her. The mattress dipped with his weight, and as annoyed as Andrea was at him, she realized she’d come to like the sensation.

“Does that mean you’re not sure?”

He shrugged, his shoulder brushing hers. “It means legend says no. The Guardian must be descended from the original Guardian of the clan, and he is chosen in a spiritual ritual.”

“So I hear. What I mean is, if I took the sword and stuck it through a dead Shifter’s heart, would he turn to dust?”

“Actually, I have no idea, love.”

Love. It was difficult to stay angry at him—not that he was right—when he called her love in that warm voice. “As I understand, the original sword was made by a Fae, right?”

Sean nodded, looking curious at her questions. “Created by a Shifter smith and a Fae woman who wove her magic through it. A Fae bastard had wanted a sword made so he could trap and torture Shifter souls with it, but the Fae woman, his sister, turned the tables on him and made it so the sword released the souls instead. That’s the story, anyway.”

“And she made it so the sword can’t hurt Shifters, right?”

“I didn’t say that. If I stick its sharp point into a live Shifter’s body, he’d be a bit pissed off at me. But I’d only stick it in someone if he was dying already or into a crazed feral who needed to go down.”

“You would,” Andrea said. “But what if someone else got hold of it?”

Sean’s gaze went sharp. “Has my dad been talking to you?”

“Dylan? No. Why?”

“Because he told me tonight that Callum had planned to grab the sword. He’d wanted to use the fact that he had it to intimidate other Shifters into following him. It could work, I think.”

Damn Callum anyway. Was this what the Fae warrior had been talking about? The danger if she didn’t bring him the sword? Why would a Fae care if Shifters were angry at their Guardian? It made no sense to her.

“Doesn’t Callum’s Shiftertown have its own Guardian?” Andrea said. “Why not take his sword?”