“I haven’t.”

Marisol turned back around to him. “Yes, you have. I can see it in your eyes. It’s in your voice. It’s all around you. Something has changed, so which is it—whether you want me or whether you want out of the life?”

As he stayed silent, she shook her head. “Just so you know, either way I’m going to be okay. I will be perfectly fine without you—not because I’m not in love with you, but because I’ll be goddamned if I let anything other than a bullet take me down.”

While she was speaking, Assail focused on the side of her neck…the place where he’d bitten her.

“Will you please look me in the eye,” she muttered as she put her hand to her throat. “What the hell are you staring at?”

Assail wanted there to be another way. Prayed, once again, for some solution to come to him. Begged fate for a different path.

In the end, however, there was not one—and he simply could not keep going with the lie. No matter that it would cost him his female, or that there had to be a better time, she had a right to know.

“What,” she snapped. “Just say it.”

As Assail put his coffee mug down on the floor, he was very aware that it was going to be the last thing she ever gave him.

Shifting his weight, he rose from the chair and began to undo the buttons of his fine silk shirt, one by one.

“What are you doing?” she demanded. “I am not interested in sex right now, FYI.”

Pulling the shirttails free, he went all the way to the bottom and then removed his cuff links, putting them in the pocket of his slacks. Opening the two halves of the shirt, he let it fall from his shoulders to the ground.

“Tell me what you see, Marisol,” he commanded.

“What?” Impatience had her shaking her head. “What the hell is this about?”

“Look at me. Look at me closely. What do you see.”

Her eyes made a cursory pass over his chest and his stomach. “I see a man. I see you. I mean, what?”

“Do you remember what I looked like the first night you came unto me here?” Her wince told him she did. “Remember what my body looked like?”

“You were sick.”

“Enough so that you thought I was dying, yes?”

“It’s why I made the damn trip.”

“And what do I look like now. How have I changed.”

That last one was not a question. It was a challenge.

She shrugged. “You’re a lot…healthier. Stronger. More yourself.”

“How many days has it been, Marisol.”

Now she frowned. “I don’t know. Three. Four?”

“What about my hair?” He pulled at the lengths that were easily two or three times as long as they had been. “How is it different?”

As he continued to push her, the change in her was minute, but powerful. Instead of being animated by anger, she stilled and seemed to barely breathe.

“Think about where I was compared to what I am as I stand before you now,” he said roughly. “And admit to yourself that you’ve noticed these things over the past couple of days and questioned how it was possible. You’ve seen how much weight I’m putting on so quickly, how fast I’ve rebounded. I know you’ve seen the difference, but you’ve put it to the back of your mind, haven’t you. You’ve wondered—but then been so grateful I was okay that you just…” He made a poofing motion next to his head. “Didn’t dwell on it.”

Marisol crossed her arms around her torso. “So. You’re better.”

“Ask yourself how. Ask yourself…why. And the answer will not add up. It’s too much improvement too quickly, and you know I’ve hidden nothing because you’ve seen me without my clothes. You know something doesn’t seem right about me. You’ve sensed it for a very long time—since the first moment I confronted you when you were tracking me. It’s always been there in the background, but there were too many reasons not to look too closely into it.”

The fact that she took a step back from him broke his heart. But he reminded himself that this was the inevitable end—and he would bear the burden, not her.

He would tell her the truth and then, given that her grandmother would soon be free to leave the clinic, he would strike both their memories. Yes, he could have just done the latter without revealing himself, but his love for Marisol meant that he had to come clean and feel her disgust and anger—because he deserved both. And there was another reason to do it. He was soon to feed from Ghisele again, and at least this way, he would not run the risk of a sexual liaison with Marisol where she could be hurt. Or have something taken from her without her knowing what was happening.

As a bonded male, he was just too dangerous.

“Isn’t that right, Marisol? You have wondered about things, things you can’t understand and can’t explain.”

“Yes,” she whispered, her brown eyes wide.

“Your hand is on your neck.”

“Is it.”

“Yes. When you looked in the mirror in the bathroom, and you saw the bruises there, what did you tell yourself?”

Her voice became very quiet. “Nothing.”

“Did you get your period? When you were in the shower, there was blood in the drain—did you get your period.”

Marisol’s eyes shifted away. “Ah, no. No, I didn’t.”

He had to wait for that stare to return to him. “I am not like you, Marisol. I am…so sorry. But I am not one of you.”

Abruptly, he saw her chest begin to pump up and down, faster and faster. “You’re scaring me.”

“I’m sorry. I am more sorry than you will ever know.”

With that, he curled his upper lip from his fangs and descended his canines, releasing a growl.

* * *

—

Sola could hear nothing but the thunderous beat of her heart as the man she had thought she’d known stood before her, revealing…fangs. Fangs that she would have argued were cosmetic—except for the fact that they moved.

They grew longer in front of her very eyes.

“I am so sorry, Marisol.”

Or at least that was what Assail must have said. She couldn’t hear a goddamn thing.

Her eyes traveled over his face, his neck…his pecs…those abs. And she saw clearly what she had, in fact, wondered about without acknowledging: In the last forty-eight hours especially, he had appeared to put on fifty pounds of muscle, his skin no longer loose, his body beginning to return to its previous condition.

In quick succession, other things filtered through her mind: She had never seen him out in the daylight. His glass house was shrouded in strange drapes she had assumed were for privacy, but now? Then there were the lights that went on and off. The people that—

Dizziness swept through her. His cousins. Everyone here in this facility.

Doc Jane coming and going from his house even though, now that she thought about it, there hadn’t been any cars on the drive to drop her off or pick her up. The same had been true of Rhage. Ehric and Evale…

Then Sola remembered the blood around the drain in the shower…and the bruises at her throat. Over her…jugular. “Oh…God.”

Without conscious thought, she turned and bolted out of the room, running as fast and as hard as she could, pounding down that corridor with no destination in mind—just high-octane panic energizing her body.

Except then a bright glow became her goal, as if it were the horizon, as if it were freedom, and as she closed in on it, she tore open a glass door and shot through into—

It was a pool. An Olympic-sized pool—

Just as everything registered, Assail appeared directly in front of her. Out of thin air, he was suddenly there.

Sola screamed, the sound echoing around the vast domed area of tile, and she tripped as she tried to turn and run once again. Landing with a hard slap, she whipped around onto her back and crab-walked away from him, horror and her mind’s inability to process what he was showing, telling her, turning this into a nightmare.

This could not possibly be real—

Assail stayed right where he was. And eventually, the fact that he wasn’t crowding her or being aggressive in any way broke through her terror.