“Trae definitely didn’t,” Georgia agreed. “I did the best I could, but I wasn’t his parents.”

I nodded, looked out the window. The wind had picked up outside, and branches snapped against the windows.

“Doing the right thing,” Georgia said. “The hard thing. There’s a lot of that going around.”

I looked back at her, wasn’t sure if I’d see censure or approval. I found neither—more a kind of curiosity.

“You did right by Carlie,” she said. “It’s taken me some hours—some hard hours—to think through it. But it was the choice you had to make, and you made it.”

“I did.”

“I’m glad of it. I get the sense, Elisa, that you make a lot of hard choices.”

I understood we weren’t talking about Carlie anymore.

“Would you like to tell me about it? I realize I offered that before, and you declined, and events in the middle may not endear me overmuch. I don’t know you very well,” she said. “But you saved Carlie, and that means a lot.” She smiled a little. “And I see enough of you reflected in his eyes, in the way he looks at you.”

I watched her for a long time, my chest aching with emotion.

Maybe it was a weakness I shouldn’t have shown. Maybe it was the debt I’d have to pay back drawing nearer. Maybe it was the combination of exhaustion and weakness. Maybe I was tired of being afraid.

Or maybe, because she was a shifter and there was trouble enough in her own family, it didn’t feel as hard to be honest.

“I call it the ‘monster.’”

* * *

* * *

We stayed at the kitchen table, and I told her everything. I told her about the dragon, Mallory’s binding magic. The sensation that something foreign, something other, was living inside me. That it was violent and angry and powerful and strong. That it wanted out.

And that it was getting harder and harder to hold it back.

“Why don’t you want anyone to see it?”

“Because then everyone would know what I am—that there’s a risk I’ll go crazy and hurt someone every time I fight. And everyone would know that my parents’ big plan had a very big flaw, and that flaw hurt me.”

“Why do you say it hurt you?”

“It makes me crazy. It makes me fight like a berserker.”

“It makes you fight like a predator.”

“It makes me a monster.”

“It makes you a vampire.”

This was beginning to feel uncomfortably like a trip to a therapist’s office, not a casual chat with my boyfriend’s aunt. I didn’t feel good about mixing those streams. I walked to the windows, folded my arms, looked out.

“Even if your parents’ plan was a failure,” she said quietly, “do you think they want you to suffer? To bear the guilt over something none of you could control?”

“I think there’s no reason for me to add to their guilt when I can bear it.”

“Then I guess those are the questions you have to ask yourself: Are you bearing it? Or are you just getting by?”

She paused, seemed to organize her thoughts. “I think Supernaturals, because we focus on our unusual strengths, don’t spend nearly enough time discussing our weaknesses. I think we should all talk more. Be forthright and honest about who we are and what we’re feeling. If the clan had, if we hadn’t forced the younger shifters to suppress their anger, to hide their feelings and push them down, maybe we wouldn’t have lost people.

“I like you, Elisa. And I don’t want you to end up like that—pushing down your feelings, living for your anger, until you’re consumed by it.”

“I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to avoid that. There’s no one I can ask. No book I can read. No screen page with information. I’ve found a few things that help—yoga, office work—that keep it quiet.”

“I think you have to ask yourself why you have to keep it quiet.”

I just shook my head.

“Have you asked it?”

“Asked it what?”

“Who it is? What it wants? What it can do for you?”

“I know what it can do for me. Violence.”

“You can do violence well enough on your own. You don’t need the monster for that.”

I shook my head.

“Maybe I’m wrong,” she said, sitting back and crossing her arms. “But even if it was foreign before, it’s not foreign any longer. It’s part of you, and you’re part of it. You’re stuck together. So figure out how to live together.”

“That’s what Connor said.”

“He occasionally has a good idea.” Her face softened with kindness, with sympathy. “I know you feel like you took a risk telling me this. I can feel it. But consider the possibility that I’m not the only one who wouldn’t judge you. Based on what I know, your parents love you, and they’d want you to let them help. They wouldn’t want you to bear something so heavy on your own.”

I thought about the talk I’d had with my father, how he’d been the first one I’d talked to about biting Carlie.

“Sometimes the hardest thing we can do is be honest with those we love about who we are. Sometimes it’s also the best thing we can do.”

“I’ll think about it,” I said. Because that was the most I could promise right now.

* * *

* * *

  Overly tired, I left Traeger and Connor to help with the dishes, promised them I could make the forty-yard trip back to the cabin safely.

The resort was as quiet as a graveyard. No firepits burning tonight, no raucous parties. Instead, the cabins were lit from the inside and out, even the bravest of shifters inside with doors locked. Even if they hadn’t believed us—or the other shifters who’d fought—about the creatures who’d attacked, they weren’t taking any chances.

I reached the cabin, was surprised to find Alexei on the steps.

“Hey,” I said, walking to the porch. “You waiting for Connor?”

“Nope,” he said. “I’m on guard.”

“On guard?”

He glanced up and back. “I’m going to keep an eye on the place while you sleep. Because of the shutters.”

I simply stared at him. “You’re going to guard the cabin.”

“That’s the plan.”

I considered walking inside, leaving him to his work. But I thought about what I’d shared with Georgia, the lightness I felt for making my confession. So I took another chance and sat on the step beside Alexei.

“I appreciate that you’re looking out for Connor. And I appreciate that you’re looking out for me.”

He nodded.

“I grew up in Cadogan House. Always guarded, always big shutters on the windows. In Paris, there were guards, but no shutters. Just big velvet curtains. They were beautiful—this deep blue that was the same color as the sky at midnight. But they were curtains. I’d trained one night for twelve hours—it was winter—and practically fell into bed when dawn came. And I didn’t check the curtains first.”

He was quiet for a moment, insects filling the silence. Then he asked, almost tentatively, “What happened?”

“My legs were exposed for, we think, about ten minutes before I screamed myself awake. There was a human guard in Maison Dumas, and she heard me, came running. She got the windows closed, bandaged me. I had to convince my parents not to fly to Paris. And learned my lesson about checking the curtains.

“I healed,” I said, “being a vampire. But it took a good week, and nothing cut the pain in the meantime.” I looked over at him. “I know your standing guard isn’t just about me. But I appreciate it. I just wanted you to know that. So, thank you.”

He nodded. “You’re welcome, Elisa.”

It was the first time I’d heard him say my name.

TWENTY

I need to buy Alexei a pound of gummi bears,” I said at dusk as we prepared to leave.

Connor snorted, crunching an apple of brilliant crimson. “Flirting with him isn’t going to endear you to me.”

“Sugar flirting isn’t emotional flirting. And it’s not actually flirting at all,” I corrected, belting on my katana. “It’s payment for services rendered.”

“Still sounds like flirting.”

“Have you updated your dad?”

“I’m not comfortable with that segue.”

“I’m not going to buy him gummi bears.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” He walked toward me, offered his apple. “Bite?”

If Eve had been half as tempting as Connor Keene with a Red Delicious, I felt a sudden sympathy for Adam.

“I’m . . . fine,” I said.

He cocked an eyebrow, smile spreading slowly. “Are you?”

“I am. Why are you flirting with me? Do you need gummi bears?”

He snorted, took another bite of his apple. “Yes, the Pack has been updated. Pops is irritated by the Obsideo, but fine with the result.”

“You fix the clan?”

“No,” he said, and took a final bite. “We fix the clan.”

* * *

* * *

  We found Alexei still on the steps, chewing on the end of a scarlet red rope of licorice. And staring at a wall of gleaming white aluminum.

“What is . . . ,” I began, taking in forty feet of vehicle. “Why is there a motor home parked in front of our cabin?”

“It arrived two hours ago,” Alexei said, taking another bite. “Hasn’t done anything since it arrived.”

“So it’s probably not an immediate risk?” I asked flatly, as he chewed, watched the door contemplatively.

“Not unless you’re waiting to be attacked by retirees.”

The door opened, and we looked into the green eyes of a very pissed-off-looking cat.