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  Too easy to scan if you were doing things electronically, and she was such a quick typist; having to handwrite things gave her time to really think things through.

  Troy sat back and stretched. "Well, considering it's ten o'clock at night only days before Christmas, I'd say it's yeoman's duty."

  As he smiled at her, she measured him. He was tall for a human, and he had bright blue eyes and the sort of face that was so open and friendly, it could make you forget that you were a stranger posing in a strange land, a foreigner who had come to visit and stayed because they were captivated by the freedom that was enjoyed by the natives.

  "So that was my last one." She put the printout on her stack of graded papers on the left and twisted in the chair to crack her spine, a little sunburst of relief easing at her waist. "You know, this was a good group of students. They really got it--"

  "I'm sorry," he interjected.

  Elise frowned. "Why? I'm your teaching assistant. This is my job. Besides, I'm learning even more now...."

  She let her voice trail off because she was pretty sure Troy wasn't hearing a thing she was saying. He was looking around at the stacks that bracketed them in their alcove, his eyes not really focused.

  As a vampire among humans, Elise was always a little twitchy, and she hopped on the scan train, glancing about in case Troy had sensed something she had not.

  The Foster Newmann library was a place where students went to study even though print was dead and notes were now taken on laptops and chalk no longer existed in classrooms. Four stories high, and marked by stretches of shelving that were broken up by sitting areas, the facility was a place where she always felt safe, with nothing but her studies and her ambitions before her.

  It was when she was at home, in her father's mansion, that she was hunted. Pursued. Threatened.

  Although that was just allegorically speaking.

  Noticing nothing, she rubbed her eyes, the reality that she was going to have to return to that big old house making her head pound.

  Seven years into her studies and she was starting to get close to her goal. Thanks to an undergrad major in psych, she had been allowed into the Psy.D. in Clinical Psychology program without a master's. Her goal was to go into a private counseling practice for the race when she was finally finished, specializing in PTSD.

  After the raids of two years before, there were a lot of vampires suffering from traumatic loss, and so few avenues for anyone to seek social workers and counseling.

  Of course, the raids had also slowed her down, too, her father insisting that she cease her studies and decamp with her aunt, uncle, and first cousin out to a safe house far from Caldwell. As soon as they had come back, however, she had gotten on track again--although tragedy had struck once more, making it all so much harder for her.

  She hated lying to her sire every night. Hated the subterfuge about where she was going and who she was with. But what other choice did she have? The small window of freedom she'd been granted had been slammed shut.

  Especially after her first cousin had been beaten to death four weeks ago.

  Elise still couldn't believe Allishon was gone, and her father, uncle, and aunt were likewise in a state of renewed shock--or at least, she assumed they were. No one was talking about the loss, the sadness, the anger. But they were reacting to it, for sure: Elise's father was so tense and grim, it was as if he were going to snap at any moment. Her aunt had been locked up in her bedroom for a month. And her uncle was a ghost who wandered around, throwing no shadows, casting no footfalls.

  Meanwhile, Elise was sneaking out of the mansion to go to school. But come on. She had worked for years and years to get this far, and if anything, the way her family was handling Allishon's loss was exactly why the race needed good, well-trained psychologists.

  Stuffing things under the proverbial rug was a recipe for interpersonal disaster.

  "I'm just tired," Troy said.

  Yanking herself out of introspection, she looked at the man. Her first thought was that he was hiding something. Her second was that she had to know what it was.

  "Is there anything I can help with?"

  He shook his head. "No, the problem's on my side."

  As he tried to smile, she caught the scent of something in the air. Something...

  "I think you better go." He leaned down for the duffel bag he'd brought the exams in and started shuffling stacks of papers into it. "The roads will be getting bad because of the snow."

  "Troy. Can you please talk to me?"

  He got up, tucking his loose shirt into his khaki slacks. "It's all good. And I guess I won't see you until after New Year's."

  Elise frowned. "I thought you wanted me to do the syllabus planning with you for Psych four-oh-one, two twenty-eight, and the seminar on Bipolar Two? I have tomorrow night free--"

  "I don't think that's a good idea, Elise."

  What the heck was that scent--

  Oh. Wow.

  With a flush, she realized what it was. Especially as his eyes shifted away from her: He was aroused. Because of her.

  He was seriously, sexually aroused. And he was not happy about it.

  "Troy."

  Her professor put his hand up. "Look, it's nothing you've done. It's not you, honest."

  As he didn't go any further than that, she found herself wishing he would just come out with it all. Not because she was necessarily attracted to him, but she hated anything that was hidden. She had had more than enough of that from her family's perennial stiff-upper-lip way of handling life's inevitable unpleasantnesses.

  Besides, it wasn't as if she wasn't attracted to him. He was appealing in an unthreatening kind of way. Smart, funny, and a heartthrob to his female students for sure. God knew she'd seen plenty of the humans he taught stare at him like he was a god.

  And maybe she had thought about what it would be like with him. The touching. The kissing. The...other things.

  She had no male prospects currently and that was not going to change anytime soon. Especially given the fact that she was fouled in the eyes of the glymera.

  Not that anyone knew that, as the male she had lain with that one time had been killed in raids.

  "I am of age," she heard herself say.

  His eyes flipped to hers. "What?"

  "I am not young. Too young, I mean. For what's on your mind."

  Troy's gaze flared as if that was the last thing he'd expected her to say. And then he looked at her lips.

  Yes, she thought. He was safe, this human. He would never hurt her or pressure her, as that kind of aggression was not in his nature--and even if it was, she could easily overpower him. Besides, she was never going to be mated, would never have a life wholly outside of her father's control, never experience anything more than the distilled life stories in her course books.

  "Elise." He scrubbed his palm down over his face. "Oh, God..."

  "What? And no, I'm not going to pretend I don't know what we're talking about here."

  "There are rules. Between professors and students."

  "You're not teaching any classes of mine."

  "You're my T.A."

  "I make my own decisions, no one else does."

  At least that was true here, in the slice of life she had in the human world. And she would be damned if some rule in a society that was not her own was going to keep her from doing what she wanted. She got way too much of that in her species.

  Troy laughed in a harsh rush. "I can't believe we're having this conversation. I mean, I've had it in my head with you a thousand times. I just never thought it would actually happen."

  "Well, I don't care what people think." And that much was true. When it came to humans. "And I'm not afraid."

  "I can't say the same. I mean, I've never done this before. I know it's a cliche, the whole teacher/student thing. But I've never crossed this line. I thought I was, you know, stronger than this. You're different, though, and because you are...you're making me act differently."


  There was a curious helplessness to him as he stared at her, as if he had struggled and lost a fight.

  Now she looked at his lips.

  As she did, his scent flared again and she saw his chest rise--

  "Professor Becke? Hi!"

  The human woman who came up to him was petite and curvy and wearing perfume. With her makeup on and her blond hair curling around her shoulders, she seemed like she belonged on a poster advertising the university as an attractive and fun place to go.

  "I'm in your survey class, or was in it, and my roommate--she's here also. Hey! Amber! Look who's here! Anyway, I was the one who had to go home because my parents were getting a divorce, and you let me delay my exam. Well, I..."

  All kinds of nouns and verbs continued to come out of the girl, and then Amber, the roommate, bounded over like a puppy. Meanwhile, Troy seemed scrambled, as if the intimacy that had flared before the interruption was a place he had to travel back from.

  Gathering her coat and her backpack, Elise pushed her chair into the table and lifted her hand in a goodbye. As he nodded at her, there was a desperation in his eyes, as if a gift he had long hoped for was slipping out of his hands and falling into a ravine.

  Elise made the sign for call-me up by her ear, and then she was striding out to where the reception area was. The older man who worked nights behind the desk was bent over his computer as if he were in the process of logging out of the network, his blue parka and his knit hat already placed on the counter next to a thermos she guessed was empty.

  "Good night," she said as she came up to the glass doors.

  He grunted. Which was the best he ever did.

  Outside, the wind was strong and cold as a slap, and she one-strapped her pack so she could zip up her coat. The walkway was illuminated by lampposts, and sure enough, delicate flakes were wisping in and out of the light as if they wanted to dance with each other, but were feeling shy.

  For a moment, Elise glanced around and thought that Allishon would never enjoy the quiet night again, never walk among swirling flurries, feeling the warmth inside her coat and the chill upon her cheeks. And Elise wished she had spent more time with the female. The two of them had been so different, so opposite, the bookworm and the wild child, but still, maybe there could have been some kind of opportunity to change the outcome. Shift the destiny. Flip back the switch that had taken Allishon away from safety.

  Not to be, however.

  Elise stepped off onto the brown grass and strode away from the light, the parking lot, the classroom building that was close on the other side.

  When the shadows fully claimed her...she dematerialized away, traveling in a scatter of molecules to her father's sprawling Georgian mansion that was miles away from campus. Troy was on her mind, maybe as a distraction, maybe as a legitimate curiosity. Probably some of both. Still, the trip didn't require much more than the blink of an eye and a wink of the will.

  As she re-formed on her father's lawn, Allishon's death converged with memories of Troy staring across the table of papers, his eyes burning, his body sending off its scent of arousal. Life could change in a moment, and didn't that mean you should take advantage of however many nights and days you had?

  Time wasn't so much relative as an illusion. If she'd known her cousin was going to die, she herself would have made different choices. On that theory, if she knew she had a week left, or maybe a month, shouldn't she see where things went with a male, even if he was just a human?

  Troy had her number. And she had his. How did this work? They texted occasionally, but only about scheduling things.

  A date was a "thing" to be scheduled, though, right?

  Walking in the grand front door, she started trying out conversations in her head, ways of greeting and following up on--

  "Where have you been!"

  Elise froze. And realized as she saw a grandfather clock and a set of stairs that was right out of Buckingham Palace that she had seriously screwed up: She'd come in through the formal entrance...and walked right past the open door to her father's study.

  With her coat on, and snowflakes in her hair, and her backpack on her shoulder.

  "Elise!"

  Through the open door, her father had stood up from behind his carved desk, his shock and horror more appropriate to someone having crashed an SUV through his mansion.

  And actually, his pale face, his peeled-wide eyes, and his ruffled evening coat might have been funny. Under other circumstances.

  With a curse, Elise closed her lids and braced herself for the onslaught.

  o what is that?"

  As Rhage's daughter piped up, he froze with his gun halfway into his under-arm holster. For a split second, he decided to pretend that he hadn't heard her--but that was going to get him nowhere. In the two months or so that he and Mary had had Bitty, they'd both learned that she was smart as a whip and tenacious as flypaper.

  Ordinarily, he got a kick out of those two defining characteristics. When it came to describing the technical specs of a forty-caliber killing weapon to his thirteen-year-old? Pass. He wished she had an empty skull and ADD.

  "Ah..."

  He glanced into the mirror over the bureau, hoping against hope that she had moved on to something, anything else. Nope. Bitty was sitting on his and Mary's new bed, the one in the third-floor suite that Trez had graciously moved out of so the three of them could have adjoining rooms. The girl was way on the small side, her skinny arms and legs the kind of thing that made him want to move to the tropics instead of live in Upstate New Freezing-Fucking-Cold. Hell, even under a body weight's worth of fleece, she seemed fragile.

  But the oh, dainties ended right there. Her brown eyes were direct as an adult's, old as a mountain range, keen as an eagle's. Her dark hair was thick and shiny, falling past her shoulders, nearly the exact color of Mary's. And her aura, her...whatever, life force, spirit, soul...was as tangible as her physical form seemed almost transient.

  He took pride in the fact that the longer she stayed with them, the more she was emerging. Not like a flower.

  Like a fucking oak.

  Buuuuuuuuuuuuuut that didn't mean he wanted to get into the nitty-gritty of his job killing lessers with her.

  And nope. Really not interested in the whole birds-and-bees talk, either. At least they had another twelve years or so to prepare for that.

  "Father?" she prompted.

  Rhage closed his eyes. Okay, so every time she called him that, his heart got too big for his chest and this unreal, won-the-lottery feeling sunrised all over him. It took him back to right after he and Mary had been mated and he'd gotten to call her shellan for the first time.

  Pure, full-bore awesomeness.

  "What is it?" Bitty prompted.

  That happy pink bubblegum glow faded as he seated the gun and clipped its strap over the butt. "It's a weapon."

  "I know--it's a gun. But what kind?"

  "A Smith and Wesson forty."

  "How many bullets are in it?"

  "Enough." He picked up his leather jacket and smiled. "Hey, you ready for movie night when I get home?"

  "Why don't you want to tell me about your gun?"

  Because if you're the audience, I can't separate what I do with it from a discussion of its specs. "It's just not all that interesting."

  "It's what keeps you alive, though, right?" The little girl's eyes locked on the black daggers that were holstered on his chest, handles down. "Like your knives."

  "Among other things."

  "So that's interesting. To me, at least."

  "Look, how 'bout we talk about this when your mom and I are both here? You know, like, later tonight."

  "But how do I know you'll come home safe?"

  Rhage blinked. "I am never not coming back to you and Mary."

  "What if you die, though?"

  His first thought was:

  MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARY!

  His Mary, as a trained therapist--who had treated Z with all his demons, for gods
akes--could deal with this so much better than some meathead fighter like him could. But his shellan was at Safe Place, working, and he didn't feel right about calling and possibly interrupting her with anything other than an arterial bleed or a house fire. Zombie apocalypse. H-bomb behind the compound.

  And fine, maybe if they were out of cheesecake.

  Except he needed to man up. What was going down right now? This was Father Shit, and not only had he signed up for exactly these kinds of hard conversations when he and Mary had started the adoption process, he really didn't want to admit this early that he couldn't handle the job.

  Okay, note to self: Find an online course on being a father. Surely there had to be a curriculum for this kind of thing.

  "I'm just worried," she said. "It's scary for me, okay?"

  Jesus, it was scary for him, too. He had so much more to lose with her in his life.

  Rhage went over and knelt down. Bitty had tucked her arms around herself and her eyes were steady as if she were not going to accept a load of bullcrap.

  Opening his mouth, he...

  Closed it. And wondered what he needed to do to jump-start his brain. Maybe bang it into a wall?

  "You know my car?" he heard himself say.

  As Bitty nodded, he had an image of Puskar Nepal-ing himself until he passed the fuck out from foot-to-forehead contact: Of all the things for his subconscious, or whatever was running his program, to spit out, he led with his GTO?

  "Well, you know when I was teaching you to drive?"

  Yeah, Bits, right before those kids attacked Mary and you found out that I have a dragon for an alter ego? Har-har, good times, good times.

  God, he wanted to throw up.

  As she nodded again, he said, "You remember when you were figuring out the gears and the steering wheel and the brakes? Going back and forth, again and again, until you could get it right?"

  "Yes."

  "You know how I drive that car?"

  "Oh, yes." Now, she smiled. "Fast. Very fast and fun. It's like a rocket."

  "So, someday, you're going to drive her just as well as I do. You're going to know where the gears are by feel, and you're going to work the clutch and the gas without thought. And if someone swerves in front of you, you're going to react so quick and so sure, you're not going to be aware of even thinking about it. If somebody slams on the brakes, you're going to shift lanes instinctually. You're going to feel the tires hydroplaning on the highway in the rain and you're going to know to slow up on the gas, but not hit the brakes. And all of that is going to happen because you're going to practice, practice, practice on a car that is kept in tip-top shape."