we meet up again and we make an actual plan. Something concrete. Something—”
“Bloody and violent?” The rage emanating over the blood tie was almost frightening. “You know, we might have a better chance of success if we didn’t make this personal.”
Nathan jerked his head toward the door. “Tell that to Max.”
“Good point.” I went to Nathan and leaned my head against his chest, waited for him to put his arms around me. He hesitated, until I said, “We’ve been through worse, haven’t we?”
I felt the low rumble in his chest, but the laughter wasn’t enough to produce sound. “No. But there is a first time for everything.”
Though I wanted to stay there, held by him forever, my thoughts strayed to the pair upstairs. “I’m going to go check on Bella.”
There was a smile in Nathan’s voice when he spoke. “Always on call?”
“Old habits die hard.” I tilted my face up, expecting a gentle peck and receiving instead a long, thorough kiss that left my limbs trembling. “What was that for?” I nearly gasped when we parted.
“If anything like that ever happened to you—” He broke off, his fingers bunching my T-shirt where his hands rested against my back. “I swear, Carrie. I don’t like what I am, but I would kill anyone who hurt you. I’d kill them, and I’d enjoy it.”
I didn’t know what to say. I don’t think I’d ever seen Nathan so angry before. At least, not an anger that wasn’t fueled by grief. I pulled away from him, tried to smile. But he’d frightened me a little, and the expression felt fake. “I know, Nathan. I know.”
And I didn’t doubt him for a second.
I had no idea where Max had put Bella, but she wasn’t in any of the guest rooms on the upper floor. A quick check of Max’s room revealed it empty. I suppose, given the carnage of empty ice cream boxes and drained beer bottles we’d left there, it was no kind of environment for a patient.
I was about to try the rooms downstairs when I noticed the imposing double doors to Marcus’s room were open a crack. The brass key with its heavy tassel, which Max usually hung from his bedpost, dangled from the keyhole.
“Now, what are the chances that got there by itself?” I mumbled, easing the door open a bit farther.
I’d never been in this room, and though I’d never met Max’s sire, the moment I peered in the place screamed Marcus. Stern, heavy furniture; ugly, masculine colors; scratchy-looking, expensive fabrics. No wonder Max kept it locked up at all times.
The room was dim. A bedside lamp with a gold shade and beaded fringe provided muted, warm light. Bella lay in the center of the bed, dwarfed by the antique monstrosity. The huge canopy nearly touched the ceiling, and I estimated there would be room for four people on either side of her. Max sat with her, holding her limp hand in his.
For a minute it looked as though he would lean forward and kiss her forehead. I cleared my throat, so he wouldn’t go all “emotional shutdown Max” on me when he noticed I was there. “Knock knock.”
“Who’s there?” he asked with a note of black humor in his voice. “If you say banana, I’m going to hit you.”
I walked slowly into the room, feeling somehow criminal for invading this private sanctuary. On the nightstand, in dark wood frames, sat an assortment of snapshots of Max. It was an uncomfortably intimate thing to see. “She’s out again?”
He nodded. “But she’s still breathing, if you couldn’t tell from the snores.”
I dutifully took her pulse and monitored her respiration, timing it by the ticking of the ornate gold clock standing in the corner. “She’s going to be fine. Whatever the Oracle did—”
“Don’t. Not around her.” He positioned her hand on her chest in a way that made her eerily resemble a corpse.
“If there’s anything else you need—”
Max waved a hand dismissively. “Go. If she wants to do this again, it’s not like the two of you will be able to stop her. And I think if she makes a return appearance, Bella’s gonna need a lot more than CPR to help her.”
“Don’t talk like that,” I begged quietly. “Listen, we can talk about this tomorrow night. Right now, we all just need some time to think. But this isn’t a lost cause.”
Max shook his head. “I hate to tell you, but life isn’t always like this for us. You came into our world at a really bizarre time. I wish I could tell you this kind of highconcept shit goes down every couple of months, but it doesn’t. So pardon me if the Pollyanna shtick doesn’t make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.”
Our world? That stung more than the aspersions he cast on my optimism. I might not be as old as he or Nathan, and I’d never been a part of the Movement. Sure, there were things I didn’t know, but I was learning. I’d killed Cyrus— even if it hadn’t stuck—and I’d kept the Soul Eater from devouring Nathan. I’d willingly been possessed by the soul of his dead wife to break an evil spell. I might not have a vampire extermination record as impressive as Max’s, but I thought I’d earned some pretty impressive street cred.
The thought that I might be wrong, that I may not have seen anything yet, froze the marrow in my bones.
Five: Defenses
Max woke at the sound of Bella’s scream.
He’d been curled up at the end of her bed like a dog— he’d hoped in her post-possession panic she wouldn’t notice—where he’d fallen asleep watching over her.
There was no time to berate himself for napping on the job. Bella clawed at the blankets, then her clothing, shrieking in utter panic.
Grasping her shoulders, he called her name, shaking her lightly. “You’re okay, baby. I’m here. I’m here.”
Her pupils changed size as she tried to focus. Frowning, she pushed back the hair that had escaped from her long braid. “I know. That is why I was screaming.”
The fact she could make a wisecrack bolstered his faith that she would be all right. At least, for now. “You scared the bejesus out of me.”
“That is what I was going for.” Her voice broke a little, as though she might cry. Of course, she didn’t. Max was reasonably sure werewolves were born without tear ducts. Or hearts.
“Can I have a glass of water?” Her voice was hoarse, probably from screaming. She’d always sounded like that, after they’d—
He didn’t just force the thought aside. He clubbed it unconscious, threw it into a crawl space and walled it up alive.
He grabbed a bottle of water from the bedside table— he’d come prepared—and twisted the top off before handing it to her. Partly to see the look of annoyance on her face when she realized he thought her weak and incapable of caring for herself, partly because he took bizarre satisfaction in caring for her. He waited until she’d gulped down half the water before asking, “Are you okay?”
She nodded. “I am fine. I am sore all over for some reason, but I am fine.”
“Well, after you blacked out, we all took turns kicking the shit out of you.” He smiled weakly. “Do you remember what happened?”
She shook her head vehemently, then winced and rubbed her neck. “The last thing I remember, I was looking into my scrying bowl, and I was starting to get a picture. Then I woke up here. I had the most terrible dream.”
“Do you remember what it was about?” He briefly considered grabbing a pen and paper, but decided that might seem insensitive. Not that he would normally treat her with perfect sensitivity, but she’d had a rough ordeal. She deserved at least a day to rest before the interrogating