“The story’s always the same. The lonely girl falling for the handsome vampire with blood dripping from his fangs—how dumb do you have to be to invite him inside?” I flicked my thumb over his. “And there’s always a gang of them, one pretending to be misunderstood while—”
“I’m serious, Noa.”
I nodded like I was some giddy teenager mocking his oh-so-serious advice, while inside, my heart was racing; these were his goodbye instructions before he left me.
He brushed the stray hair from my cheek. “I know Anson has Westvale warded. But he can’t keep everything out. At best, his wards offer a warning, so get inside if you sense vampires. And I don’t mean inside the Farmer’s Market or any restaurants or retail stores. They’re usually spelled to let everyone through because vampires haven’t been that kind of threat for decades. If your faille senses kick up, get back to Anson’s compound. And if you’re too far away, pound on apartment doors until you can get someone brave enough to let you in.”
“Wouldn’t I just be endangering innocent bystanders?”
“You’d be inside,” he said sternly, “where you’ll call Anson for help, and he’ll send men to come get you.”
“What about the old folklore about water?” Vampires, as unholy beings, were unable to cross running water, some ancient curse. I’d read about it, although the sources were unreliable.
“What if I jumped into the Claw?” I asked when Grayson did not immediately answer. The idea was plausible, at least in the moment, when I wanted to keep this conversation light and far, far away from what it was.
“You’d trade the vampires for river nymphs,” he said.
“Lorriel?” The river nymph with black hair and pointy teeth; she’d wanted to eat me.
Grayson’s hand tightened. “Worse.” The fire sputtered, and he bent to stir the burning wood. “Fee told me the leeches came from a stream in the Carmag. The rivers are connected.”
“More wonky magic?”
“Don’t trust anything around Westvale to be what it seems. Don’t take unnecessary chances.”
I frowned, twisted the hem of my shirt—one of his reeking shirts. I’d forgotten how much I loved them, wearing his scent.
“I live in a virtual spider web of spells,” I said. “Another day, another cage. Unnecessary chances break up the tedium.”
Bedisa. I hated it when his mental voice was as stern as his physical voice. Grayson was watching my face, my expressions, evaluating. We’d talked before about me going back while he returned to the Refuge. Pretending we’d never had those conversations only delayed the moment.
I said quietly, “I’ll be careful.”
“I know you will.”
Because we each had a job do to, and while his responsibilities were slowly destroying him, mine were to find a way to end his torture. Find a way to destroy Amal and everything she stood for… but not yet.
I drew up my knees, wrapped my arms tight, rocking, rocking as I stared into the fire. Pulled the pieces of myself back together. “Thank you,” I said, refusing to look at him. Knowing he was studying my face with that glinting interrogation.
“For what?” he asked.
“My mother’s box. Rescuing it from Azul.”
“Mace rescued Fallon’s box. He said she likes pink sparkly things. He sorted through it. I looked through your stuff, too. So that probably makes us official alphaholes.”
I eyed him over my shoulder. “Do you feel guilty?”
“No.”
“Official, then.” A faint smile brushed my lips. “What good is an alpha if he isn’t living up to the expectations?”
“Mace will be relieved. He’s more sensitive than I am.”
The tease was warm, but tempered by wariness. I rocked, pressed my chin against my knees. “I’m glad you did.”
He hadn’t violated my privacy; oddly, he’d shared an intimacy with me. Or I’d unknowingly shared it with him. He’d cared enough to want to look, to know, and I said, “Did you read the letter?”
He shook his head. “Your mom’s name was on the front.”
