Ani, of course, smiled each time—which was probably the only reason the car needed to repeat it over the past several days’ drive at illegal speeds. Neither the Hound nor her steed understood the concept of avoiding attention.

“You speaking to me yet?” Ani’s tone was confrontational, as was her posture. She leaned against the wall next to the doorway. One hand clutched the strap of the bag slung over her shoulder, and the other hand rested on her hip. “Or are you still pretending you’re alone?”

He stared at the angry tilt of her chin. “What do you mean?”

“You haven’t said a word in at least eight hours.” She walked past him and dropped her bag on the bed.

“Eight hours?”

“Yeah.” She spun and glared at him. “Eight silent hours.”

“I was contemplating our situation.”

“Short version? It sucks.” Ani folded her arms.

“I…” He watched her with an affection he needed to quash. All of his High Court traits seemed to vanish in her presence.

And I like it.

She turned her back to him, unzipped her bag, and then added, “You are caught between Banan—”

“No.” He was beside her with a hand over her mouth before the next syllable could be spoken. “Don’t name her or the other one anymore. For safety. Do you understand?”

Ani nodded, and he lowered his hand from over her mouth.

“Why?” She resumed sorting through her bag as if nothing had transpired. Perhaps for a daughter of the Hounds, it wasn’t odd.

“Not only Hounds hear well. We were already found once. They will carry news to her, and there are others who want what she wants.”

“Which ‘she’?”

“Both have their followers. And I’d rather not kill anyone tonight. I could enjoy a fight but…” He glanced at the closed curtains and then back at her.

“Me too.” She smiled at him as if he was something amazing.

It was unnerving to have anyone look at him with such intensity. Devlin forced himself to lift his gaze to meet hers. “I’ll keep you as safe as I can.”

“And?”

“And nothing.” Devlin turned the lock on the door. It wouldn’t stop faeries, but it would keep any wandering mortals out. “If you go nearer my sister without doing her bidding, you’ll die by her hand. If you do that sister’s bidding, you’ll die by order of the other sister. I’ll be the one ordered to kill you… and for some reason I dislike the idea of your death.”

He kept his distance, staying close to the door, out of her reach.

And keeping her out of my reach.

She pulled a change of clothes and a hairbrush from her bag. “Wouldn’t it be more logical to just kill me and get it over with? You know they’re both going to be furious with you, and somehow I don’t think they’re the forgiving sort. You could go back to Faerie, go back to the way things were—”

“No. I don’t want that. I don’t want you hurt, and I don’t want to go back.” He paused and shook his head as soon he realized what he’d said. “I don’t want…”

“What?”

But Devlin couldn’t respond. He stared at her.

Silently, she walked into the bathroom and closed the door.

Could I go back? Could I hurt her? Why does she matter? Rae had answers; she’d pressured him so often to go see Ani that he was sure now that she knew something. He just didn’t know what it was—or why she kept the reason from him.

When Ani returned, she set her bag on the floor on the opposite side of the bed from where he sat, but didn’t speak. Instead, she stayed there and turned her back to him and contorted her body into several muscle-loosening positions. The shirt she wore lifted up, exposing her midriff.

Devlin stared at her bare skin.

She is not mine to keep.

He wanted to, though; for the first time in all of eternity, he looked on another faery and thought about relationships, futures, fighting alongside her. Hounds are not inclined toward relationships. He reminded himself of that truth, as if it was somehow more important than the fact that she would likely die because of one of his sisters.

She continued stretching for several more moments, and then came to stand in front of him—hands on her h*ps again—and asked, “Is this more contemplation or are you going to say something?”

The expression in her eyes was telling: she was frightened, tired, and hungry. Her response was that of most Dark Court fey when weakened—irrational attacks.

Devlin took her hands in his. “Time is different for me. If I am silent too long for your comfort, speak to me. I’ve never been in a place where regular conversation is required of me.”

“Well, that just…” She clearly wanted to say something hostile, and for a moment, she looked like she would, but instead she stared at his hands holding on to hers. Her shoulders relaxed a little.

And he realized that not only had he not spoken, he hadn’t touched even her hand. In four days, Ani hadn’t even had a brush of skin until she’d tapped his hand to send him to acquire their room.

He released her left hand and unfastened his shirt.

Ani didn’t move, didn’t look at his face, didn’t respond at all.

It’s not personal for her. It is merely a physical need. He stared at her, watching her reaction, wishing he could taste her emotions. It is not logical that I want this to mean something.