“Huh, guess he’s not Haven’s date after all, unless they’re arriving separately?” Miles says, nodding toward Jude as he enters the room laughing that good-natured laugh and helping himself to some virgin sangria, before taking off with Holt and leaving us alone together.

“Nice send-off.” Jude nods, gazing around. “Makes me want to go somewhere too.”

I look at him, smiling vaguely, wondering if he notices anything different about me, a change of energy, a new sense of empowerment—

But he just smiles, raising his cup as he says, “Paris.” He takes a sip and nods. “I’ve always wanted to go to Paris. London and Amsterdam too.” He shrugs. “Pretty much any of the great Euro pe an cities would do.”

I swallow hard and try not to gape. Wondering if he somehow knows—if it’s buried deep within his subconscious, trying to surface. I mean, why else would he list all the significant places of our past?

He looks at me, green eyes on mine, holding the moment so long I clear my throat and say, “Huh. And here I had you pegged as the eco-adventure type. You know, Costa Rica, Hawaii, Galapagos—seeker of the perfect wave and all that.” Knowing that laugh at the end did nothing to hide my sudden bout of nervousness, just about to follow with something equally dumb when he looks past my shoulder and says, “Incoming.”

I turn to find Haven, practically dwarfed by the tall, lithe, beautiful girl from the store where she works, on one side, and Roman on the other, while the immortal from the hall today at school walks just behind them. Three gorgeous, auraless, and pretty much soulless, immortal rogues Haven inadvertently invited into my home.

I swallow hard, eyes narrowed on Roman, fingers at my throat, seeking the amulet I chose not to wear, and reminding myself that I no longer need it. I’m in charge now. I summoned him here.

“Figured you’d have plenty of room and food.” Haven smiles, hair newly dyed to the darkest of browns with a platinum streak that curves down the front, having ditched her usual emo look for one that’s even edgier yet vintage—like a post apocalyptic vintage if there is such a thing. And all it takes is one look at the dark beauty beside her, her spiky hair, multi-pierced lobes, delicate lace-corseted dress paired with black leather boots, to know who spawned this latest makeover of hers.

“I’m Misa.” The girl smiles, voice betraying the faintest trace of an accent that’s unrecognizable to me. Her hand reaching for mine as I brace for the chill, the familiar jolt of ice water swarming my veins confirming my suspicion, though failing to tell me if she’s one of the orphans, or more recently turned.

“And of course you know Roman.” Haven smiles, lifting her hand so I can see it entwined with his.

But I refuse to react. Refuse to give anything away. I just nod and smile, as though it doesn’t bother me at all.

Because it doesn’t.

It’s just a matter of time now ’til Roman’s handing over the cure and doing my bidding. That’s the only reason he’s here.

“Oh, and this is Rafe.” She nods, jabbing her finger toward the glorious rogue just behind her.

Same group of rogues the twins were talking about, minus Marco, the one with the Jaguar who doesn’t seem to be here. And even though I’ve no idea what they’re up to, what their agenda could possibly be, if they’re hanging with Roman, the twins have every right to be worried.

Haven heads for the den, eager to introduce Misa and Rafe to her friends, as Roman lags behind, grinning at me.

“I’d almost forgotten how good you can look when you put a little effort behind it.” He smiles, gaze gliding over my turquoise blue dress, hovering at the deep V of the neck, the expanse of bare skin where my amulet should be. “Guess this must be the reason,” he nods, motioning toward Jude. “Since we know it wasn’t for me, and Damen doesn’t seem to be around much these days, does he? What happened, Ever? You forfeit your quest?”

I swallow hard and steady my gaze, taking in the tousled hair, designer board shorts, leather flip-flops, and long-sleeved tee, nothing about him appearing the slightest bit different, and yet we both know it is. That gleam in his eye, his lascivious gaze, his attempt to embarrass me—it’s all just a front, a bit of bravado, trying to save face before he hands over the goods.

“So, you pouring?” He nods toward the punch bowl filled with nonalcoholic sangria. “Or is this a help-yourself situation?” Eyeing the bowl in a way that sets me on edge.

“I don’t think you’d like it.” I shrug, gaze fixed on his when I add, “Not your kind of drink.”

“Good thing I brought my own.” He winks, raising his glass bottle and stopping just shy of his lips, tilting it toward Jude when he says, “Wanna try? Takes the edge off. Guarantee you that.”

Jude squints, entranced by the sparking, pearlescent liquid Roman jiggles before him. And I’m just about to intervene when Romy and Rayne barrel down the stairs, halting when their eyes meet Roman’s, knowing I’m responsible for his being here.

“Well, if it isn’t the Catholic school twins.” Roman smiles, cheeks spread wide as he takes them in. “Love the new look! Especially you—you little punk goddess.” He nods at Rayne, prompting her to turn away as he takes in her short dress, ripped stockings, and black patent-leather Mary Jane shoes.

“Go back upstairs,” I tell them, wanting to get them as far from Roman as I possibly can. “And I’ll—”