"Because you almost did it eight months ago. You've grown stronger since then. I can tell just by looking at you."

"No."

Ben took my hand, squeezed it. His turn to comfort me, now. He said, "Kitty's right, this isn't the best time to talk about this."

"I'm sorry, but I'm running out of time," he said. "The city is running out of time. Some vampires don't care about control."

I shook my head. "Rick, I can't save everyone. The thing is, I like being a rogue. I like being on my own. I like not having to worry about a pissy alpha looking over my shoulder all the time, or worrying what a dozen other werewolves are doing behind my back. I get to have my own life."

"Your own life—with your mate."

Pack of two. I kept forgetting. "That's right."

"What would it take to bring you back to Denver?" Rick said.

I glared. "Nothing will bring me back to Denver. I'm sorry."

"Well. Thanks for your honesty." He stood and shook out his coat.

I walked him to the door, with Ben lurking behind us, trying to be menacing and unobtrusive at the same time. It made him look surly.

To Rick I said, "It's awfully trusting of you, telling me what you're planning. There's a lot of people in Denver who'd like to know about it."

"If you were on good terms with any of them, I might be worried." He smiled a crooked smile. "You're trusting enough to invite me into your home. I'm returning the favor."

I wouldn't have thought twice about inviting a friend into my home. But Rick gave the action gravity. In his world, one couldn't take such invitations for granted. I wondered: Had he expected me to say no? Would he have turned around and driven away if I hadn't offered the invitation? Had he only told me his plans after I passed that test?

"When's it happening?" I asked, testing this new trust we'd apparently established.

He shrugged. "I'm still marshaling forces. Soon."

"How do I find out how it all turns out?"

"Come to Denver in a month or so. See if anyone tries to kill you." That smile again.

"I hate you people. I hate this crap."

"Then stay in Pueblo." With a sarcastic edge he added, "I'm positive no one will bother you here."

That was some kind of dig, I was sure.

He was halfway down the walk to his car when I leaned out the doorway. "Rick? Good luck."

He glanced at me over his shoulder, buried his hands in his pockets, and continued on.

Ben came up behind me, body to body, and put his hand on my hip. "I don't have to tell you that guy made me nervous, do I?"

"Yeah, well, let's hope you never meet the guy he's trying to replace."

"That's the guy with a file on Cormac."

"Denver's Master vamp."

"I didn't know Denver even rated a Master vampire. You've met him? What's he like?"

"Let's just say Rick has his work cut out for him."

I squirmed out of his embrace just enough to close the door, then pulled myself back into his arms. The beer hit me all at once, and I was about to fall asleep on my feet. I tugged at his shirt and hoped my voice wasn't too slurred. "Let's go to bed."

The getting drunk worked, because I fell asleep without thinking of babies, miscarriages, blood, vampire wars, or much of anything at all.

My cell phone, sitting on the bedstand, rang. I jerked awake, feeling like someone had hit a gong over my face. Then the headache struck. I groaned and burrowed under the pillow.

"Are you getting that?" Ben sounded annoyed.

"What time is it?"

"Early."

And the damn phone kept ringing. I grabbed it and checked caller ID. My parents' number showed on the display. It was Tuesday, not Sunday, Mom wouldn't be calling if it wasn't Sunday. Unless something was wrong.

I pressed the talk key. "Hello?"

"Kitty?" My father answered.

I sat up. Something was wrong. I loved my dad, and we got along great—at least since I'd moved out on my own. But he never called me. A sudden wave of gooseflesh covered my arms.

"Dad, hi."

Ben propped himself on his elbow, watching me, his brow creased with concern. He'd probably sensed something in my voice, and in the way my whole body went rigid.

"Can you come up here today? This morning?"

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"Your mother's checking into the hospital."

"What?" My voice came out too high-pitched. "Why, what for?" Ben's hand moved to my leg, a comforting pressure.

"Did she tell you she went in for a mammogram last week?"

"No. Wait a minute—how long has she known about this?" She'd known something was wrong during our phone call on Sunday and didn't tell me. My eyes stung, suddenly, painfully.

Dad took a deep breath—a calming breath, preparing for exposition. It couldn't have been that bad, I told myself. If Dad could be calm, nothing could be that wrong.

"She went in because she found a lump," he said. "It could be nothing, it could be benign. They'll remove it and run the tests. She'll only stay there overnight. It's perfectly routine."

Was he trying to convince me, or himself?

Dad continued. "She didn't want me to tell you. She said she didn't want to be a bother just in case it turns out to be nothing. But I think it would mean a lot to her if you could be here."

If not for her, then for him. Maybe the weight of fear and uncertainty would be easier to bear if there were more of us to carry it.

"Yeah, sure I'll be there. What time? Where?" I took the phone to the next room in a search of pen and paper. Found it, scribbled down Dad's instructions. Repeated them all back. Mundane details kept the brain numb.

"Sorry about waking you," he said. "I wouldn't have called if I didn't think it was important."

"No, it's fine, I'm glad you called. Dad—how are you doing?"

"It's going to be fine. We'll go in and get this taken care of, and everything'll be fine." He spoke with an edge of desperation. He said the words as if he thought speech would make them fact.

"That didn't really answer my question."