I dug out a half dozen small Idaho potatoes from among Evangelina’s supplies, wrapped them in damp paper towels, and put them in the microwave. Spinach; tomato; pickles; sliced pickled onion; cold, crumbled bacon from a container in the fridge; some fresh sliced mushrooms I had picked up at the market; and goat cheese. I tossed it all together, with Evangelina’s vinaigrette dressing to the side. When the potatoes were hot, though still not fully cooked, I took them from the microwave and wrapped them in aluminum foil. I twisted the tops off two beers, put four more into a cool pack with ice, took two steaks out of the fridge and dropped them into a zip-lock baggie with some salt and a few pinches of Evangelina’s premixed meat spices, set them into a separate cool pack, and set everything on a large platter. After a moment’s thought, I added a third steak and an additional salad bowl in case Evangelina came home in time. Preparing dinner felt homey, settled, and far too comfortable after the kiss. I carried the raw steaks, potatoes, salads, and the beer outside. To Bruiser.

The sun was still above the horizon, casting long shadows, the day still humid and heavy with summer. Bruiser had lit citronella candles to fight off mosquitoes, and had rearranged the furniture from the side porches, bringing down a table from the second floor, moving deck chairs around to suit him. I had lived in the house for months and had never used the furniture.

Standing beside the flaming grill, he was watching me. Like a predator. Focused and alert, his body a silhouette against the brick wall enclosing the garden and the leafy plants thriving there. He turned away from me and his movements were economical, smooth as a dancer’s. That was one of the gifts of vamp-blood sips—to live over a hundred years and still have the lithe body of a young man. He glanced over his shoulder once as I approached, holding my gaze.

I shouldn’t be here. I should run. But I never ran, not from anything. Running from Bruiser would be ... stupid. This was my house, my den, my territory. Bruiser wasn’t a wild animal wanting to kill me or steal my hunting territory.

I set the potatoes to the side, in the grill’s cooler coals, and handed him a beer, our fingers brushing, mine cold, his hot from the coals. Standing a foot apart, we sipped in silence, the sun now a bright ball on the tops of the ancient buildings of the Quarter. Bruiser leaned to the side and turned on a CD player, a fusion of swing, Latin, and soul, and the mixed percussion of island influences, a number that thrummed into my blood, making me want to move. But he sat in a deck chair, and though my feet said, dance, I sat in the chair beside him, both of us facing the setting sun as the music lazed its heated way into the dusk and coals grew hot. Fixing supper with a man wasn’t something new. I did it all the time with Ricky Bo. But this was different. This was Bruiser. And Rick, for whatever reason, had deserted me.

Discomfort wormed under my skin. I had no idea what to do or say. There were things I wanted to know about Bruiser and hadn’t found the opportunity to ask, but he beat me to an opening conversational gambit, with, “Why do you have boulders in the garden? Why were they so necessary that you included them in your contract?” When I didn’t answer, he added, “And why are they broken? I saw the landscaper’s bill and I know they were whole, river-rounded boulders when they were put in.”

Secrets. Things I couldn’t say. So much for conversation. Possible lies ran through my head, but I’m not good at keeping lies in order; I always make mistakes when I lie. So I had to find a version of the truth I could share. When the silence beneath the music built, Bruiser turned his head my way, waiting patiently.

I said, “There’s a spell on them called hedge of thorns.” Truth. “The spell works best with boulders.” Lie, but acceptable. “I meditate. The stones help me to slide into the proper state easily.” Truth. “If a client agrees to put in boulders, then it’s an indication that he’s serious about fulfilling his part of the contract and about paying me. I’ve been stiffed for the bill in the past.” Truth but stupid. Okay, I could live with it. So far. I sipped, and wished, for the hundredth time, that my skinwalker metabolism didn’t burn alcohol out of my system so fast. I could use some chemical relaxation right now.

“And the broken stones? You don’t beat them with a sledgehammer while meditating.”

“The spell breaks them.” Lie. Total lie. But better than I break them when I shift mass into and out of the stone when I change into a larger or smaller creature. Much better.

But I’d begun to wonder if calcite or aragonite might be better, easier to use than granite, being composed of calcium carbonate, which seemed structurally closer to human composition. Calcium carbonate was the most common mineral in caves with stalactites and stalagmites, and my earliest memories of shifting had begun in a cave with those formations—

“Jane?”

I jerked my gaze to him. “Sorry. Woolgathering.” His quizzical look suggested that I was lying, or at least not telling a complete truth. “Hedge of thorns is a powerful spell. That black ring”—I pointed to the grass—“all around the stones is from one use. The stones contribute to the efficacy of the spell. Molly tried to explain it to me once, but I didn’t follow.” A mixture of truth and lies. I hated this. Bruiser studied my face, a half smile on his, seeming content to let a silence build between us. Which made me nervous for reasons that had less to do with lying than with the amused heat in his gaze.

Mentally, I floundered through the list of things I wanted to know about him and blurted out, “How old were you when you first drank vamp blood?”

Bruiser raised his head and hooted with laughter. “Good Lord, you do know how to cut to the heart of the matter, don’t you, Jane Yellowrock? Why not ask me at what age I gave up my virginity?”

Before I could think, I said, “What age?” Oh crap. I felt Beast chuff a laugh as she twisted around my control in a lithe S-shape and stared at Bruiser with my eyes. As if he saw something different in me, Bruiser focused on me like a laser. I/ we/Beast stared back. Look away is loss of dominance, she thought at Bruiser. I will not submit. I scrabbled at control, reaching for Beast. For a moment it seemed I felt pelt and ribs beneath my palms. The sensation rocked me.

“I was sixteen,” he said. “They were female vampires with a predilection for young boys.” Beast chuffed with silent delight. “Do you want to know more? There will be a price if you do.”

“No,” I said, holding Beast silent. “I don’t bargain blind.”

Bruiser tilted his bottle back and drained the beer, his throat catching the evening light. Lifting the bottle away from his lips, he smiled at the sky and he said, “I’ll tell you more. But I’ll require a ... dance as payment.”

“Done.” Bruiser laughed, and I shivered inside at the sound. My big mouth would be the death of me. But both Beast and I loved to dance. “But the choice of the dance is mine.” The words came from my mouth, sounding sensual and warm and ... something that was not me. Not at all. Beast was close to the surface, powerful, aroused, and curious. Curiosity killed the cat, I thought at her.

Greater than five lives, she thought back at me. And I could feel her heat, her desire. Beast liked Bruiser. A lot. But I wasn’t going to play around on Ricky Bo. With a mental move better attributed to the dojo than to conversation, I flipped Beast over and kicked. Though my body hadn’t moved, I felt my foot impact her. She spat, spun, and raced out of reach, but I could feel her claws in me, painful, piercing.

Bruiser settled back, a smile on his face every bit as predatory as any expression Beast had ever worn. Dangerous. This was dangerous. And the worst part was that more than half of me didn’t mind it at all.

He opened two more beers and handed one to me. I took it. “I was nearly seventeen. Bethany and Katie and Leo were living together most of the time, sharing a lair.” He smiled at the sky, and the lower rim of sun slid below the tops of the buildings, throwing darkness over us, cloaking his expression in shadow, but not before I saw the memory of desire there. Potent. Strong. Even after nearly a hundred years. He glanced at me. “We danced there once, you and I.” His voice was hot coals and brandy, warming and volatile when mixed together.

Something new blossomed deep in my belly, heating me, radiating outward, warming my skin. Electric sparks danced just beneath the surface of my flesh, pricking and sharp. This wasn’t Beast. This was me, all me, half angry and brutal, half needy and lonely. Fear rolled through on top of the need, icy and tingling, mixing with the heat to make something I had no name for. “I remember,” I said, not looking away from him. I remembered every step, every move, every undulation. Crap, crap, crap. I’m in such big trouble.

“Bethany and Katie thought a boy of sixteen and still a virgin was abnormal, but then, they come from more primitive times, violent by today’s standards; boys became men much earlier in the past. And though it was the twentieth century, and the sexual development of males was very different from their time, they fancied me,” he said, sounding very British in that moment. He drank down the beer, leaving only a few inches in the bottom.

“They made plans, they did. They got Leo’s favorite female blood-servant drunk—deeply drunk—on brandy and gave her to him. He drank from her and when he was finished with her they brought me in to him. And he drank from me.” Bruiser finished off the beer and opened a third. The sun caught on his skin, on the sheen of perspiration, glistening rosy and gold. When he offered me another beer I held up my full bottle, refusing. “The first time a Mithran mesmerizes and drinks from a human is ... electric. An experience that can only be compared to a state of drunken euphoria. Drunk on champagne, the finest brandy, the best liquors, and joy and laughter and ... desire. For a boy, not yet a man, it was overwhelming.

“When Leo finished, he gave me a sip of his blood.” Bruiser swiveled his head to me, his eyes bright in the drawing night. Shadows crossed his face, stark and discordant against the reddish light thrown by the coals, and by the gold and vermilion sky overhead. “And he swore to protect me and keep me safe for as long as I lived.” His mouth curled down, and I knew he was thinking that Leo was foresworn. His master had thrown him out.