But she couldn’t just sit up there, unarmed and wringing her hands like some helpless female. If the damn sun would come out, she wouldn’t have to worry. More than that, she thought with a little hiss, if the McKenna boys hadn’t wandered off—obviously to snarl at each other in private—she wouldn’t have these images in her head of them being ripped to pieces by a pack of vampires.

Pack? Herd? Gang?

What did it matter? They still had fangs and a bad attitude.

Where had they gone? And why had they been out, exposed and vulnerable, so long?

Maybe the pack/herd/gang had already ripped them to shreds and dragged their mutilated bodies off to... And oh, God, she wished she could turn off the video in her head for five damn minutes.

Most women just worried about their man getting mugged or run over by a bus. But oh no, she had to get herself tangled up with a guy at war with blood-sucking fiends.

Why couldn’t she have fallen for a nice accountant or stockbroker?

She had thought of using her skill and the crystal to look for them. But it seemed... intrusive, she decided. And rude.

But if they weren’t back in ten minutes, she was going to say screw manners and find them.

She hadn’t thought through, not completely, the emotional turmoil Hoyt was experiencing, what he missed, and what he risked. More than the rest of them, she decided. She was thousands of miles away from her family, but not hundreds of years. He was in the home where he’d grown up, but it was no longer his home. And every day, every hour, was another reminder of that.

Bringing back his mother’s herb garden had hurt him. She should have thought of that, too. Kept her mouth shut about what she’d needed and wanted. Just made a damn list and gone out to find or buy supplies.

She glanced back at some of the herbs she’d already bundled and hung to dry. Small things, everyday things could cause the most pain.

Now he was out there somewhere, in the rain, with his brother. The vampire. She didn’t believe Cian would attack Hoyt—or didn’t want to believe it. But if Cian were angry enough, pushed hard enough, could he control what must be natural urges?

She didn’t know the answer.

Added to that, no one could be sure more of Lilith’s forces were not out and about, just waiting for another chance.

It was probably silly to worry. They were two men of considerable power, men who knew the land. Neither of them were solely dependent on swords and daggers. Hoyt was armed, and he wore one of the crosses they’d conjured, so he was hardly defenseless.

And it proved a point, didn’t it, the two of them being out, moving freely? It proved they wouldn’t be held under siege.

No one else was worried, particularly. Moira was back in the library, studying. Larkin and King were in the training area doing a weapon inventory. She was, undoubtedly, worked up about nothing.

Where the hell were they?

As she continued to scan, she spotted movement. Just shadows in the gloom. She grabbed the crossbow, ordered her fingers to stop shaking as she positioned it and herself in the narrow window.

“Just breathe,” she told herself. “Just breathe. In and out, in and out.”

That breath came out on a whoosh of relief when she saw Hoyt, Cian beside him. Trooping along, she noted, dripping wet, as if they had all the time in the world, and not a care in it.

Her brows drew together as they came closer. Was that blood on Hoyt’s shirt, and a fresh bruise spreading under his right eye?

She leaned out, bumped the stone sill. And the arrow shot out of the bow with a deadly twang. She actually squealed. She’d hate herself for it later, but the purely female sound of shock and distress ripped out of her as the arrow sliced air and rain.

And landed, just a few inches short of the toe of Hoyt’s boot.

Their swords were out, a blur of steel, as they pivoted back-to-back. Under other circumstances she would have admired the move, the sheer grace and rhythm of it, like a dance step. But at the moment, she was caught between mortification and horror.

“Sorry! Sorry!” She leaned out farther, waved her arm frantically as she shouted. “It was me. It got away from me. I was just... ” Oh hell with it. “I’m coming down.”

She left the weapon where it was, vowing to take a full hour of practice with it before she shot at anything but a target again. Before she set off in a run, she heard the unmistakable sound of male laughter. A quick glance showed her it was Cian, all but doubled over with it. Hoyt simply stood, staring up at the window.

As she swung down the stairs, Larkin came out of the training room. “Trouble?”

“No, no. Nothing. Everything’s fine. It’s nothing at all.” She could actually feel the blood rise up to heat her cheeks as she dashed for the main floor.

They were coming in the front door, shaking themselves like wet dogs as she sprinted down the last steps.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Remind me not to piss you off, Red,” Cian said easily. “You might aim for my heart and shoot me in the balls.”

“I was just keeping watch for you, and I must’ve pulled the trigger by mistake. Which I wouldn’t have done if the two of you hadn’t been gone so damn long and had me so worried.”

“That’s what I love about women.” Cian slapped his brother’s shoulder. “They damn near kill you, but in the end it’s your own fault. Good luck with that. I’m going to bed.”

“I need to check your burns.”

“Nag, nag, nag.”

“And what happened? Were you attacked? Your mouth’s bleeding—yours, too,” she said to Hoyt. “And your eye’s damn near swollen shut.”

“No, we weren’t attacked.” There was a world of exasperation in his voice. “Until you nearly shot me in the foot.”

“Your faces are all banged up, and your clothes are filthy—ripped. If you weren’t... ” It came to her, when she saw the expressions on their faces. She had a brother of her own, after all. “You punched each other? Each other?”

“He hit me first.”

She gave Cian a look that would have withered stone. “Well, that’s just fine, isn’t it? Didn’t we go through all this yesterday? Didn’t we talk about infighting, how destructive and useless it is?”

“I guess we’re going to bed without our supper.”