“You didn’t say it?”

He readjusted his grip on the steering wheel. “I meant that your interpretation wasn’t my intent.”

“How else does one interpret, ‘I’m leaving and I want you to date other guys’?”

A moment of silence, then, “You’re right.”

That’s all he said: you’re right.

More long moments of quiet, stretching into minutes. I cleared my throat. “I know this is awkward and you’re trying to make it less awkward, but that isn’t necessary. We’re going to bump into each other even after this business with Benicio. Maybe we’ll even have to work together through the council. That’s fine. I have no problem maintaining a professional relationship with you, Karl.”

“Professional relationship?”

“Yes, I can behave professionally, as shocking as that may seem.”

“That’s not—” A pause. “So that’s it then. You don’t want me coming around anymore.”

I wanted to scream, “What do you think?” But I knew what he thought. That whatever he’d done, when he showed up, his irresistibly charming self, I’d want him back. Not that I’d get him—he just liked to be wanted.

“No, Karl, I don’t want you coming around anymore.”

His jaw tightened and I expected it to stay locked for the rest of the trip, but after he turned the next corner, he asked, “Are you hungry?”

My stomach flipped; those words were so familiar. Werewolves have an abnormally high metabolism, meaning a normal restaurant meal is never enough. He’d often have one dinner at six and another at nine, just to avoid calling attention to himself by overeating. Tonight he probably hadn’t eaten at all, so he’d be starving. But to admit to it? That would be to give in to the wolf, to concede that there were some instincts and drives he couldn’t control.

So, when he was hungry, he’d ask if I was, and I’d long ago learned this was shorthand for, “Can we please get something to eat before I start gnawing on the furniture?” Sometimes I’d tease him, but usually I’d just play along and say yes. Then late one night, he’d come to my place hungry after the restaurants in town had closed, so I’d offered to cook for him. And after that, “Are you hungry?” became “Will you make me dinner?” And I always did because it was something I could do for him.

With Karl, taking wasn’t easy. If he went to dinner with one of his Pack mates, he’d always pay, and I’m sure they thought he was being generous—or racking up brownie points to redeem later—but the truth was he couldn’t stand to be indebted. So he’d visit me, he’d listen to me and he’d help me, but he’d never take anything in return…except home-cooked meals. So I did that for him—willingly and even happily.

And now, Karl was asking, “Are you hungry?” In some ways, that hurt more than all his jabs and icy glances.

“Restaurants are probably closed,” I said finally. “Maybe a drive-through?”

He scanned the dark street. “It doesn’t look promising. Do you have anything at the apartment?”

I shook my head.

“I see a convenience store at the next corner,” he said. “They’re bound to have groceries. I’ll buy—”

“No.” I took a quick breath. “No, Karl. I won’t.”

We drove the rest of the way in silence.

HOPE: DIPLOMATIC RELATIONS

I didn’t offer Karl a drink at the apartment. Not even something nonalcoholic. I wasn’t being petty—like I’d said, my cupboards were bare. Which was odd for me. Even traveling on business, one of my first stops was the local convenience store to get some drinks and snacks for my hotel room. A nesting instinct, I guess, to give myself a stable home base wherever I am. But here I’d been too distracted to even pick up bottled water.

Karl wasn’t looking for details on the job. He already had them—courtesy of Lucas. What had him flying out to Miami was a breach of promise. Apparently, Benicio and Karl had an understanding that we’d repay this debt together. I tried to take the blame, telling him that Benicio had wanted to back out when he learned Karl was away.

“He knew I was out of the country. I left him a message before I went.”

My mouth opened, ready with excuses—but when I took a moment to think it through, I knew the truth: I’d been played. Again.

I pulled my legs up under me on the sofa, squirming as if getting comfortable, gazing down until the first flash of humiliation passed.

“He wanted me on this job,” I said finally. “He knew if he suggested waiting for you, I’d be offended and insist on taking it alone.”

There was more to it than that. Benicio hadn’t wanted someone older and more experienced taking a hard look at the job and warning me off. He’d seen that Karl and I were on the outs, and that I’d pounce on the chance to fulfill this debt alone.

“Lucas looked it over,” I said, twisting my new watch. “He didn’t see a problem with it.”

“That’s because he doesn’t have all the facts.” Karl met my gaze. “About you.”

“But neither does Benicio. There’s no way he’d know—”

I stopped, hearing my naiveté. Just because Lucas didn’t know about an Expisco half-demon’s chaos hunger didn’t mean his father didn’t.

“It’s no different from my work for the council,” I said. “I need this. You’re always the first to tell me I need it—get my fill of chaos in a way that doesn’t hurt anyone.”

“No, not that doesn’t hurt anyone. In a way that doesn’t hurt you. If you can look me in the eye and tell me this doesn’t feel any different than chasing rogue half-demons and sorcerers, I’ll leave. But if you can’t…?” His fingers tapped against the chair arm. “I’ve already spoken to Lucas. If you walk away now, he’ll handle this for us.”

“What if I don’t want to walk away?”

His mouth tightened a fraction before he smoothed it out. “I’m asking you to reconsider, Hope. Whatever you think of me right now, remember all the times you did take my advice, because you knew it was in your best interest. This is the one arena in which you cannot accuse me of self-interest. I’m thinking of you and what I think is best for you, knowing you as well as I do.”