Ivy wasn’t pleased. “What are you doing?” she asked from across the room, her lips pressed tight as she shook out a brown motel blanket.

“I’m keeping her warm.”

Jenks smelled like green things. His arms wrapped around me, and his front pressed into my back. My head was spinning and my neck was a hurting ache. I knew I shouldn’t be sitting up like that, but I couldn’t remember how to say “Down.” I think I was still crying, since my face was wet and those noises in the background sort of sounded like me.

Ivy sighed, then came forward. “She’s going to pass out if you keep her head up like that,” she muttered as she draped the blanket over us.

“Pixy dust will hold her together for only so long,” Jenks said softly. “And I don’t want Jax to be fighting the gravity blood flow when he stitches her up.”

My eyes flashed open. Stitches? Crap, not again. I’d just gotten rid of my scars. “Wait,” I said, panic bringing me stiff at the thought of what it was going to feel like now that the vampire saliva was dormant. “No stitches. I want my pain amulet.”

They didn’t seem to understand me. Ivy bent close, looking at my eyes, not me. “We could take her to Emergency.”

From behind me, Jenks shook his head. “The Weres would track us from there. I’m surprised they haven’t found us already. I can’t believe you bit her. We have four Were packs scenting for our blood, and you think now is a good time to change your relationship?”

“Shut the hell up, Jenks.”

My stomach turned. I wanted my pain amulet. I wasn’t a brave person. I’d seen the movie where they stitched up the guy with no anesthetic and bailing wire. It hurt. “Where’s my amulet?” I pleaded, heart pounding. “Where’s Keasley? I want Keasley.”

Ivy pulled away. “She’s going incoherent.” Her brow furrowed, wrinkling her usually placid face. “Rachel?” she said loudly and with exaggerated slowness. “Listen to me. You should be stitched. Just four tiny stitches. I didn’t rip you. It will be okay.”

“No!” I exclaimed, my vision darkening. “I don’t have my pain amulet!”

Ivy gripped my shoulder through the blanket. Her eyes were full of compassion. “Don’t worry. With your head up like this, you’re going to pass out in about three seconds.”

She was right.

Twenty-four

“Jenks, stop picking everything up before you break something,” I said, then drew my hand back from one of the ceramic knickknacks neatly arranged on the store shelves. It was a pumpkin with a little cat beside it, and it reminded me of Rex.

“What?” Grinning, Jenks tossed three ceramic bells into the air and juggled them.

I pointed at the handwritten sign with YOU BREAK IT, YOU BUY IT on it. I was tired, hungry, and my new stitches hidden under my red turtleneck ached ’cause I was stupid and I deserved to hurt. Even so, the last thing I needed was to pay for broken merchandise.