There Bella sat at the kitchen island, her head bent over a book, occasionally turning to take a bite from the sandwich she held in her left hand. She perched on a stool, her right foot on a higher rung than her left, so she could rest her elbow on her knee and still turn pages.

How could she look so relaxed after all that had happened? When people he'd known for years—he assumed she'd known them, too—were dead. Tortured to death by the Oracle, who now roamed around unchecked. Oh yeah. Perfect time for a sandwich.

If I kick that stool right now, there's no way she'd be able to get her balance before her ass hit the floor. The thought brought a bitter smile to his face.

"Making yourself at home, huh?" He strolled to the refrigerator and opened it, noting with annoyance she'd used all but the dregs of the mayonnaise and replaced the jar, anyway. He pulled out a bag of blood and popped it in the microwave. "So, get a good day's sleep?"

She didn't look up. "You know I do no, sleep more than a few hours at a time."

"Oh, right." He snapped his fingers. "It's a dog thing. So, do you have to circle around three times before you can lie down?"

This time, she gave him a warning glance before wordlessly returning her attention to her book.

"Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt story time." He set the timer and then turned, leaning back against the counter. "Here's a funny story. Tell me if you've heard it. A building full of vampires gets roasted from the inside out and everyone dies."

She didn't look up. "You think I do not care about what has happened to the Movement?"

"You're right. That is what I think. See, you haven't shown much love for vampires. None of your kind have. And maybe what I thought was you being brave and stoic was just you… not giving a shit."

The microwave dinged and he pulled out the pleasantly warm bag. Eschewing a cup, he bit through the plastic and purposely let some blood dribble down his chin, for good measure.

Her nose twitched at the coppery smell. With a noise of disgust, she tossed her sandwich down and slammed her book shut. "You are a pig."

"And you're a bitch. Yet here we are." He drained the bag, though he really hadn't been hungry to begin with, and tossed it aside. It landed with a wet smack on the floor beside the trash can.

Bella looked as though she might throw up. Nothing would have pleased Max more.

But it wasn't in the cards. Instead, she stood, tucked her book beneath her arm and headed toward the door. Her hand was on the smooth, painted wood when she whirled to face him. Her stony, cool facade had cracked, her high cheekbones coloring deep red.