jolt that smacked my teeth together. They were only bluntly human now. I was glad. Sharp fangs

might have taken a chunk out of my lip, and that would have been no fun.

What the hell was that?

I bent over. My stomach hurt. Nausea filled it, kicked against its rubbery insides, and I was glad I

hadn’t eaten lunch.

“That was interesting,” someone said from behind the bleachers. They rattled a bit as a shape slid

out from behind them.

What? I turned my head gingerly. Blinked a couple of times. The clarity had gone, and the world

was getting fuzzy.

Shanks picked his way over the mats, shoulders hunched. “You don’t look so good.”

“How—” I bent over as a retch came painlessly up from my guts and was kept occupied by the

struggle not to paint the mats with anything my stomach could come up with.

“Figured I should stick around. Graves is going to shit a brick over this one.”

“Don’t . . .” I tried swallowing; it hurt my throat. Smelled the fur and wildness on him, a collage of

brunet scent that made up his gangly long legs and quick dark eyes. It was like the pictures the

touch painted inside my head when the ampoule of blood broke open in Aspect Mastery. “Don’t—”

I meant, Don’t come any closer. The bloodhunger was clear and unavoidable, burning just under my

skin. Like the touch.

Like the anger. Rage. It was just looking for an outlet.

If I got to Graves first and told him about this, maybe I could somehow make him understand that

we needed to leave this place before things got any worse.

Shanks squatted, an easy graceful movement. “Don’t worry, I can smell the red on you. Not gonna

get close until you calm down.” A quick flick of a glance up over my head. The owl gave one last

soft hoot, and the sound of wingbeats retreated. “Which you’d better do soon, before someone

comes in here and finds you like this. You’re bleeding.”

That, right now, was the least of my worries. I shut my eyes and dragged a deep breath in. Blew it

out between pursed lips. “Don’t. Tell.” I needed to talk to Graves first. To explain.

“Hm.” He didn’t agree or disagree, just made a noncommittal noise. “I never thought I’d see the

Red Queen in person. She don’t show herself to the peasants much.” He glanced up at the door

she’d retreated through. “Jesus.”

Red Queen? I made a shapeless noise, but it was definitely a question.

“Oh, yeah.” A small, humorless laugh. “Wulfen know about her. We’re not stupid, Dru. We like to

know who’s playing the game.”

Jealousy

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

I was bruised and scraped all over, both my shoulders ached like they’d been dislocated and put