probably hadn’t found me through the Internet, for Christ’s sake. No, they’d been told where to find

me. Christophe had as much as said so, and so had Dylan. “Then what do we do?”

“Watch and wait.” He yawned hugely. I could almost see his tonsils. “Tell Shanks and Dibs the

score so they can watch you when I can’t. I don’t trust those djamphir.”

“I don’t either.” But what choice do we have? And here he was, thinking he was going to be protecting me now. I wasn’t sure I liked that. If I wasn’t taking care of him, well, what did he need me for?

“Graves?”

“What?” Now he sounded truly aggravated. He flung his arm over his eyes, almost hitting me with

his elbow. I didn’t even move—he could have cracked me a good one and I’m not sure I would’ve

moved.

“I’m glad you’re here.” A flush was working its way up my throat, staining my cheeks. I had another thing or two I wanted to talk to him about, but the time never seemed right.

It never does. And how do you tell a half-werwulf Goth Boy that you really like him, especially

when he seems pretty determined not to hear? I mean, he knew, right? I’d as much as told him. And

here he was.

“Yeah.” Another jaw-cracking yawn. “Now be a good girl and don’t get into trouble for a bit, okay?

I’m bushed.”

Irritation flashed through me; I swallowed it. It tasted bitter, and I decided to go brush my teeth. He

didn’t say anything else when I slid off the bed, and by the time I reached the bathroom door again

he was snoring.

I didn’t blame him. Sleeping in hallways was probably not good for him.

I stood in the middle of the thin swords of sunlight spearing toward the carpet, my arms loosely

crossed like I was hugging myself. Looking at him. With his arm over his face and his mouth agape,

all you could see was part of his nose and the stubble. He sprawled across the bed, a black blot on

all the blue. Chapped hands and tangled hair, and his jeans were developing holes in the knees. His

T-shirt rucked up, showing a slice of belly ridged lightly with muscle, a line of light furring marching down from his belly button and vanishing under the edge of a pair of black boxer-briefs.

I looked away, toward the door. My cheeks burned. All the locks were turned, and I’d dropped the

bar into its brackets. I was alone in here with him. The flush spread all over me, from my toes up into my hair. My internal thermostat was shorted out in a big way.

Well, I wasn’t going to be sleeping. So I should probably do something useful, like brush my teeth