a brisk, green-smelling wind. Gems of water sparkled on the garden, each one perfectly placed.

I lowered the switchblade. Christophe? I opened my mouth to say his name, shut it again.

Because Graves was right next to me, fisting at his eyes. “What’s up?”

“I thought I saw something.” I swallowed hard, used the windowsill to push the blade back in until

it clicked. “In the window.”

“Oh.” He blinked a couple times, rubbed at his hair. “Anything there?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I was asleep.” The lie tasted like ashes. I knew I hadn’t been.

“What exactly did you think you saw?” He was pale under his coloring. “A dreamstealer? Something else?”

The thought of a dreamstealer and having seizures again after it stole my breath was enough to

make all remaining sleepiness jump out the window. My shoulders hunched. “Just a shadow.”

He leaned forward, peered out. “A drop straight down. And nothing above to hang onto. But that

doesn’t mean anything lately, does it?” He sniffed, inhaling deeply, passing the air through his nose

the way I’ve seen people in fancy restaurants smell wine. And gave me an odd, very green sideways

look. “Huh.”

“What?” The lump in my throat wasn’t just my heart.

“I dunno.” He pulled the window down. “Think we should lock the shutters?”

I think it was Christophe. The words trembled right on my lips. I shook my head. The air always

feels dead when you barricade windows. Like you’re under siege. Or buried. “I dunno.”

“Okay.” He stayed where he was, sunlight edging his threadbare T-shirt and touching his jeans,

bringing out the blue in the denim. He leaned forward, like he wanted to get a little closer. “You all

right? You look a little . . .”

Stupid? Silly? Sleepy? “Fine.” I almost flinched away, stamped back to the bed, tossed the switchblade on the nightstand. The lamp was okay. I picked it back up and settled it where it belonged.

Then I dropped down into the bed’s softness and wished again that I was wearing boxers. “Sorry to

wake you up.”

I was also getting to the point of being sorry I’d kissed him. What the hell had he meant? But that

was useless to think about.

He stood there, irresolute. I got comfortable, putting my arm under the pillow, busying myself with

getting settled. My wrist throbbed like a bad tooth.

If I’d known what would happen when Christophe bit me, would I still have done it? He’d needed

my blood to save us. Even Shanks agreed about that.

But still, I wondered. There were other things I wondered about, too.

Like what he’d said, alone in a wulfen’s room with the darkness covering everything and the bloodhunger burning in my throat. If I need a reason now, Dru, it will have to be you.