I turned. Nick’s hair, pulled back from his face into a ponytail, looked two shades lighter. The stubble had vanished, leaving a hard but pleasant, open face. He crossed the room, moving like a mature martial artist, fully confident in his skill and no longer competing to prove himself, but still too young and too fit to grow a sensei paunch. I could tell he was both quick and trained, armed with a muscle memory that would allow him to counter a kick or a punch without pause or thought.

He stopped a respectable distance away, and I realized he smelled like Irish Spring soap. For a moment I wasn’t sure if I was looking at the same man and then our gazes met. The familiar urge to step back flooded me.

“Why, you’re adorable,” I said, trying not to break into a nervous laugh. “All that you need is one of those little earrings in one ear.”

He gave me his hard stare.

“I’m just curious,” I said. “When you do that to people, do they usually start to shake and fall to the ground quivering with fear?”

“They usually just die surprised,” he said.

“Must not have worked on the upir then.”

He swung a large knapsack over his shoulder.

“Going somewhere?” I wondered, sitting down on the bed. My reaction time was probably close to his, and there was enough distance between us. If he tried anything, I had time to evade.

“Yes.”

“And how are you planning on getting past the Pack sentries?”

“I’m planning on you getting me out,” he said. “They took away my wolfsbane, but I know you have some.”

I rubbed my face with my hands. I did have wolfsbane—I would have been an idiot to venture within the Pack’s territory and not bring any. And I was probably better at using it, too. “Why would I help you escape? Do you have any idea how pissed Curran will be? I might as well slit my wrists now.”

“Considering how the upir plans to use you, it might not be a bad idea.”

Nick stepped to me, reached out slowly, and brushed my hand with his fingers. A sharp tingle of magic nipped at my skin and his fingers glowed with white radiance, as if he had dipped his hand in fluorescent paint.

I pulled away. “Would you stop doing that?”

His gaze probed me. “Who are you? Where do you come from?”

“I’m pretty sure I came from my mom and dad,” I said. “See, when a man puts his penis inside a woman’s vagina . . .”

“I know how to kill him,” he interrupted.

I shut up.