As he strode down the alley, the shadows hid all but his shape. It didn’t matter. His image was ingrained in my brain. I glanced at the shadow and saw that handsome face, jawline a little too strong, nose a little too sharp, but the flaws only adding an edge, a masculinity that belied the perfect grooming, the designer clothes. A wolf in banker’s clothing, I’d tease, and he’d laugh and make a wry joke at his own expense, always the first to poke fun at the image he cultivated.

But tonight there was no laugh. No über-confident smile. His face was a stone mask, his gray-blue eyes as cold as if he’d been striding up to a stranger. I saw that, and my last glimmer of hope guttered out.

I tried to read him, but when he was angry, he kept his thoughts a swirl, no image or words concrete enough for me to pluck out.

“Sorry to tear you away,” he said, each word clipped.

I forced a grin and plucked at my sweaty T-shirt. “That’s okay. I could use a few minutes of fresh air.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Because, naturally, that’s the only explanation for being on a guy’s lap in a nightclub. Actually, I’m not drunk. Working on it, though. What I was doing was following orders. Yours, if I recall.”

“Orders?”

“Last thing you said to me. Before good-bye.” I frowned. “Or did you say good-bye? Come to think of it, I’m not sure. But I know you did say you thought I should date other supernaturals, more my own age. He’s a couple of years younger, but he is a supernatural, and half your age, so I figure that’s close enough.”

I wanted to stop. I imagined what my mother would do in this situation—and I wanted to be like her and to rise above it. But seeing him, I was back to that morning, in that grove, feeling his words like knives. And all I could think about now was stabbing him back.

I wished that night in the pool had never happened. I wanted things back the way they’d been, Karl back the way he’d been.

I imagined how this scene would have played out without that night. I could see it, Karl luring me off the dance floor, then slipping ahead and cornering me—literally cornering me, as he loved to do, backing me against a wall and getting so close all I could see, hear and smell was him and all I could think about was getting him close enough to feel him, to taste him.

He’d corner me, then tease me about the “boy” in the nightclub, daring me to give him five minutes and I’d forget there’d ever been a boy in a nightclub.