Max halted and dropped his duffel bag. “With who?”

“With Nathan.” I stopped and glared at him. “We don’t have time to monkey around. Let’s go.”

“You said Cyrus. ‘We’re here to figure out what’s happening with Cyrus’ is exactly what you said.”

My mouth gaped. Had I really said that? My first sire had certainly been on my mind lately, but I didn’t usually make such obvious slips. “I didn’t say that.”

“Yes, you did. I barely knew the guy. Why would I be mentally inserting his name into your sentences? Carrie, is something going on you’re not telling me about?” Max picked up the bag and motioned for me to walk.

Good thing, too, because I was paralyzed with shock at my own stupid mistake. The quadrant in my brain that controls my feet recognized his gesture, and I plodded along beside him. “Not exactly.”

Max let out a long, low whistle. “Uh-huh. Are you ‘not exactly’ telling me what’s going on, or is something ‘not exactly’ going on?”

“A little of both.” I stopped again and faced him. “Right before the thing happened to Nathan, he’d confronted me about a dream I’d had. Apparently, I’d said Cyrus’s name.”

“Nathan was watching you sleep again?” Another whistle. “That’s not good.”

“I knew something was up, but I couldn’t have predicted this.” We started walking once more, in silence. After a few steps, I remembered my dream on the plane and the embarrassing consequences of it. “There’s something else, too.”

“Shoot.”

“When we were on the plane, I dreamed about him.” I looked at my feet so I wouldn’t have to see Max’s face. “When I kissed you.”

“Well, that’s understandable. He’s your sire and all.” A few more steps, and Max realized what I’d meant. “Wait, you thought I was Cyrus, not Nathan?”

“I was dreaming. I can’t control what I do in my dreams.” Did I sound defensive? I needed a hot bath and a long time to recover from the monotonous flight.

Luckily, Max dropped the subject once we entered the building. The fluorescent tubes and pale yellow paint of the customs area made it seem less than friendly, and the stern faced police with automatic weapons didn’t help much, either. And I couldn’t even claim I’d packed my own luggage. I’d been so tired before we’d left, I’d trusted Max to do it for me.

“Where did you bring me? Kazakhstan?” I whispered fiercely to Max as a customs agent rifled through my underwear. “And why did you pack so many thongs?”

Max grinned. “Why do you own so many thongs?”

Once we were cleared to enter the country proper, Max hurried me out of the airport, to a taxi stand.