“Well,” Conner said, “we burned her house to the ground. Imelda can’t hurt anyone anymore. We should at least feel good about that.” As he spoke he turned his head to look at the little boy throwing rocks with enough force to make dents in the wooden fence.

“As far as we know, no one left alive knows about our people,” Rio said. “And Adan’s tribe should be safe enough.”

“Until the next monster comes along,” Felipe said gloomily.

Jeremiah stirred. “We’ll cut their head off all over again.” His voice was husky, low, barely there, as if he whispered rather than spoke. His expression, as he looked at the others, was belligerent. “I’m joining your team.”

Rio flashed a small grin. “Wouldn’t have it any other way, kid. Welcome to hell.”

Conner studied the three drawn, gaunt faces. “Aren’t you three a sorry sight,” he observed. “Gossiping old biddies.”

Jeremiah, Felipe and Rio looked at one another.

“I don’t think you’re looking much better,” Rio pointed out. “In fact, you look worse than any of us.”

“The scars add to my rakish appearance.”

“You’re going to scare the kid,” Jeremiah said.

Conner sighed. “Isn’t that the truth?”

Rio frowned. “Conner, the boy wants you to like him. He’s trying as hard as he can. He watches you all the time.”

Conner snorted. “He runs from me. He’s watching me, because he’s afraid I’m going to eat him for dinner.”

“Try smiling,” Felipe offered helpfully.

Conner turned his head to observe the little boy talking so earnestly to Isabeau. Mateo hadn’t smiled once in the three weeks since they’d rescued him. He was a beautiful little boy, his body compact in the way of the leopard people, his eyes large and more gold than yellow, much like Conner. In fact, with his shaggy, unkempt head of hair and his bone structure, he looked very like Conner.

Conner sighed. He had no idea how to talk to children. The boy avoided him. He was a sober little child with big eyes holding too much sorrow and a terrible rage. Conner understood the intensity of both emotions, but didn’t know how to reach the boy. He kept his eyes on Isabeau. She reached her hand down toward Mateo. Conner held his breath. A heartbeat. Two. Willed the boy to take her hand—to make human contact.

Isabeau never moved. Never said a word. If anyone was going to get through to him, it would be Isabeau, not him. She was so patient. She never took his rebuffs personally. She never stopped trying with him. The boy took her hand and Conner let his breath out.