"Then you're dismissed."

I pushed through the front entrance a few minutes later, practically blinded by tears and guilt and rage, and nearly leapt out of my skin when I came right up against the solid wall of Cyrus's body. His hands shot out to grip my sides, and I flinched. He pushed my shirt up, revealing the purpling bruise that covered half my left side, and sucked a hot breath between his teeth. "Christ."

"The docs checked me out; it looks worse than it is. What are you doing here?"

"Availing myself of some free medical. Like I told the guys at the house—if the Corps can mess me up, it can damn well fix me up."

"You're hurt?" I didn't give him time to reply, just turned his arms over and pushed up his sleeves. The red gashes he'd sustained from fending off a knife attack while I ran for weapons had already faded, with only a few white scars and irregular patches of skin remaining. But some of the deepest lines were still puckered, with a faint ridge of flesh running down his right forearm. Another bisected his left palm, like the seam on a glove.

"I'm sorry." I hugged myself, staring at the signs of what friendship with me had cost him. It made me remember the way I'd felt when I'd seen him dive for the kitchen floor, unsure whether he'd been hit, like my insides were tumbling out onto the linoleum. The scars would probably fade completely in another day, Were metabolism being what it was. But if he'd been a little slower…

Cyrus stared at me for a moment, then tugged me into a loose hug. I closed my eyes and went, arms still wrapped around myself. His mouth brushed my ear. "I've had worse from a hunt," he said. And then, even more softly, "You scared the shit out of me." And then we were hugging so tight that his leather jacket creaked.

"Where are you staying?" he asked after a moment.

I blinked. Because, yeah, going home wasn't an option. Even if the house had been habitable, I couldn't go back there with a dark witch on my tail.

"I hadn't really gotten that far yet."

"Then it's settled. You're coming with me."

Cyrus's bike, a black-and-silver Harley-Davidson, was propped against one side of the building. It was where I usually kept mine, too, since no one had gotten around to marking out parking places yet. Cyrus threw a leg over, I climbed on back, and we took off, ignoring the scowls of the guards at the front gate. I laid my cheek against his back and enjoyed the feeling of freedom, the cool night air unbelievable heady after a day spent inside suffocating hallways and concrete-gray offices.

"You want pizza?" he yelled back a few minutes later.

"Only if I get to pick the toppings."

"Deal."

We made a pit stop at a late-night diner that still had a crowd, then headed to the motel that Cyrus currently called home. His room was clean, if not particularly large, and there was a noisy but functioning air conditioner. He shrugged out of his jacket, leaving him in a black T-shirt and jeans, and carefully checked his guns before putting them within arm's reach on the nightstand. He finally allowed himself to relax, kicking off his boots and stretching out on the bedspread.

I borrowed a shirt and took a much-needed shower. I'd restocked my potions supplies and ammunition at HQ, but the only clothes in my locker had been a rangy old pair of socks. Luckily, a T-shirt is a T-shirt, and Cyrus's looked fine on me. Plus the long tail almost covered the bloodstains on my jeans.

We didn't have a table, so we'd put the pizza in the middle of the bed after laying down some towels to catch the grease. I hadn't eaten all day, and suddenly I was starving. The pie was soggy in the middle and half cold and tasted wonderful. I did damage to my half, then rolled onto my back and stared at the watermarked ceiling tiles. Classy.

I let my body start to relax, and it was a mistake. I'd been running on adrenaline and the instinct drilled into me during training that let me push through pain and exhaustion and fear by walling off my emotions until it was safe to deal with them. That detachment had started to crack when Hargrove told me the recruits had been targeted because they were mine. That, essentially, I'd killed Adam twice, because if someone else had been his trainer, he wouldn't have been there in the first place. And now it felt like the two halves of my rib cage were being slowly squeezed together by some invisible vise.

The gentleness of hands on my face was no comfort; it rattled me, made my body burn and my stomach clench. Cyrus leaned down and kissed me, so slowly and thoroughly that I felt like I was sinking into the mattress. His teeth were smooth, the edges catching sharp against the thin skin behind my ear, his hands big and rough, sliding down my sides. It threatened to break something in me, just the warmth of him. I squeezed my eyes shut, biting my bottom lip hard to keep the insane, embarrassing sounds I could feel building behind my teeth where they belonged.

"Stop blaming yourself," he said softly.

"There's nothing wrong with blaming myself when it's my fault," I snapped, rolling away from him. I didn't want to feel better; I didn't deserve to feel better. Not yet.

He lay back, hands behind his head. "Are you going to tell me what happened?"

I almost said no, but bit it back. I'd desperately wanted company—his company—but it would have been better to find a bolt-hole somewhere else. I'd never been sure if it was a Were thing or a macho thing or just something he did to drive me crazy, but Cyrus had a protective streak a mile wide. And like most Weres, he seriously underestimated magic.

I'd tried to explain that, yeah, Weres were faster, stronger, and had senses far more acute than any humans—even magical ones. But none of that made a damn bit of difference when facing a well-trained magic user. Cyrus's hardheadedness on that subject was going to get him killed someday. I'd just prefer it wasn't this one.

But Weres could smell a lie, so I had to give him something. I settled on a version of the truth, leaving out the part about the Assassins and the vengeful witch. I didn't want him deciding to go after Colafranchesi himself.

"You're saying that someone in the Corps wants you dead?" he demanded when I finished.

"I'm not universally popular, but I don't think it's gotten that far yet."

"But who else would know about the spell?"

Someone who had made a lifelong study of illusions, I didn't say. "I'm sure the investigators are working on that."

Cyrus didn't look satisfied. "If this test is so important, how come I've never heard of it?"

"It isn't a popular topic of conversation," I said dryly. "No one is allowed to give the recruits any hints, and most people who've passed are happy to forget the experience."

Cyrus cocked an eyebrow at me. "How did you do?"

"I didn't," I said, trying to keep an edge out of my voice. "My Were blood made me difficult to influence. If Dad hadn't been with the Corps, that probably would have ended my career right there. But he called in some favors." I guess no one had really thought that Guillame de Croisset's daughter was likely to be a dark mage plant. Or if they did, they weren't about to say it to his face.

For the first time, I wondered if it might have been better if they had.

Everyone always assumed that Dad was pulling strings for me, that I would never have found a mentor or made it through training or gotten my first promotion on my own. In fact, he'd done it only the one time, and only because he considered it partly his fault that I was facing that particular hurdle. Dad had taught me to be tough, self-reliant, and competent. Only the Corps had never given me the chance.

I'd tried overcompensating for a while, taking the hardest assignments, working the longest hours, but nothing erased the stain of my mother's blood. Somewhere along the line, I'd decided that undercompensating was a lot easier. It didn't get me any more promotions, but nothing was likely to do that. Nor did it make me any more popular among my peers, who had transitioned smoothly from resenting me for showing them up to resenting me for slacking off. But at least it left me with more free time.