"They just let you skip it?" Cyrus asked, breaking into my thoughts.

"Not exactly. My trainer sent me on a three-week hike through a Louisiana swamp instead." My only companions had been a bad map to the finish line, an occasional alligator, and a horde of mosquitoes the size of my thumb. But the trainees I talked to afterwards thought I'd gotten the better deal.

"I still don't get why anyone would target you," Cyrus said, circling back around to the main point. "Why not order a hit on the head of the Circle? Or at least the head of the local branch?"

An unpleasant rolling sensation bloomed in my gut. It might have been the pizza, but I didn't think so. Because I'd just had a flash of Adam, sprawled helplessly against the wall; only this time, he was wearing Cyrus's face.

"Why not me?" I countered, swilling the last of the now-lukewarm beer.

"Out of all the possibilities? Don't you think it's a little—?"

"I've been in the news lately," I reminded him.

After Hargrove's predecessor turned dark and tried to take out the Were Council, I'd been forced to shoot him. Unfortunately, Gil and I were known to have had problems—to the point that he'd been agitating for my dismissal before he ended up dead by my hand. I'd been cleared of wrongdoing by the Circle's investigation, but that hadn't stopped the media speculation. For the first time, I was glad of it.

"I'm still going to have the clan post a guard," Cyrus said stubbornly. "It may not be necessary, but I'll feel—"

"A guard on who?"

His eyes narrowed. We were so close, I could see the tiny lines that framed them, graven by years of laughter and squinting against the sun. Only he wasn't laughing now. "On you."

I just stared at him. I hadn't even anticipated that, and I should have. I'd ostensibly joined Arnou, Cyrus's clan, a few months ago, after playing a part in saving the life of the leader's daughter. Not that a half-Were who had steadfastly refused the change could ever really be a part of any clan. But after my mother's family tried to force me to change, I'd needed protection and Sebastian had provided it. It was the Were way to return a favor in kind, and by adopting me into Arnou, he'd ensured that no other clan could touch me.

But having them stick up for me now would be a disaster. If the Assassins even suspected that Arnou was helping me, they'd become the next target. Way to repay them for taking me in.

"I don't need protection, Cyrus," I told him forcefully. "And I don't think the clan would appreciate you dragging them into this."

He frowned. "What is that supposed to mean?"

A surge of frustration zinged along my nerves, making my muscles bunch and jump even lying completely still. "Exactly what I said! I don't expect trouble, but if anything happens, I'll deal with it. Alone."

"You don't seem to understand what belonging to a clan means," he said slowly. "You don't go it alone—ever."

"You know damn well I'm no more part of Arnou than I was of Lobizon," I said angrily. And suddenly, I didn't want to be there, didn't want to wait until morning, wanted to beat the living shit out of something now.

I started to get up, but Cyrus rolled on top of me, pinning me in place. And for the first time, he looked angry. "Oh, forgive me. Because I was under the impression that Sebastian threw three representatives of Lobizon out of court just last week, for daring to threaten the life of our newest clan member!"

I stared up at him, my heart feeling like someone was squeezing it in a fist. "He shouldn't have done that. I'm not—"

"Not what?"

"Not worth it!" I threw him off and started for the door, only to find that he'd gotten there first.

He grabbed my arm and I hesitated, not sure if I planned to push him away or hit him, and he drew me in before I could decide. I could smell the vaguely spicy scent of him, feel the warmth of his body, and in a flash, something sparked between us. We were kissing, almost biting, as we shoved against each other. A series of sensations slammed into me: a warm hand at the back of my neck, a broad chest pushing me against the door, a hot mouth on mine, a rough tongue stroking in.

We stumbled toward the bed, fighting for dominance, until we hit the side of the mattress. We stood there, vibrating, bodies hard against each other, for a long moment. Then Cyrus seemed to come to himself, to remember who he was with—the little half human who might break if you looked at her wrong—and his touch softened. His hand ghosted over my face, followed my hairline, and drifted down my temple to trace the line of my jaw. Then strong hands were pushing up my shirt, sliding tenderly up my rib cage, thumbing a nipple, making me shiver.

But not with desire.

He was being too damn gentle, and I didn't deserve that, didn't want it, not now. I shoved him down onto the bed, sending the pizza box flying, and crawled between his thighs. He stared up at me, startled and hungry, and something in my chest tightened. I wanted to—god, I didn't even know.

I yanked his T-shirt up until it caught on his arms and face, covering everything above the rough-bearded skin of his Adam's apple. Grasping the material firmly, I twisted it a couple of times, preventing him from easily freeing his raised arms. "That's my favorite shirt," he complained, but his voice was rough and his chest was rising and falling rapidly.

I didn't answer, and the makeshift blindfold stayed in place. He started to say something else, but I kissed him again, this time through the thin cotton, and he groaned and opened his mouth. "Leave it," I murmured.

He stayed tense for a moment longer before letting his body relax, trusting me. It was a bit of a balancing act to hold on to the shirt with one hand and unbutton his jeans with the other, but I managed it. They were heavy, so in case he wrecked the bike he didn't get too much asphalt embedded in his flesh, and difficult to budge so I didn't bother pulling them off. Just pushed them down and took him in.

He inhaled sharply, and the muscles of his thighs flexed hard beneath me. I shut my eyes, concentrating on the feel of his pulse beating against my tongue. He'd hardened before I reached the tip and started letting out soft desperate-sounding noises from behind the makeshift gag. They were sweet and damn near addictive, but not nearly frantic enough. They did nothing to ease the furious thing inside me.

He was holding back, like always. The guy could tear a house down with his bare hands, but he never showed me any sign of it. He was always so cautious when we were together, so conscious of the difference between us, so afraid he might hurt me that he never left a single bruise.

It felt like judgment, just another way I was inadequate. Not Were enough for him, not human enough for the Corps. Angry tears sprang to my eyes, and I wiped them away, livid. I wanted to teach him to lose control, to want something so badly, he forgot to be careful, to want me. But that wasn't going to happen.

I scrambled up on numb, shaky legs, Adam's face wavering in front of me. Yet another way I'd failed, and suddenly I could barely breathe. I felt almost hysterical, like I was going to shatter into pieces if something didn't break soon.

"Lia…" Cyrus had felt the bed move when I rose, but I pulled up the bottom of the T-shirt and pressed my mouth to his, smothering any questions he might ask. For a moment, the world contracted to his body under my hands, the rough-slick feel of his tongue in my mouth. I finished him off with my hand, my face pressed into the skin just below his jaw, until he came with a noise that sounded like pain.

"I'm sorry," I told him, reaching into my bag.

"For what?" he panted, sprawled bonelessly on the bed.

I dropped a quick kiss on his mouth, which was surprisingly soft, even edged with late-evening beard bristle. "For this," I said, and with a swift uppercut, knocked him out.