“No.”

The relief in his eyes transmuted to suspicion so quickly that there wasn’t a split second between of thought. He didn’t say anything, but then again he didn’t have to. I knew that expression, borne of our mother years ago, and I knew my brother. He didn’t trust Promise to tell the truth about Seamus, and he didn’t want to hurt me by saying so.

I took his shoulder and pulled him away from the building and into motion. “This is Promise, Cal. In the past year there were several occasions she could’ve died because of us or we could’ve died if she hadn’t helped us. Don’t be this way.”

“What way?” he demanded.

“Yourself.” I gave him my customary affectionate tug on his ponytail. “And whatever you do, please don’t sniff her like a wayward dog when we get back. She might not be as understanding as I am.”

“Okay, okay. You’re right. It is Promise.” It sounded much more dubious when he said it, but it was an effort, a considerable one for him, and I appreciated it as such. “Although you didn’t see the look Seamus gave you when we left his loft.”

“I saw it.” He’d been sizing me up. Let him. “But we don’t have to trust him, only Promise. And she’s not given us reason not to.”

He frowned, but let it go for now. Checking his watch, he said, “You know, we have enough time before your first class to go to Central Park.”

“And why would you want to do that?” I asked dryly. “I would want to run or practice, but why would you want to go?”

“More revenants.”

“Revenants?” Not that there were as many as you’d think in Central Park. Boggle and her brood ate most of them. But the revenants couldn’t help themselves. The draw of all those people running, walking, Rollerblading, all those people just begging to be dragged into the trees and devoured—it was too much temptation for them. They kept going, and occasionally they did get a runner here and there, but mainly they were the equivalent of Meals on Wheels for Boggle and her children, who were faster and more predatory than a hundred revenants.

“Yeah. Spearguns, giant eels, the Auphe. I think we need to kick some ass just to prove we’re badder than somebody in this city. In the past two days even an old lady with a walker could’ve taken our asses down,” he grumbled in disgust.

“Exaggeration served up with a fine whine. Entertaining as always. And we don’t have a time issue. I called the university yesterday and told them I was taking leave. Family emergency.”

“And if this doesn’t count as an emergency . . .” He shook his head and shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. I’d never been able to break him of that, to always have your hands free, just in case. As often as I’d swatted the back of his head or pinched a nerve cluster, he just couldn’t remember. You have to pick your battles, and I’d realized years ago Cal was most certainly his own person. He wasn’t me, couldn’t be me.

I have a bigger sword.

We took the subway to the Ninth Circle, where Cal was going to tell Ishiah he needed a little time off as well. Right now we needed to focus on our situation and nothing but that. Seamus would get the same speech from Promise. This one I knew about, at least. It was a petty thought and I pushed it away. Yes, Seamus would have to deal with his mystery stalker himself. Normally, we kept working, regardless of the situation. The world didn’t stop because this or that was trying to kill you. That happened too frequently in our lives. You had to work or you would be on the streets and starving in no time. This . . . this was an exception. I knew it the minute that gate had opened on the beach and those nightmare monsters had come boiling out to kill what Cal and I couldn’t. And they had done it in less than thirty seconds.

Luckily, with last night’s payment we could actually afford the time off. No teaching, no bartending, none of our jobs. We were in the best financial situation of our lives. Assuming, of course, that we could hold on to those lives.

Delilah was at the bar when we arrived. Since she worked at another bar, a strip club, as a bouncer during the day and did her work for the Kin at night, I assumed she was waiting for Cal and not simply hanging out for the feathery ambience. She sat at the bar, very much the fox in the henhouse. Confident, clever, and more than a little carnivorous. She was dressed in brown leather pants, a discarded matching jacket, and a long-sleeve amber-colored sweater that stopped a few inches above her navel. No matter the temperature, Delilah was a wolf and she was proud. She had survived and she would show you the proof—scars white and jagged across her stomach. They were bright against skin that was only a few shades lighter than her sweater. She wore them as boldly as she did the wolf eyes and Celtic swirl design she had tattooed choker style around her neck. Those scars were the reason Cal could be with her. She couldn’t have children. Cal was adamant . . . there would be no more Auphe-human hybrids. Not if he could help it. It was smart of my brother, smart, mature, self-sacrificing, and up there with genuinely phobic status.

Georgina . . . she could have children, and had been willing to let the future unfold however it would. Cal was not as trusting of the universe, and I didn’t blame him for it.

Delilah’s hair was almost as pale as her brother’s. His was albino white; hers was silver blond, long enough to fall to the middle of her back when pulled up, as it was now, in a tail at the crown of her head. She looked fully human, if exotic, like the high breeds did, but she wasn’t. High breeds were considered original werewolf stock. Purely human at one moment and completely wolf at the next. But some wolves didn’t want that. They sought what they felt was the more desirable form—a wolf at all times. Pure and wild, untouched by civilization and “monkey” genes. So they bred for what high breeds considered faults and mutations; some even inbred as well to further the cause. And it was an ongoing cause, since as of now they only had some wolves who at best were half-and-half. Human with wolf teeth, fur in odd places, lupine eyes and claws. Sometimes they were beautiful and sometimes hideous. Sometimes they could pass on the street without effort and sometimes they couldn’t.

They were still a minority in the werewolf community, Kin and non-Kin, and considered by their brothers in fur to be a little less worthy. And because of that prejudice, Delilah could never be an Alpha in the Kin. Females could be Alphas, unlike in genuine wolf packs. The Kin were practical: they realized the females could be deadlier than the males. Male or female, if you killed on all takers, then you were Alpha, but a non-high breed Alpha was out of the question. Then again, Delilah might change that custom. She had a presence that let you know she was no ordinary wolf, no ordinary Kin, no ordinary killer.

And quite definitely no ordinary woman.

“I’m not sure if I’m impressed or afraid she’ll eat you as a midday snack,” I murmured as the door closed behind us.

Almond eyes of pale copper that showed the Asian blood in her were already on us. I probably didn’t smell much different than your average human, but the wolves could smell the Auphe in Cal from the metaphorical mile away. They hated it, except for Delilah. She hadn’t minded when we had once hired her to heal Cal with the benefits of wolf saliva, and she obviously didn’t mind now. It was that presence again. Delilah had a quality about her—she was completely fearless. Unfortunately, a little fear was often what kept you alive.

“Promise could go off the wagon anytime,” he snorted as he moved off. “Then it’s just you, her, and a giant twisty straw.”

The vast majority of vampires had been off blood for sixty years now, thanks to a few hematology advances on their part, but he had a point. One way or the other, we were all food for something else. Every creature on the planet.