We ended up standing at the far side of the parking lot, where trees grew in a tall, thin line. Fast-growing maples, with their yellow leaves, dancing in the October wind. My hair was so tight in its French braid that the wind could do little with it, but Micah's hair streamed around his face, like a thick, dark cloud. He'd taken off his glasses, and the streetlights made his eyes very yellow, even with the green shirt on, as if they reflected the light differently than they should have, or would have, if they'd been human eyes.

The wind was cool and held that crisp autumn scent. What I wanted to do was take his hand and walk out into the night until we found some woods. I wanted to go walking out into the darkness and let the wind take us where it wanted us to go. My bad mood seemed to have faded on the cool night wind, or maybe it was the sight of him, his face nearly lost in a cloud of his own hair. Whatever it was, I didn't want to fight anymore.

"You're right, my nose is healing." His voice held that hint of bitter laughter to it. That tone that matched that confusing smile.

I touched his arm. "If this is hard, you don't have to."

He shook his head and put a hand up at his hair, impatient, angry, as if he was mad at the hair for getting in his face. I thought he was probably angry at me, but I didn't ask. I didn't really want to know if the answer was yes.

"No, you asked, I'll answer."

I took back my hand and let him talk, let him open the bag that I'd wanted opened, so badly, only minutes ago. Now, I'd have let it go to wipe that look off his face.

"Do you know why my hair's long?"

It was such an odd question, that I answered it. "No, I guess I thought you liked it that way."

He shook his head, one hand caught in the hair near his face, so he could keep the wind from chasing it across his face. "When Chimera took over a group of shapeshifters, he used torture, or the threat of torture, to control us. If the head of the group could withstand the torture, then he'd torment weaker members. Use their harm as a way to control the alphas in the group."

He was quiet for so long that I had to say something. "I know he was a sadistic bastard. I remember what he did to Gina and Violet, to keep you and Merle under control."

"You only know part of it," he said, and his eyes had a distant look, so far away. He was remembering, and it wasn't pretty.

I hadn't meant to bring this on. I hadn't. "Micah, I didn't mean..."

"No, you wanted to know. You can know." He took in a breath so deep it made him shudder. "One of his favorite torments was gang rape. Those of us who wouldn't participate, he made us grow our hair long. Said, if we wanted to act like women, we should look like women."

I thought about that for a second. "You and Merle are the only men in your pard that have long hair."

He nodded. "I think Caleb enjoyed it, and Noah, well," he shrugged. "We all did things that we didn't like, just to stay alive. To stay whole."

I couldn't think much less of Caleb, but it made me think less of Noah. I didn't know what to say out loud. But Micah didn't need me to talk anymore. The story was started, and he would tell it now, whether I wanted to hear it or not. It was my own damn fault, so I listened and gave him the only thing I could at this point—my attention. Not horror, not pity, just my attention. Horror was redundant, and pity—no one likes pity.

"You talked to Chimera, to more than one of his faces. You know how conflicted he was."

I nodded, then said, "Yes."

"Part of him was the ultimate male bully, and that part raped women. Part of him was gay, and the two parts hated each other."

Chimera had given the idea of split personality a whole new meaning, because each personality had had a different physical form. Until I'd met him, seen it for myself, I'd have said it was impossible.

"I remember that part of him wanted me to be his mate, and part of him didn't seem much interested in girls."

Micah nodded. "Exactly."

I was almost afraid of where this was going, but I'd started it. If he could tell the story, I could hear it, all of it.

"He didn't just rape women," Micah said, "but strangely, he would only rape a man if he were already gay. It was as if he only wanted the sex the person enjoyed to be used against them." He shrugged, but it turned into a shiver. "I didn't understand it. I was just grateful to not be on his list of victims." He shivered again.

"Do you want my jacket?" I asked.

He gave a small smile. "I don't think it's that kind of cold."

I reached out to touch him, and he stepped back, out of reach. "No, Anita, let me finish. If you touch me, I'll get distracted."

I wanted to say, let me touch you, let me distract you, but I didn't. I did what he asked. No one to blame but myself. If I'd kept my mouth shut, we'd be inside dancing, instead... when was I going to learn to leave well enough alone? Probably never.

"But somewhere in all that mess Chimera called his mind, he was angry at me. I wouldn't help him torture, wouldn't help him rape. But I wouldn't sleep with him voluntarily either, though he asked. I think he liked me, wanted me, and because his own twisted rules kept him away from me, he found other ways to amuse himself at my expense."

He touched his face, as if searching it with his fingertips, almost as if he were surprised at what he found. As if it wasn't the face he was expecting to find. "I can't even remember what it was that Gina wouldn't do. I think he wanted her to seduce an alpha of another pack that he wanted to own. She refused, and instead of taking it out on her, he took it out on me. He beat me bad enough that he broke my nose, but I healed, fast."

"All lycanthropes heal fast," I said.

"I seem to heal faster than most, not as fast as Chimera did, but close. He thought it had something to do with how easily we could both go from one form to another. He was probably right."

"Makes sense," I said. My voice was utterly calm, as if we were talking about the weather. The trick to hearing awful memories is not to be horrified. The only one allowed to have emotion is the one doing the telling. This listener has to be cool.

"The next time I refused to help him rape someone, he broke my nose again. I healed again. Then he made it a game. Every time I refused an order, he beat me worse, always in the face. One day, he finally said, 'I'm going to ruin that pretty face. If I can't have it, and you won't use it on anybody else, then I'll just ruin it.' But I kept healing."

He let go of his hair, and the wind whipped it around his face, but he ignored it now. He hugged himself, held himself tight. I wanted to go to him, wanted to hold him, but he'd said no. I had to respect that, had to, but damn, damn.

"He didn't beat me the next time, he took a knife to me. He cut my face up, took the nose, ate it." He gave a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a sob. "Jesus, it hurt, and it bled. God, it bled."

I touched his arm, tentatively, gently. He didn't tell me to go away. I eased my arms around him and found that he was trembling, a fine tremor that went from the top of his head down his entire body. I held him in my arms and wished I knew what to say.

He whispered against my hair. "When it grew back, but not all the way back, he beat me again. New flesh is more tender than old, and when it broke enough times, it stayed broken. It didn't heal perfectly, and once he'd messed me up, he seemed satisfied. Now that Chimera isn't here to mess me up, my nose is healing. It's getting straighter, every time I come back from leopard form." He leaned in against me, slowly, as if he had to fight to let the tension go. He stayed like that, relaxing by inches, while I held him and rubbed his back in useless circles.