The change of mood was so abrupt it took her a second to catch it. She’d been so focused on forgetting, on moving back to a place she felt confident and safe, it didn’t occur to her at first that he wasn’t flirting anymore, wasn’t joking. It didn’t occur to her—and when it did, she was ashamed that it hadn’t—that he’d just seen two attempts made on her life in as many days and that had their positions been reversed, she would have had a hard time speaking at all.

Her own smile disappeared. She sat back, resting her bottom on her feet. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I sincerely hope not.”

“You’re . . . you’re kind of freaking me out now.” The words came out hushed, expelled from a throat gone dry.

“Meg.” A heavy cut-crystal glass of scotch sat on his bedside table; he took a deliberate sip, his serious gaze never leaving her face. “I know it’s not a subject you enjoy discussing, but I think it’s possible you’d be safer if you did the ritual.”

“The—how? How in the world would that make a difference?”

“You heard Justine at dinner. They don’t like that you don’t plan to do it. Any one of them could have decided that if you’re going to remain human—”

“Not any one of them. Not Win, right? And I doubt Gunnar cares or—”

“Any one of them,” he repeated. “Don’t make the mistake of trusting them.”

Had she thought the room was cold before? It felt like a meat locker; she rubbed her arms with her hands.

“I doubt Win’s behind it,” he continued. “But any one of them could have reasons we’re not aware of. This is your life, darling, I don’t want to take any—”

“If I do the ritual, it won’t be my life anymore.” She said it without thinking, but even if her education and training hadn’t taught her that such moments usually brought the truth rushing to the fore, she would have recognized it. Since the night she’d done her first radio show, the night Greyson and the Yezer Ha-Ra had entered her life, she’d been desperately holding on to what little remained of her old life.

Doing the ritual would end it permanently. There would be no going back. There would be no leaving the Yezer behind, no moving forward simply as a woman with an interestingly different sort of lover—or boyfriend, for lack of a better term. The piece of demon in her body would grow, would spread its dark wings through her bloodstream, into her organs. Whatever she might gain or lose, whatever remained the same, she would be unalterably, permanently Different.

“It will be,” he said. The urgency in his voice sent a nervous chill up her spine; she’d never heard that from him before, at least not when discussing a subject other than how quickly her clothing could come off. He’d never tried to talk her into doing the Haiken Kra before either. So why the hell was he so concerned about it now? “Very little will change, but you’ll have that protection; they won’t be able to see you as an outsider anymore. Your powers will strengthen again. Perhaps that thing wouldn’t have been able to sneak up on you earlier if you’d—”

“Are you saying it’s my fault?”

“Fuck, no, I’m just saying you might be safer, and right now your safety is—”

“More important than my happiness? Than what I want?”

“Maybe it should be. Are you seriously telling me you’d rather die than do it? Is becoming demon really a fate worse than death to you?”

She hesitated. Was it? She’d never thought of it in those terms before. Of course, she hadn’t had any reason to. Her life hadn’t been in danger, not like this.

And she’d never thought, either, of what effect her decision might have on him or, rather, of how he might feel about it. On the few occasions when the subject had come up, he’d told her it was up to her and he wouldn’t get involved. She’d never doubted that he wanted her to do it but never dreamed it was that important to him.

“There’s no guarantee it would make a difference,” she reminded him. “You said yourself you don’t know. We don’t know who’s behind this. It could have nothing to do with—with what I am. Right? And if I do this just because someone’s after me, and it turns out to be totally unrelated . . . it just doesn’t seem like the right way to make a decision, does it?”

His gaze slid away from her face, down to her hands resting on his flat, smooth stomach. “No,” he said, his voice flat. “I suppose it doesn’t.”

“I know. I mean, I’m worried too. But you just told me we’re safe in here. And really, it’s not exactly the way I want to think, but if they’re going to get me they’re going to get me, aren’t they? We’ll find out what’s going on. And Malleus, Maleficarum, and Spud will keep me safe. You’ll keep me safe. I took a chance earlier. I shouldn’t have gone into that hall by myself; I should have let you come with me. I won’t do that again. Now that we know it’s here, I’ll be more careful, I promise. I just—I don’t want to rush into anything.”

“I didn’t realize it was that important to you. Staying human.” His hand covered hers, turned it palm up; he examined it with that same incurious stare. “I always assumed . . . I understand if you’re scared, but I’d be there with you. It’s not—”

“I’m not scared. I just don’t want to. I don’t see a good reason to.”

He looked up at her, his eyes shadowed. “Isn’t the—no. Never mind.” His expression cleared, as if he’d wiped it clear with a cloth. “This is your decision, darling. If it’s not something you want to do you’ll never be happy with having done it, will you? I’m not going to try to talk you into it. If the possibility of death isn’t enough, I don’t see what I could offer.”

The whole conversation felt wrong; her earlier exhaustion came roaring back, along with the odd certainty that something she didn’t understand had just happened.

Something she didn’t understand but should. She’d had that feeling before, hadn’t she? Something lurking in the back of her mind, a memory she couldn’t pin down. Hell, a memory she wasn’t sure was there at all.

And she was exhausted, and she had survived a murder attempt and had spent fifteen or twenty minutes convinced she’d killed a man. So it was entirely possible she was reading something into it that didn’t exist, spooking at shadows in her mind.

Not to mention the abrupt change of mood. And if she were honest, the fact that she didn’t think he’d ever been that direct about his feelings in regard to her.

That she was important to him she didn’t doubt, hadn’t in months, in almost a year. That he wanted her, wanted her company, she didn’t doubt. And although he’d never said it, she didn’t doubt that he loved her.

It wasn’t as odd as it might have seemed, the fact that he hadn’t said it. She hadn’t either. She’d never really felt the need. Actions worked better, said more; they both spent so much of their time talking, both at work and to each other, that it had simply never seemed necessary. Their Christmas together, when he’d given her the diamond necklace now sitting in her jewelry box on the dresser and told her he’d tried to find one as beautiful as she was but it had been an impossible task. The things she cooked for him and gave to one of the brothers to slip into his desk drawers or leave in his car when he wasn’t looking, so he’d find them and know she was thinking of him. The day he’d told her it was silly of her not to keep things at his place. The day she’d found her radio show on his iPod, because if he couldn’t listen to it live, he’d record it for later.

Those memories stood out, but there were hundreds of other, smaller moments that stood out just as much, that warmed her when she remembered them and made her feel secure. Words were lovely, but they were just words. They couldn’t always be trusted; she of all people knew that.

She didn’t always trust words. She hadn’t always trusted Greyson. But since that Christmas, she had, and he trusted her. That trust between them had been something solid enough, strong enough, to support them both.