As Butch offered his palm for a high five, Xhex laid one on him and the clap was loud in the room even with all the background noise.

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about,” Butch said as he sat back in his chair. “Unbelievable.”

“What is?” Marissa asked.

“Xhex was … well, actually, first, I was in an alley … Ah, lemme back up…” He swiped his hand through the air. “Actually, it’s too much to explain. Bottom line, I was cornered with my pants down with two lessers, and Xhex had J.M.’s phone on her when I texted for backup. She came in a flash and—” Butch stopped short and shook his head. “Anyway.”

Marissa waited for him to go on. “Anyway…? What happened?”

Butch cleared his throat and took a sip from the Lagavulin in his glass. “It’s not important. It’s just, you know, stuff.”

“You were in trouble, weren’t you.”

He drew again from his rim. “It all worked out.”

“Thanks to Xhex.”

“You haven’t eaten anything.”

She glanced down at her plate. “Oh, yeah. No, I had a meal before I left Safe Place.”

Both of them fell silent.

As the ribbing surged among the Brothers, Marissa felt herself receding, stepping behind an invisible screen that dimmed the sounds and the senses.

“You ready to go?” Butch asked a little later as people started to get up from the table.

“Sure. Yes. Thank you.”

On the way to the archway, Butch stopped to talk to V, the pair of them putting their heads together and murmuring. Meanwhile, Xhex walked off from the table with her mate, John’s hand traveling down onto the tight ass in those pants, squeezing, pulling her toward him. He had eyes only for his mate, his warrior’s body clearly needing to blow off steam.

The response?

Xhex let out a growl, the female’s eyes locking on John Matthew’s as she bared her fangs—like a lioness setting the stage for what was going to be a marathon sex session.

Clearly, she had an edge she intended to file off with her hellren as well.

“We’re set for tomorrow, then, true?” V said as he offered his palm to Butch.

“It’s a go.” Butch clapped hands with the Brother, their two heads getting close once more, their voices dropping so she heard only parts of the conversation: “Yeah. That’s right. Uh-huh. See you back at the Pit?”

“You got it.”

Butch gave Vishous’s enormous shoulder a squeeze before turning to Marissa. “You good?”

“Mm-hmm,” she said.

When Marissa went to walk along with him, she realized she still had her wineglass in her hand. “Let me put this back, hold on.”

Going against the tide, she smiled at Autumn and Tohr, nodded to Payne and Manny—waved across the way at Bella and Nalla. Leaning over her still-full but completely disorganized plate, she put the glass back and wished Fritz and the staff would let anyone help them clear the table.

When she turned back around, she paused.

Butch was standing in the archway, legs braced in his leathers, brows down tight. None of that was unusual. But he’d taken the enormous gold cross he always wore out from under his shirt and was playing with it, winding the heavy weight in and out of his fingertips.

An odd sense of foreboding came over her.

“Marissa?” a female voice said.

Jumping to attention, she smiled at Bella. “Hey. I was watching you two across the table. Are you a cutie?” She gave Nalla’s cheek a little stroke. “I think you are, yes, I do.”

“She’s too much to carry now.” Bella bent down and put the young on her now-steady legs. “And I’m investing in running shoes.”

“For you or her?”

Nalla took off at a dead run, but across the way, her father was on her, striding tight on those little heels. Even though he looked like a looming monster with his scarred face, skull-trimmed hair and slave tattoos, Nalla giggled in delight, glancing back and smiling up at her daddy as she ran, ran, ran around the table and dodged in and out of the doggen who were clearing.

“I need Nikes for the both of us.” Bella smiled. “Listen, I wanted to ask you. I heard a rumor you’re going to be chairing the Twelfth Month Festival Ball—”

“What?”

Bella frowned. “Wait, I thought … did I get this wrong?”

“No, it’s okay.” Great. “What were you going to say?”

“I just wanted to tell you that I’d like to help in any way I can. I was surprised to hear that you took it on, but I get why you would. We need … I don’t know, I think it’s time for the race to reestablish the traditions that worked. There was a lot that didn’t, but the festivals are important—”

An unhappy wail lit off in the now-empty room as Nalla lurched and was caught by her father just in time.

“Crap, I gotta go,” Bella said. “She’s having growing pains. It’s been a long couple of days, I’ll tell you. Just remember I’m here for you, okay?”

Bella hightailed off for her family, reaching out for Nalla, who in turn put out one arm for her mahmen. The other stayed with Dad … so that the three of them were united.

Yes, Marissa, thought. Growing pains were a hard time, at least from what she had heard. For some reason, vampire young struggled with spurts of intense growth, as opposed to the long, slow, steady route to adult height that humans enjoyed.

Just one more fun part to the species.

Like their festivals.

Marissa rubbed her temples as she went back over to Butch. “God, my head is pounding.”

“Is it?” he said. “Let’s get you into bed.”

“Good idea. I think I need some sleep.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you look tired.”

“I am.”

Annnnnnd that was pretty much the end of her night: Ten minutes later she was in bed, eyes closing, images of the last few hours flashing like strobe lights through her head.

While Butch headed back out to sit in the Pit’s living room.

Alone.

Chapter Four

The following evening, Paradise took the bus to school.

So to speak.

There were actually two “buses,” each holding about thirty people, and any similarities between the ubiquitous yellow mini-human transporters ended with the shared name. The vehicles the Brotherhood used to pick up the training center candidates were like something out of White House Down, all black inside and out, with thick, darkened windows that had to be bulletproof, tires like snowplows, and grilles that reminded her of a T. rex.

Like everyone else, she had dematerialized to a tract of vacant land out to the west of Caldwell’s suburbs. Her father had wanted to go with her, but it had seemed important to start as she meant to go on. This was her independent decision; she needed to do what everyone else did—and she was pretty certain no one else would bring a chaperone.

Especially not a chaperone who happened to be the King’s First Adviser.

To see nearly sixty people she didn’t recognize had been a surprise. Then again, the application had made it clear that anyone was allowed to join the program, so there were a lot of civilians. Actually, it looked as if it was all civilians and the male/female ratio was, like, ten to one.

But at least her sex was allowed.

Refocusing, Paradise shifted in her seat and made sure her elbow didn’t disturb the male who was sitting next to her. Other than exchanging names—his was Axe—they hadn’t said anything, and his brooding silence fit his image completely: The male had killer written all over him, with his black spiked hair, those black piercings on one side of his face, and that tattoo of something evil running vertically up half of his neck.

If her father knew she was thisclose to a male like that? They’d have to put Abalone on life support.

And this was exactly why she’d wanted to do the program. It was time to break out of the restrictions of her station—and cut the hothouse flower crap. If working around the King had taught her anything, it was that no matter what class you were in, tragedy didn’t discriminate, justice could always be served, and nobody got out of this life alive.