shifted to Lindsay.

“What happens now?” Lindsay asked quietly. If Dane wasn’t leaving, maybe he could tell Lindsay

what was going on.

“They tell us.” Dane came to the bed and ran a hand over Lindsay’s hair. “It’s not your fault. Relax.”

Lindsay shook his head, his cheek rubbing against the pillow. “She said it was. And he’s angry.”

“He’s always like that when the world doesn’t conform to his plans. It’s not you.” Dane watched

Lindsay for a moment and lay back down where he had been. “Go to sleep, little bunny. Cyrus is angry at

bigger things than you or me.”

Lindsay knew he was being presumptuous, but that didn’t stop him from curling himself right up next

to Dane, where it was warmest. He closed his eyes. “He’s not going to make me leave?”

“No.” Dane tugged Lindsay against his chest with a grumble. “Too amusing to watch me try to take

care of you.”

Lindsay sighed softly. His headache was receding, leaving him tired but in less pain. Dane was warm

and big. Safe. Familiar. Lindsay liked being so close to him, liked the warmth and the security and the

contact. Dane was attractive too, and that certainly didn’t hurt matters. Lindsay fell asleep almost happy, in spite of his pain and his failure.

Dane was half-dozing—no sense wasting rest time—when the door to Lindsay’s room opened. He

could smell Vivian before he saw her, and he caught the scent of Earl Grey tea even stronger than her

perfume. He swallowed his growl at the intrusion and resisted the urge to curl himself around the little body pressed up against his.

“How is he?” Vivian tiptoed into the room. Dane could hear cups singing ever so softly against their

saucers.

Dane didn’t answer, but nuzzled in Lindsay’s hair and breathed in. Lindsay was better, but not well,

and he was limp and heavy with sleep. Usually, he slept lightly, like he was afraid of never waking up

again, startling at every little sound. Dane moved carefully to unwrap himself from Lindsay. He never

stirred, and that made Dane feel ill.

Once he was on his feet and across the room, Dane murmured, “Shit, that’s how. Breathing, but I

don’t know what the fuck happened to him. I should have thought more about what I asked him to do.”

“Not your fault,” Vivian said softly. She knew as well as he did what a light sleeper Lindsay was—

Dane was forever growling at her for clicking around in her heels on the floor above while Lindsay was

resting. “You know you have to get him ready as soon as possible. Tea?”

“No.” Dane crouched to build the fire up again. Lindsay’s skin was still clammy.

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“I’ll have some, then.” She poured herself a cup and Dane heard her footfalls moving across the room

to the bed.

Vivian was one of the few people in the world who didn’t cringe or even change scent in the face of

Dane’s presence, much less his ill temper. Cyrus was another.

He let his thoughts sink back under the surface of the present that was full of enough sensory

information to keep his mind out of trouble. He didn’t bother with the tools for building up the fire. He

used his bare hands and watched the blisters fade as fast as they swelled when he got too close to the

flames.

When he straightened and turned around, Vivian was sitting in the large chair by Lindsay’s bed,

watching him. “He’ll be fine, you know.”

“I know.” Dane couldn’t make things better by sitting and staring, and he couldn’t go out, so he

passed the bed to stand at the window. Outside, the dark was gathering and snow was dusting the ground.

He wanted out, out of the stifling heat and the guilt, to roam his city and forget how bad he was at all of this.

“I understand you got the new girl settled in,” Vivian said, offering up the thread of conversation.

Dane wasn’t going anywhere, so he took it. She had that lilt in her voice that said she knew what he’d been up to already, but they could pretend otherwise. Cyrus was never happy with anyone being too social. Dane

was damn hard-pressed to feel guilty about it. Cyrus hadn’t said a thing about Dane keeping his hands off

Kristan.

“Figured you wouldn’t put her through all her paces. Just trying to be thorough. She going to be trouble?” The cold was shimmering off the glass, reaching out to touch Dane’s skin.

“She’s crude and crass, but pragmatic. And she understands when she’s got to be working and when

she can screw around. Literally or otherwise.” Vivian sounded satisfied. “Watch yourself around her. She’s

got that pheromone thing going on. She’s mean too. Got a cruel streak a mile wide, but it’s a good thing. I kind of like her, actually.”

“You’re a mean woman yourself,” Dane pointed out. “You’re just glad to have someone around who

makes you look sweet.” He grinned at the face she made.

“Screw you, Dane,” she said without heat.

“Are you volunteering? Because I could use something to kill the time.” Dane leered at her over his

shoulder. It was their game; it hadn’t had much meaning in years. Didn’t mean he wouldn’t have taken her

up on it if she’d ever meant it, nor that she would have refused him if he’d been serious.

Vivian rolled her eyes at him, though affectionately. “Not me. I’m supposed to be watching the boy so

you can stretch your legs. Or something. Kristan might take you up on it, the way she was complaining

about not getting to go out trawling the bars.”

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“Cyrus sent you?” Dane turned around, feeling hopeful at the idea that he wasn’t being punished for

failing to take care of the boy.

“You can’t sit in here and sulk all night.” That wasn’t an answer. “There’s beer in the fridge. Steak.”

Vivian sipped her tea and smiled. “I promise not to tell if you don’t cook it.”

It was Dane’s turn to roll his eyes. “And if I’m not hungry?”

“Then you’ll enjoy my company for the evening.” She looked awfully sweet and harmless for

someone so irritating. “You won’t throw me out, because it would wake your little charge.” As if to make

her point, Lindsay shifted restlessly, his expression twisting into a discontented pout. “I’ll take good care of him, Dane.”

Dane wanted to go over and pull the blankets up that Lindsay had disarranged and to smooth back the

hair that was clinging to his cheek, just to tidy him up. He hated things being out of order. Doing it would only amuse Vivian more. There had been a time, long ago, when things had been more equal between

them. “See that you do,” he murmured.

Screw pride. Dane took the few steps to the bed. Pointedly ignoring Vivian, he stroked Lindsay’s hair

back and straightened the blankets. The unhappy expression faded from Lindsay’s face as Dane sorted

things out, and Lindsay sighed heavily, relaxing into a deeper sleep. Maybe he shouldn’t leave.

“Dane,” Vivian said firmly. If he didn’t leave, she might have something to say to Cyrus about it, and

he might give Lindsay to someone else, Vivian or Kristan, to care for. Dane’s task didn’t involve

attachment—attachment could hinder Lindsay’s development and Dane’s objectivity. As much as Dane

didn’t want the task, the idea of giving it up was anathema. He wasn’t going to think on that, either.

“Going.” He left without looking back, without saying goodbye.

Downstairs, he went to the fridge and pulled out a couple beers. The streets were calling, but he

needed to stay here to watch over the house. There were bare footfalls on the stairs and he turned to see a redhead coming down. Kristan. She was dressed in an over-sized T-shirt and nothing else that he could see,