She was wicked fast. She could run even faster than he, though he was stronger, faster than anyone in all the colonies. Faster than any other predator on earth.

Except, evidently, her.

He hadn’t been prepared for that either.

When he lost her trail around the dark corner of the bank building at Second Street, when all he could smell when he opened his senses was the vanishing trace of her perfume diffused through the heated, salt-laden air like a memory of something almost forgotten, he very nearly lost his mind.

Her apartment was the only place he could think to go—the only logical place to wait for her, though he kept carefully out of sight. He shed his clothes behind a stinking Dumpster in the back alley as he Shifted, discarding the handmade Italian suit as if it were offal, then rose as a fine mist to settle against the rough stucco wall of her apartment building.

He hovered there for hours in the warm evening air, spread so thin it was uncomfortable, knowing one strong gust of wind could tear him clean apart. He was thankful it wasn’t below freezing; there wouldn’t even be any bones left if he died like this.

The night was arid, the heated air so much drier than in England, even at the edge of the sea. He didn’t need to breathe—spread sheer and disembodied like smoke—or feel his heart beating like a drum or suffer the scorching of his blood through his veins. The sensations and burning passions of his body had disappeared. It was peaceful. Restful.

If only he could shut off his mind too.

He imagined her lost, injured, attacked by drug addicts, rapists, gang members. The longer he waited, the worse his fantasies became. For the first time in his life, he cursed himself. If he had the Gift of Foresight, he would know where to look. He could protect her.

He could do something.

She finally came stumbling through the silent, early hours of the morning with the look of a zombie raised from the dead: disheveled and shuffling, gray-faced, wide-eyed, stiff. The elegant lines of her dress were creased and thrown out of kilter, as if she’d slept in her car or fallen down. Repeatedly.

This did little to alleviate his anxiety.

He slid down the uneven wall of the old apartment building, molecule by molecule, flowing softly over cracks and bumps, past dark window panes, melting silently through the climbing ivy and flowering hibiscus until he found her bedroom window.

He settled as a gray plume of mist against the sill and waited.

Jenna came into sight through the dim corridor from the kitchen like a ghost materializing through the night, moving so slowly she seemed drugged, hands lifted slightly out in front of her as if she didn’t trust her eyes to lead the way. She didn’t turn on any lights. She stood in the doorway to her bedroom with one hand on the doorjamb, just looking around. She stared silently at her bed, the small desk in the corner with its lamp and photo frame, her closet door half-opened, the shoes she’d pulled out and decided not to wear earlier still lying on the carpet at the foot of the bed.

She finally passed a shaking hand over her face, smoothed her hair, and reached behind her neck to unzip her dress.

Leander sank from the windowsill and floated above the bed of mint outside her bedroom window, the fragrant, velvet leaves brushing against him, ruffling his edges. He allowed her the privacy of undressing and climbing into bed without his gaze on her, though it was all he could do to resist breaking down her door, taking her back to Sommerley right then, forcing her to return with him to the place he now knew was her rightful home.

She looked so lost. So frightened. So...vulnerable.

You are Alpha. She is Ikati. Do not fail her!

The need to protect her lashed at him, sudden and insistent. Unmerciful.

It had been done before. There were safeguards in place for these situations, defenses that would keep her bound, provisions in the Law. He could take her back, keep her there, make her safe.

Against the demand of every nerve in his body, he restrained himself, and waited.

Once inside her apartment through the now-familiar crack in the bathroom window, he Shifted to man and watched over her as she slept to make sure she was unhurt, watched for any sign of distress, watched to see if she would need him.

Arms akimbo, hair splayed wild over the pillow, she slept, restless and moaning, tossing the sheets like a drowning swimmer fighting the vast, relentless sea.

It was only when she finally began to stir from her haunted sleep, late in the morning as the sun slanted saffron and gold through the windows, he’d been able to leave her and return to the hotel.

“So it’s true, then,” said Christian, low. “The little stray can Shift. Who would have thought?”

From the sofa of the presidential suite, Christian watched Leander in the chair opposite with eyes that were unnaturally bright. He was tense and grim and there was something unusual in his voice, a hint of ragged emotion Leander had never seen him display before. Something about his whole demeanor set Leander’s nerves on edge, his instincts on high alert. Why would he care if Jenna could Shift or not?

“If she can sense an earthquake, smell the ghost of a decades-old fire in a glass of wine, and outrun me, I think she can definitely Shift. In fact,” Leander said, carefully watching Christian’s face, “she may turn out to be the most Gifted of us all.”

Leander kept his gaze on Christian as he stood from the couch, walked over to the glistening expanse of windows, and ran a hand through his thick hair.

“Son of a bitch,” Christian murmured, and nothing more.

“You seem...disturbed, brother.”

Christian turned to look at him. A muscle flexed in his jaw. “We’ve found the free-born, half-human, incredibly beautiful daughter of the tribe’s most powerful Alpha ever, and you’re telling me that not only do you think she can Shift, but that she might turn out to be more Gifted than us all. Yes. I’m disturbed. I’m definitely disturbed.”

Leander’s left eyebrow cocked. “Incredibly beautiful?”

Their gazes held for just a bit longer than Leander liked. Then Christian turned back to the window with a shrug. “None of my business, I suppose,” he muttered to the sunny view. “Second sons never get first choice.”

“Welcome to my world,” Morgan said from behind them as she swept into the room. “How’d you like to never even have a choice because what’s between your legs happens to not be a penis?”

“For God’s sake, Morgan,” Leander said sharply, his patience beginning to unravel. He turned to glare at her. “Enough of that! We need to focus on getting Jenna back to Sommerley before she runs away again. Before she Shifts for the first time. Right away. Today. Now.”

“No!” Morgan put her hands on her hips and glared right back at him, defiant.

She stood in the middle of the elegantly appointed suite wearing a dress he hadn’t seen before. It was made mostly of air, a thin wisp of black silk to her knees with diamond cutout patterns throughout, revealing large swaths of tanned, perfect skin and sculpted abdominal muscles. He narrowed his eyes and wondered how much it had cost him.

And were those python skin heels?

“Absolutely not! We’ve got another few days before her birthday! There’s no reason to rush this—”

“We are not on vacation, Morgan. Our purpose here is not to relax, sightsee, or shop—”

“Easy for you to say!” Morgan snapped, eyes flashing bright green and blade sharp. “You’ve been able to come and go as you please! You haven’t been cooped up your entire life, waiting for a chance to escape, hoping for—”

“Hoping for what?” Leander enunciated, quiet and very calm.

They stared at each other across the room.