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and blew as
the wind howled. “Is this happening tonight?”
    Alistair tilted his head, closed his eyes, and reached out into
the darkness with his mind, looking for a connection. He found nothing, only
night and storm.
    “I don’t think so,” Alistair said, opening his eyes again. “But
after tonight, you need to stay upstairs. Or elsewhere.” He managed a small
curve of his lips. “Not that your kitchen knife wasn’t appreciated.”
    Brie shook her head gently. “And here I was, all this time,
thinking you just didn’t like me.”
    The admission startled him, and guilt twisted in his gut. “It
should be obvious by now that I like you quite a
lot. More than I ought to.”
    “More than you want to,” Brie said, looking into her tea as
though it might hold some of the answers she was still looking for.
    “What I want has been irrelevant for years now. I do what I
need to, until this is done.” His eyes drifted over her, curled innocently on
his couch with her tea. Possessiveness made a hard, hot knot in his chest. He
couldn’t deny it—Brie was exactly where he wanted her.
    The prospect of leaving here tomorrow left him with a sick,
sinking feeling. He had no choice, once again. Owain knew him far too well. If
he discovered Brie, he would quickly mark her as a valuable prize...and Owain
liked to play with his prey. This was a misstep he hadn’t intended to make,
Alistair thought. If he didn’t act quickly, it would be the downfall of him. Too
much was at stake to let that happen.
    Brie was looking at him in the oddest way. It unsettled him,
until Alistair finally said, “Don’t pity me, Brie. I get by well enough, and it
isn’t forever.”
    “It’s not pity.”
    “Then what?”
    “I just have to wonder...you’ve sacrificed a lot for your pack.
To take care of them.”
    Alistair shrugged uncomfortably, not wanting her to lionize
him. He was just a man, at the heart of it. One who took his responsibilities
seriously. That didn’t make him a hero. It often made him tired.
    “They’re an unruly lot. Someone has to.”
    “I’m sure,” she said. “But that doesn’t tell me what I want to
know.”
    “Which is?”
    She didn’t move a muscle, but her voice was as warm and smooth
as any caress could be.
    “Who takes care of you?”

SIX
    Alistair’s shocked, slightly panicked expression told
Brie that she’d hit on the one thing he really didn’t want to talk about.
Unfortunately, it was the thing she found she most wanted to know. Five years
completely alone, she thought, and he’d spent much longer than that isolating
himself to protect his pack. “I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” Alistair
finally stammered. “I’m a five hundred year old werewolf!”
    Brie looked back at him skeptically. “You’re living in an
apartment in a little Vermont town, and you never talk to anyone. Except...”She
looked around with a frown, suddenly remembering. “Don’t you have a cat? I
always hear you talk when you, ah, come home.” She flushed, realizing that she’d
just made it sound like she listened for him. Which she did. Brie hunched her
shoulders, aware that she probably looked fairly pathetic.
    Alistair burst into unexpected laughter. It was the first time
she’d heard the sound, and it was richer, and sweeter, than she could have
expected.
    “No,” he said as he subsided into chuckling. “Cats don’t like
me, for obvious reasons. I have a fish.”
    “A...fish?” It was so normal that after all he’d told her, it
actually seemed a little bizarre.
    “A betta,” he said. “Galahad. He’s lovely. No, don’t look at me
like it’s sad, I know it is. I’d rather have a dog, but I’d worry too much about
it, considering.”
    “You talk to your fish.” Brie considered this. “That’s actually
kind of sweet.”
    Alistair snorted, looking mildly embarrassed. “I’m not sweet . Gods, I’m glad none of my pack is around to
hear that. I’ve got a reputation to uphold, you