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Or why this goddess you’ve never met would say it?”
    “I dunno, maybe she’s got a hard-on for Quinn.” Nick swung to face her. “Maybe she’s the one who created the leech, and she wants to get rid of me so you’re vulnerable. Which would make you an immediate target.”
    It was too logical to refute. “Maybe.”
    Sam, who’d been packing his computer into his tote, paused. “I should stay here tonight, then.”
    “Hell, no.” Nick swung himself upright and clapped a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “You know I’ve got it covered. Besides, you two keep saying she can’t be leeched until full moon.”
    He slid out from under Nick’s hand. “It can’t hurt to have another set of eyes and ears here.”
    “It’s okay,” Quinn said to stave off a fight. “I really believe nothing’s going to happen tonight. Go home and get some sleep.”
    Sam slung his bag over his shoulder, looking unhappy. “I’ll make sure they don’t need me out front. Let me know tomorrow if you come up with anything brilliant.” He didn’t look back as he left.
    Nick flashed his crooked grin at her. “Alone at last.”
    “Shut up.” Her fatigue had grown exponentially over the last hour. The only blessing was that it overwhelmed the residual hunger. Sam’s exit had deflated all the tension, too, and the relief left Quinn’s muscles as lax as her brain.
    Well, she didn’t know everyone’s age or power source, but she knew some. It wouldn’t hurt to write those, at least. She picked up the roster to make notes in each record.
    Nick watched her for a few minutes. “You look exhausted.”
    Quinn shot him a glare. “That’s probably because I am. It’s the end of the cycle,” she reminded him. “I’ll be okay.”
    “Why didn’t you recharge?” He toed off his boots, the action serving to add casualness to the question. “Isn’t that part of Sam’s job?”
    “No,” she snapped. “It’s not.”
    Nick didn’t move, but Quinn swore his entire body had tightened. “Since when?”
    “Why do you want to know?”
    “Why won’t you answer me?”
    Both their tones remained mild, but undercurrents surged. Quinn couldn’t face this now, not after last night’s emotional turmoil and today’s revelations.
    “It’s none of your business, Nick.”
    He drew in a breath. “Yeah, you’re right.” With a groan, he stretched until his fingers scraped the low ceiling. “I’m beat. You mind if I head to bed?”
    “No, go ahead. You know where things are.”
    “Yeah.”
    She flipped a page, skimmed the list, and made a couple more notes. Nick didn’t leave. She waited, but he just stood, the air heavy with everything he didn’t say.
    Finally, he moved away. “Good night, Quinn.”
    “Night, Nick.”
    When he closed the office door, she laid the roster on her desk and drew a deep breath of her own.
    She hadn’t wanted to admit it, but Alana’s response rattled her as much as everything else tonight. Maybe more. The leech threat was general, and even the “Nick is rogue” thing wasn’t about her. But Quinn was used to being in the midst of everything the Society did. Barbara Valiant, the president—who Quinn suspected was over a hundred years old—often consulted with her to get the “younger generation’s perspective.” Quinn had served on a dozen national committees since she’d turned twenty-one, ran the Ohio chapter for four years, and was finishing her second term on the board. When she went to meetings in Boston, she always had dinner with Alana, whom she’d thought was a friend. Her abrupt dismissal didn’t compute.
    Unless they’d not only heard Nick had gone rogue, they believed it.
    And they thought Quinn was involved.

Chapter Three
    Fear and ignorance have always put Society members in danger. This reality spawned the Protectorate, an ancient organization of bodyguards, discrete from the Society, self-governed and autonomous and funded by a centuries-old wealth managed in trust. Any goddess