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Yveswich was a beautiful place. The majority of the buildings were old, most of the roads cobbled instead of paved. The blend of new technology with old architecture turned the urban sprawl into a sight to behold; she couldn’t pull her eyes off her window. There were waterfalls on higher terrain, a few draining into the ocean at lower levels, and canals wove like water serpents through the districts, permeating the air with the fresh scent of water.

Loren was so distracted by how much there was to see that the drive to Roman’s house was over in no time. She had a sneaking suspicion that Darien was watching her very closely, but every time she turned to look at him, he was purposely staring elsewhere.

Darien rolled the car to a stop in front of a wrought-iron gate. A giant white house with a dark blue roof sat at the end of a driveway that glistened with rain.

He lowered the water-streaked window and flicked a button on the dial pad of the intercom. “Pax,” he called, “open the gate.”

A young, nasally male voice said, “What’th the path-word?”

Darien rolled his eyes. “Eugene, for fuck’s sake, it’s Darien. Open the gate, it’s pissing out here.”

“So bossy,” Eugene grumbled. The line disconnected with a squeal, and a moment later, the gate rolled open.

Darien drove around a fountain, the others inching up behind him, and came to stop in front of the garage. The doors groaned open, and he pulled in, the others claiming the spot on the right.

“I want you to feel comfortable here,” Darien said as he shut off the headlights and cut the engine. “Roman isn’t here, but his little brother Paxton is. That was Eugene who just spoke to us—he’s Kylar’s brother and Paxton’s friend. You can trust everyone in this house—I promise.”

“Okay.”

He unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the door. “Wait right there, I’ll help you get out.”

Loren undid her belt. “I think I’d like to try to walk on my own.”

But Darien was already out of the car, his hellseher speed allowing him to reach her door far quicker than any mortal.

He opened it, and she stepped out, moving carefully. She still felt so weak that even the slightest movements sprinkled her vision with stars. It was frustrating, to say the least. She had spent her whole life dealing with problems that involved low blood sugar and fainting spells, but never anything quite this bad.

Darien shut her door for her and walked at her side. He moved at her pace, one hand extended toward her. “I’m going to keep my hand like this,” he said, his deep voice echoing in the cavernous garage. “If you feel like you’re going to fall, or if you need the support, don’t be afraid to hang onto me.”

She was so focused on walking, on willing her muscles to obey her commands, that she nearly didn’t answer. She managed a very subtle nod—and a glance at Darien’s hand. Callused and flecked with silvery scars.

The others were behind them—murmuring and lingering by the vehicles. Waiting for her to get in first, she realized. When she reached the few steps that led up to the interior door, she grasped the rail and climbed them.

As she moved, she peeked up—and up and up—at Darien. Gods, he was massive. She wondered how tall he was.

The inside of the house was even more beautiful than the outside. A couple pre-teens stood just down the hall—both of them gangly, one with white skin, the other brown. The first one had freckles on his nose and dark, messy hair. The second had a mop of black curls and thick, round glasses that were too big for his face.

“She’s awake!” the freckled one exclaimed with a dimpled grin.

“Loren, this is Paxton,” Darien said, still moving at her pace, that hand ready to catch her. He gestured to the other kid. “And that’s Eugene, the paranoid termite.”

“Holy smokes!” said Eugene with a thick lisp. “I didn’t think she was going to wake up!”

“Eugene,” called a gravelly, unimpressed voice from somewhere behind Loren. Kylar Lavin. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“We’re hungry,” Paxton pouted. “You guys have been gone for hours.”

The kids stepped aside, making room for the group to get down the rest of the hall and into the house. The high ceilings were vaulted, and there were a lot of big windows, making the house feel open and impossibly more spacious. The rooms were very clean, and what she could see of the furniture appeared new, hardly any wear on anything. Straight ahead was a massive living room and kitchen, candles that smelled of vanilla glowing on the coffee table and kitchen counters. The light above the stove was on, but aside from that, it was pretty dim in here.

Darien flicked a switch in the living room, brightening the low lights above the television and fireplace.

Loren’s head spun. She stopped by the fireplace, hand moving to grasp the corner of the wall.

Darien was at her side immediately. “May I?” He held his arms out toward her in offer.

She nodded, and he scooped her up again, though he picked her up differently this time—one arm behind her back, the other under the backs of her legs. He carried her into the kitchen, used his boot to kick out a chair at the table, and sat her down, waiting to make sure she was balanced before letting go.

She cleared her throat. “Can I have a shower?” She really wanted a few minutes alone to process everything—and scrub her hair. Ivy and Joyce might have claimed she didn’t smell, but she would feel better if she had a proper shower—her first in two weeks. What she could see of her hair was tangled and frizzy; she wasn’t looking forward to trying to fight a brush through it.