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“Thanks,” she murmured.

He nodded and walked out.

Alex slipped into the shirt she’d worn the night before, breathing in Jericho’s scent as she pulled it over her head. Once dressed, she climbed into bed and tugged the blanket up to her chin.

Alone.

Reality crept through her veins. She shivered and curled up on her side, pulling her knees to her chest. What had she been thinking? She wasn’t going to thank Jericho, she was going to ask him to stay, to talk, to…

Shit. To what? Hold her hand and share his feelings, the same way she had on the bathroom vanity? Because she hadn’t embarrassed herself enough for one night.

Nobody had ever seen her sobare—in so many ways.

Her pulse thrummed at the memory. The way she’d clung to him, savoring his touch. It was as if something inside of her reached out, desperate for the comfort he offered. And for a moment, she’d stopped resisting. It was so easy to give in to the temptation to lean on him and let him hold together the broken pieces, even if it was just for a little while.

But that one moment of weakness could never be repeated.

She heaved a sigh, ignoring the twinge of disappointment humming through her conscience. This situation with Jericho was temporary. And that was a good thing, for both of their sakes. Everyone she loved and depended on had been taken from her. Even Liam, a man she’d believed was invincible.

Maybe her mother was right. Maybe she really was cursed.

The thought of something happening to Jericho sent a sharp stab of pain through her chest. She’d have to be more careful, keep some distance between them. When Liam woke, they’d both be free to go their separate ways. Jericho would go back to his life, and she would go back to hers. Back to Liam.

She lifted her head and punched the pillow into a comfortable lump, adding a couple extra whacks for good measure before settling in again. Over the years, she’d gotten used to standing on her own two feet. She didn’tneedanyone to lean on. Liam had watched over her, but she’d supported herself and her father for years, refusing to be anyone’s charity case. Even when Liam put his mark on her neck, she’d insisted on pulling her weight at his bar.

Her jaw clenched. She’d need to be stronger if she was going to keep Liam safe and hold her own with the powerful clan leader.

And now, thanks to Slade, she understood exactly what she needed to do.

Thirteen

Two weeks later…

Victor’suniformed driver brought the sleek sedan to a stop. Alex leaned around Jericho to peer out the tinted window. Colorful lights painted the line of eager nightclub patrons waiting outside. Pulse was a place where influential members of human society and the supernatural mingled, creating a dangerous combination of power, greed, and supremacy. She doubted the humans in the club were aware of how low they ranked on the food chain. Or worse, they knew and participated willingly.

The day after the shower incident, she’d returned to Claymore, despite Jericho’s objections. He’d wanted to stall, giving her a chance to recover.

Have a meltdown in the shower, beg a vampire to nibble on your neck, and suddenly you’re seen as unstable. Go figure.

Still, she didn’t blame him for his concern. In that moment, she’d been weak, whiny, and unfaithful to her fake lover, Liam. The last seemed to trouble Jericho the most. He’d hardly laid a finger on her since.

Once they’d returned to Claymore, she’d confronted Victor over the underhanded Slade set-up. Next, she’d confronted her reservations about working with the clan leader. Then, she’d confronted her fears. Well, one or two of them, anyway. Fact was, she couldn’t escape something that was such an integral part of her. The level of that dreaded psychic well was rising. She needed to gain control before it spilled over, flooding every aspect of her life. It was past time she used her ability, ensuring no one messed with her or someone she loved ever again.

“How much time do we have?” she asked, voice tight. Since this was her first assignment, Victor insisted she come early to get a senseof the place.

“We’ve got about two hours to play until we meet with Larimore,” Colin answered. Tone jovial, blue eyes gleaming, he was a kid in front of a candy store. Anticipation rolled off him in waves.

After she’d brought Slade to his knees, Victor decided he didn’t want her poking around in his head anymore. Lucky her, Jericho’s partner, Colin, volunteered to be her study buddy during training. Apparently, Victor believed Colin had a couple brain cells to spare. Over the past two weeks, she’d come to agree.

Not wanting to ruin Colin’s fun, she bit back a bitter comment. Playing the role of lie detector in a crowded nightclub wasn’t her idea of a party. Pulse had been experiencing more than its fair share of drugactivity, so Victor arranged for them to meet with the manager. It was Alex’s job to discover if Mr. Larimore knew more about the issue than he let on.

The flash of a roving spotlight lit Jericho’s foreboding profile. “Stay close to me inside. There were several incidents here just last week.”

She shivered, the fine hairs on her arms bristling. Black ice suppressed the user’s humanity and inhibitions. Toss in a little alcohol, mix it with a decadent club atmosphere, and you had a recipe for disaster.

“Any cases of overdose?” she dared to ask.

Jericho’s censorious look was answer enough. An overdose meant there’d been a rogue attack. She clenched her hands in her lap, shoving down memories of a red-eyed monster and her mother’s screams.