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“Ryker.”

“Sorry.” He sprang to his feet and walked it off. Put it away. “You were saying.”

“Look, we don’t have to talk about Jacqueline. I didn’t mean to bring her up, but I can’t have this conversation honestly and ignore what she did to you.”

“My own fault. Won’t happen again.”

Another soft hiss.

“What?” Ryker said.

“It wasn’t your fault, man. She was pathological, and you happened to be there.”

Now it was Ryker’s turn to hiss. He lengthened the sound, a first and final warning. Not even Tai got to tell him he wasn’t responsible for letting Jacqueline deceive him for ten freaking months, flatter and promise and convince him she cared. That he meant something to her beyond his substantial paycheck, beyond the Maddox name. That when he let her see his deepest vulnerabilities, she would guard them as he had committed to guarding hers.

Turned out her vulnerabilities were all fake. And he hadn’t seen it for ten months. Despite the vampire ability to perceive a person’s every micro-expression, Ryker hadn’t seen Jacquelineusing him, hadn’t seen the signs of cheating until the night she paraded every sign in front of his stupid face.

“She really enjoyed it.” The words were a dry whisper he hadn’t planned to let out.

“Like I said. Pathological.”

“Leslie isn’t.”

“I want that to be true, man,” Tai said. “And I know it probably is. But—look, if you watched a woman rip my guts out, wouldn’t you worry a little the next time I tried dating? Maybe tell me to be careful?”

He would. Of course he would, because Tai was his best friend. But Ryker wasn’t Tai.

Tai Kristiansen was an outstanding blend of confidence and benevolence that Ryker had admired for years. He was also sometimes plagued by his own nature in ways Ryker couldn’t comprehend. Certain odors drove him to distraction, and the thirst… The irony of such a deeply caring man thirsting so hard for blood was a cruel trick of the universe, if you asked Ryker.

So of course he would act to defend his friend. Tai fought enough battles. Ryker would never let him fight one alone that he could step into and help his friend win.

But Ryker didn’t need the same sort of guarding. Ryker wasn’t overly kind. Ryker wasn’t overly reactive. Ryker was an achiever, a puzzle solver, steel at the core where Tai was secretly cotton.

“I hear you,” he said despite all the ways they were different, all the ways he didn’t need help.

“Sure you do.” Definitely an eye roll there.

“No, Tai, I mean it,” and this time he did. “I’ll keep my eyes open.”

“Okay. Well. Good.”

A comfortable silence spread between them. Ryker had planned to stay in his room until sunup, nothing open and nowhere to be at four in the morning in a town run by humansfor humans. But freshly slaked and still buzzing with the thrill of the last few hours, he suddenly couldn’t stand the confinement of four puny hotel walls. He snatched his keys, wallet, and phone from the table and walked out of the room, pocketing the phone carefully to avoid hanging up.

From his pocket Tai said, “Where are you going?”

“Twenty-minute drive back to Harmony Ridge, then thought I’d walk the town.”

“Good call. Keep an open mind. Treat it like a forensic case, try to solve the mystery: what do people love about living in a Tennessee mountain town?”

“Hmm.”

Ryker shut the door and jogged silently down the hall. The exit gave him two options—a small balcony outside and a stairwell to the main floor exit. He stepped out onto the balcony, and the humid night air was like a caress.

“You want to get to know her, right? Apart from a ten-year-old questionnaire. If she grew up there and chose to come back, she’s got reasons.”

Shoot. Tai was right again. “Yeah, okay, that’s not a bad point. Talk later.”

“Yep.”