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My mind runs over and over the past few minutes.

A terrible, looping repeat, I see Ophelia’s pale throat bared, Philippe’s fangs, the cruel satisfaction in his eyes. I hear her words, his, and I don’t know how to make sense of it, how toeven begin to unravel and understand what happened, so I rasp out the first thing that comes to mind.

“You shouldn’t have met with Philippe without me.”

Ophelia huffs an indignant breath. “I tried calling, and you didn’t—”

“Then you should have waited until I did.” It’s a harsher tone than I meant to take, and I barely recognize the sound of my voice.

“Oh, fuck off with that,” Ophelia snaps. “You didn’t wait for me before going off to meet with one of yourbrothers.”

My veins turn to ice. Philippe must have told her about our conversation.

“What the hell is up with the three of you, anyway? Because I fucking swear, Cas, if you’ve been playing me in all of this, I’m going to—”

“Enough.” Her lips snap shut, and my knuckles ache with as hard as I’m gripping the steering wheel. “You know nothing about the past I share with Philippe and Marcus.”

The stoplight ahead of us changes from yellow to red faster than I was expecting, and I bite out a curse as I hit the brakes. Ophelia braces a hand on the dash and glares at me.

“Fine. But if you’re too pissed off to get me home in one piece, let me know and I’ll get out here.”

A wave of shame surges up to join my anger and regret. It chokes me, leaves me unable to answer as cars pass through the intersection in front of us, casting the interior of the car in flashes of light and deep shadow.

Ophelia reaches for the door handle. “Fuck this. I’m outta—”

“Enough.” I hit the locks, and she whips her head toward me.

“Real mature.” Ophelia turns back to the door, fumbling in the dark for the lock, but the light turns before she can find it and I hit the gas.

Throwing herself from a moving car must be a less appealing prospect than the misery of staying here with me, and she lets out an irritated breath and settles back into her seat.

“Can you at least tell me what the fuck happened back there?”

I don’t answer her.

“Cas, seriously, what the hell was that between the two of you? And does it have anything to do with the case?”

Again, I remain silent, thoughts too much of a tangle and throat too tight to dredge up any words.

It seems to unsettle Ophelia enough for her to fall silent, too, though at the next intersection she doesn’t make another escape attempt.

Small victories, I suppose.

The silence between us lasts all the way back to my home, growing all that much heavier as I turn off the ignition.

Barely suppressing the urge to circle around to the passenger door and pull her out of the car so I can carry her inside, I climb out, close my door behind me, and head for the house.

It’s up to Ophelia if she wants to follow.

It has to be her choice.

As it stands, I feel my control fraying to a single, straining thread. I don’t know how much longer it will last, but I do know that if I get too close, I’m not going to be able to stop myself from wrapping my arms around her, getting my lips on her, my fangs. I’m going to hold her close and keep her there until I have answers, until I understand just what the hell happened tonight.

So I turn away and head for the door, not daring to hope that she might follow.

25

Ophelia