Chapter One

Home might be where the heart is, but more importantly, it's where my vibrator is.

My time on the run had taught me to appreciate how nice it felt to go to my quiet house and enjoy a lovely orgasm or two all on my own. No annoying men, no other complications. Just me and bliss!

I'd spent most of the past two weeks since my entire life had gotten turned upside down, since I'd cleared my name after getting framed for murder, since I'd gotten a seat on the council doing just that.

Despite the messiness of, well, everything, I'd taken my ass back to my own little house and shut the rest of the world out.

Not that it had mattered. I'd gotten a visit from Galen—the pack alpha who still seemed determined to talk me into becoming his mate—but I'd refused to answer. And fuck, I had never worked so hard for a climax as when I'd pretended not to hear him knocking at the front door. I couldn't let him win, though, and had refused to let him steal even one moment of joy from me.

My phone vibrated, which was not the specific tool I needed to do that at the moment. Still, I rolled over and picked it up from my nightstand, frowning as I read the screen.

I wanted to ignore the call, but my finger moved without me thinking it through to answer.

"You've ignored me for over a week." Ruben's voice came out annoyed as ever, with him speaking as though already mid-lecture.

"And? I didn't know I had to answer to you. You aren't my boss anymore, right?"

The long moment before he answered had me smirking, wondering if I'd finally gotten the better of him. "You don't have to leave your position as a courier. Besides, even if you choose to do so, as a sitting council head, you still must answer to me. You are not immune from my authority."

I moved my lips along, mocking him without making a sound. I didn't need him to realize just how childish I could be.

"Stop acting like a child."

I sat up, then peered around. "How did you know? Are you spying on me or something?"

"I have better things to do than sneak into your pigsty of a home and peep on you. Your naked body lacks the appeal for me to sink that low. I simply know you well enough to predict you couldn't just behave yourself."

"Wow, rude much? You, for sure, won't see me naked now." I pursed my lips, then tried to shake off the annoyance. I needed to focus so I could get off the phone and back to my own little orgasm-filled world. "So, why are you calling me?"

He paused then, which made me want to laugh. I knew that pause, the one that said he wasn't sure what to say next.

Of course, where I expected such things from people like myself, people who often ended up in situations over their head that they hadn't planned for, hearing it from Ruben was beyond weird.

I had to fight the urge to ask if he had a fever or had somehow lost his mind. I had a feeling that even if either were true, he wouldn't tell me.

Finally, he let out a breath that could have almost been a sigh. "After everything that happened, you really wonder why I might call you?"

I pressed my lips together, then leaned back in my bed, tossing the trusty vibrator aside. Ruben had a deep voice sexy enough to help in my fantasies, but unless he stopped lecturing me or I grew a kink for that, I had a feeling I was getting nowhere until we finished up our little conversation.

"So this is a ‘hey, how're you' call? Well, I'm just peachy keen, thank you very much."

"You have been ignoring all calls, from what I understand."

"Haven't seen a reason to speak to anyone."

His censure came down the line without him having to utter a word. That was the strength of his disapproval aura, though. I'd bet it could bend space and time to make someone feel bad. "You show up and turn the system on its head, then think you can disappear as though it had never happened? You added a seat to the council, Grey, a seat you now occupy."

"Technically, I didn't create it. That guy did."

"Speaking of, would you happen to know who he is?"

"I figured you'd know better than I would. I know I'm a weird guy magnet, but I don't have all the answers. He made me, and I never saw him again in person until he showed up at the trial. He said I could call him Knot, but beyond that? He never even told me he was coming." I let out a soft laugh at that, at how he'd saved me and annoyed me at the same time. "How can you not know? You know everything."

Ruben let out a rough, disgruntled sound full of frustration. "I know what is in the old books, the forbidden ones, but there are still countless tomes locked away even from me. I've found that the old stories say there were gods other than the four represented by the council seats. Some died, some were killed, some simply had no wish to participate. They each have a color of their own, but those colors are not listed anywhere I could find to identify."

"So no who's-who of the Spirit world?"

"It seems not."

"I guess it doesn't matter. It doesn't tell us anything important because those books are written about nonsense. I mean, most people still think that the old gods are just stories, but there one stood, very lively for a story."

He said nothing back, and I could almost see him grinding his molars through the line.

I chuckled. "What? Did I stun you by being right for once? Don't worry, you probably won't need to get used to it."

"How are you feeling?" he responded, as if unwilling to admit my point. No doubt he'd rather change the subject than suffer such humiliation. "You went through a lot. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good. I mean, it's not like I'm going to sprout an extra arm or a penis just because we found out I wasn't some weird anomaly."

"Technically, you still are an anomaly. Anomaly means something new and unique. Even if we know now that you were created by a different god, it doesn't make you not an anomaly."

"Remind me never to come to you for a pep-talk. You suck at them."

A shrill cry from outside made me sit upright. It was the sort of noise I'd heard before, but not from my overly prim neighbor. I went to the window and peered out, but no light escaped from the closed curtains across the narrow strip of desert landscaping.

"What's wrong?" Ruben asked.

"I think my neighbor is having very noisy sex," I answered.

"Please tell me you aren't trying to watch her through the window?"

"If she didn't want an audience, she shouldn't have made so much noise. It's like chewing loudly when other people are starving—expect staring." I narrowed my eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of something just as another yell came through. "Well, someone must be doing something very right or very wrong. Are you a yeller, Ruben?"

"Excuse me?"

"I bet you aren't. You seem like the strong and silent type, huh?" I pressed my forehead against the cool glass of the window, not finding a car in her driveway or any sign of her partner.

She could have been alone, but she seemed rather lively to be playing all by herself.

"I'm going to have to let you go," I said.

"Why?"

"Well, I was busy when you called, and now I have some mood music, so have yourself a lovely evening because I plan to do the same." As I ended the call, I could hear his voice echoing out, scolding me, as though that would have changed a single thing.

Silly man.

I opened my window, staring out at the neighbor who hated me endlessly. She was in her forties, working as a realtor after her husband had run off with his secretary.

I had no idea if that bitterness was the reason she hated me—or maybe it was because since I moved in, her lawn gnomes were always getting moved like some twisted elf on a shelf year-long game. Either way, she had that fake smile when she spoke to me, the one that said she loathed me and talked plenty of shit the second I was out of earshot.

Which was fine with me. Little Miss Karen next door was hardly my idea of a good time, anyway.

However, it made me wonder what had happened to cause this change. With the window open and the narrow space between our houses, it was easy to hear more. I caught moans and whimpers, all hers, which further implied that she was alone over there.

I glanced at my vibrator, wishing I was that good at it. Hell, that woman was having the time of her life all on her own. My own solo sex life felt rather empty all of a sudden.

Teach me, sempai!

Another shout echoed through the space between our places, but this one made my hair stand on end, the skin at the back of my neck tingling. That was not the sound of pleasure. Not even the kinky pleasure-pain that people liked. It held a wealth of pain, and a broken, soft whimper came afterward.

I grabbed my pajama shorts off the end of the bed and pulled them on, hopping on a single foot as I did so, trying to rush as fast as I could. Something in the noise drew me, forcing me to rush. It sounded like a wounded animal stuck in a trap, and I couldn't stop myself from going over.

She could hate me all she wanted—I couldn't ignore that sound.

I rushed down the stairs, toppling down the last few before catching myself on the front door. The chill of the night, with Christmas coming soon, drew goosebumps all over my bare legs and arms. Rushing out in a thin tank top and night shorts was a terrible idea, but it was nowhere close to the worst of my bad ideas.

I went through the rocks that separated the thin strip of land between our places, the houses so close I could have reached out and touched both at the same time. From this spot, I was sure that there were no cars. It meant if she wasn't alone, the person had either walked or arrived with her.

Maybe this was an online hookup gone wrong? Or gone very right if it was just a bit of roleplaying. If that was the case, the bitch deserved an award.

I knocked on her front door, but no answer came. No lights turning on, no rustle of clothing as two caught people tried to dress before answering. Instead, about fifteen seconds later, another scream, this one worse than the last.

I moved to the side of the door, to a cracked open window on the ground floor. I pushed on the screen, then lifted it, sliding it out of the groove that held it.

I'd snuck out enough times as a teenager to know exactly how to get a screen free. I pushed the window open further, the lack of a squeak telling me she was on point with her maintenance. The metal of the window frame dug into my hands as I gripped it, then hefted myself through the narrow space.

I'd never seen the inside of her home, and I had to admit, the woman knew how to perfectly recreate the stifling feeling of a housekeeping magazine. Not a single pillow appeared out of place, all of them with that silly center crease and none of it implying anyone ever actually used the room.

The layout mirrored my own, just like all the places in the community. Funny how something almost identical in structure could look and feel so different.

Another scream, this one weaker, cut off my little internal tirade and got me moving. I went up the stairs at a run, trying to breathe softly despite the exertion. At the top of the stairs rested the hallway, and the door to the master bedroom sat open with only darkness beyond.

I tiptoed down the hallway, fear beating against me as hard as my heart. Once I reached the doorway, I tried to stare through the darkness, and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust and take in the room.

Only to find the bed empty, and instead, my neighbor's body on the floor. No one else was beside her, and she rolled like caught in some nightmare. She had her hands clasped to the sides of her head, as though she could hold it together by way of grasp alone.

"Stop," she whispered, curling into the fetal position, the soft word full of pain.

Was she having some sort of mental breakdown? And here I figured I'd be the one between us to go through that. I thought about calling my friend and sometimes counselor, Ignis, and asking her what to do. However, this was probably outside of her wheelhouse.

I went to take a step inside the room, to go to her side, when an unfamiliar voice stopped me.

"Why fight? It'll only hurt you more." Along with the masculine voice, a shadow moved inside the room. It shifted away from the wall and toward my neighbor, then crouched beside her. "I'll take every last thought you have, savor them all, get drunk on them. The more you try to hide any of it, the harder I'll yank, and the more damage'll get done."

My neighbor stared up at him, her eyes wide in horror, and there went the last of my patience.

I spotted a very fancy and expensive-looking lamp on the table in the hallway, which seemed large and heavy enough to be useful. I wrapped my fingers around it and pulled the cord from the wall, the sound hidden by the whimpers of my neighbor.

I didn't bother masking my steps anymore, not when I was this close. I lifted the lamp, holding it over my shoulder for more power. If I was going to hit someone, I planned to do it right. It was like shooting someone—if I had to do it, I'd make sure they stayed down.

Nothing was more dangerous than a wounded opponent.

I swung the lamp, aiming for the man's head. One good crack and he'd go down hard.

Except, before it hit, he twisted, so fast it startled me. The lamp didn't strike him, and it took me a moment to figure out why. He'd wrapped his hand around my wrist, his grip so tight it hurt, and the lamp slipped from my fingers, shattering against the floor.

He stood, forcing me to look up at him despite not making out any of his face in the darkness. It seemed almost familiar, but I didn't know why, the room so dim that I couldn't identify any specific details.

He tilted his head, as though confused by me. "You're different," he said, his voice low and rough and somewhere between interest and accusation.

"People usually call me special, but they don't mean it as a compliment," I answered, the lame joke all my brain could come up with.

He caught my chin with his free hand, holding me still, and I only had a moment to fear before an intense pain echoed through my head as though someone had driven a spike through my temples and the world faded out around me.

* * * *

I woke with the world an absolute mess around me. It seemed disjointed and my body both hurt and hung, almost weightless.

Was this a dream?

No, not enough hot naked men to be a dream of mine…

"Your brain's different." I recognized the voice as belonging to the man from my neighbor's house. However, when I twisted, I couldn't find him in the surrounding darkness. "Why? What are you?"

"I'm just me," I answered, buying time. "What are you looking for, and maybe I can help?"

"What do I want? I want to taste you."

"If you mean like a meal, no thank you. If you want to taste somewhere else, well, who am I to say no?" My chest ached as I struggled to slow my racing heart.

"I don't give a fuck about your flesh"—his words still gave me no idea about what he meant—"but your mind is a different story. That's where the real flavor of a person is, in their memories, their thoughts, their desires and their fears."

I recalled the way my neighbor had rolled on the floor, a sinking feeling pulling me down. Was this a Mind Spirit? Some of the more powerful empaths and telepaths could access old memories, and a few of the really crazy ones weaponized it. I'd never experienced such a thing, but I had a feeling it wasn't all that pleasant.

"You're a Mind?" I asked.

"So you aren't just some human. Figured as much when I felt the fucked-up way your mind works, but I've done this to humans, to Graves, to Natures, to Weres, to other Minds, and none of them feel like you. So what are you?"

"A problem, mostly."

"Make all the jokes you want—they won't help. I'll dig down as deep as I can, until your mind shatters into a million little pieces that I can taste, that I can swallow and steal and savor." His words sprang from his lips like snakes and slithered across the edges of my mind.

Which was where we had to be, right? The lack of any actual space around me, the way I couldn't find the floor or walls or reality, it meant we had to exist inside my mind.

It's a lot less cluttered than I would have expected…

I mean, it wasn't a nice neighborhood or anything, but it wasn't the teardown I'd pegged it for, either.

"You're trying to distract yourself."

"Usually I'm distracting to others."

A shadow came closer, but even still, I couldn't make out his face at all. It was as though my brain blocked it out. Or perhaps that was something he managed? Either way, it unnerved me to hear his voice, to see his form, but not be able to tell who he was. I didn't think I knew him, despite a strange sense of familiarity.

"You like to use jokes to mask your actual feelings, don't you? You laugh and play off any situation so no one figures out how terrified you really are."

"Being afraid takes being smart. My mom always said I wasn't smart enough to be afraid."

"You're still hiding. You might be the most frightened person I've ever met, afraid of everything, especially what's inside your own head."

I gulped, hating the way it felt as though he stared right through me.

"I wonder what your first memory of fear was. What was the first time you hid behind a laugh? The woman you interrupted my time with was already growing boring, but you? I have a feeling I could feast on you for months or more."

I shook my head and tried to back away, but I couldn't seem to move, or perhaps I did, but he moved faster? Whatever it was, I couldn't put any space between us.

"Show me," he whispered, causing the world around us to shift and twist, the darkness folding in on itself and reforming so fast that my stomach rolled like I was on a carnival ride. The world was bright again, and it took a long moment for me to recognize where I stood.

"This is my old home," I said, then spotted a young girl on her knees, in front of a faded coffee table, a broken, worn-down crayon clutched in her tiny fist. She scribbled on the coloring book before her, not coming close to staying inside the lines. She focused on the page, staring so hard as though to block out the world around her.

And what a world to block out…

The place was clean but run down. Dark spots—signs of repeated roof leaks—stained the upper walls and ceiling. Dingy linoleum squares covered the floor of the trailer and sweat trailed down the girl's forehead since they had no air conditioning.

"That's you, isn't it?" the man asked.

I nodded before I could help it, watching the girl I'd been. I wanted to crouch down and tell her it would be okay, that things would get better. I wouldn't have believed it back then, of course. Back then, my entire world had been just this, just a dirty trailer and hours alone, as my mom did everything she could to support us on her own. Hell, a four-year-old shouldn't have been home alone, but what choice did she have?

A noise at the door made the younger me twist, her familiar blue eyes wide in fear. I didn't remember this, but as I watched it, it felt true. This had happened even if my conscious mind couldn't recall the details.

The girl got up and rushed behind the couch, crawling into the narrow space between the wall and the old piece of furniture, then into the small space inside the frame of the couch. Watching her go, I remembered how dark it was inside the couch, how cramped. I rubbed my hand against my arm, a scar still there from when I'd gotten caught on the sharp edge of a spring there.

"You spent a lot of time there?"

"My mom knew about the hiding place, told me to go there if anyone showed up." I whispered the answer, feeling the same fear that rested inside young me.

Not a moment after the girl concealed herself, the door to the trailer opened with a crash as it slammed against the counter inside. The faces of the people were hidden from me, probably because I'd never seen them. I'd only spotted their feet from my hiding place, after all.

Three people—men, from what I saw of their shoes—entered the trailer.

"Check the bedroom," one said.

Steps signaled that one obeyed, heading back toward the one bedroom that my mother and I had shared.

The shadow stepped up beside me, and the way he stared at me made my skin feel too tight on my frame, as though I could sense his gaze like an unwelcome caress.

"Bitch isn't here," one man said.

"What about the kid?"

I felt my younger self shiver at the threat in those words. They'd come knowing about me, looking for me if they couldn't find my mother. This version of me, of my mother, felt so far removed from who were now that I'd tried to block a lot out.

"Place seems empty. Kid is pretty young—probably with a babysitter."

One man picked up the picture I'd been coloring and the broken crayon rolled off it, then over the edge of the table and to the floor. "You know why I'm so successful at collecting debts? Because I know the trick is finding a person's weak spot. If you can find that, you can apply pressure and get exactly what you want." The man bent forward and drew on the paper with other crayons on the table, the scratching of the colors loud in the silent room. "Let's go. I think she'll get the message." One loud bang echoed before the men left.

Younger me remained in her hiding place, shaking, for another few minutes before crawling out. It was then I spotted what the men had left.

"A little on the nose, isn't it?" the shadow asked.

I swallowed hard as I stared at the picture. The yellow girl I'd been drawing remained, but other things had been added. Black X's now covered the eyes and aggressive red lines slashed through the body. A knife pinned the picture to the wall.

Younger me stared at the knife, at the picture that even at my age I'd understood for the threat they'd meant. It had been the first time I'd really understood the dangerous world I lived in, when that sense of security children have had shattered.

I'd understood that no matter how much my mother loved me, she couldn't protect me. I'd realized that locked doors and adults and hiding in couches didn't actually keep people safe.

"Oh, that's a pretty fear," the shadow purred. "Your pain is almost sweet, so much better than most. Why is that? Why are you different? Your brain's like a maze I want to spend forever lost in, tearing apart each memory, each pain, each pleasure, all of it. Why?"

The feeling of helplessness swamped me, so strong that I struggled to pull in a single breath. It was like it was still as large and overwhelming as it had been when I was a child, as though it had grown along with me until it crushed me. My hands shook, my gaze locked on that knife.

What if they'd found me that day? What would have happened? I watched as the younger me—braver than current me, apparently—ran up and yanked down the picture, shredding it into a million pieces, then pulled the knife from the wall. She ran out of the living room, and the memory of hiding that knife, not wanting my mother to see it and worry, made my knees weak.

I collapsed to the ground, the weight of so much on my shoulders. Despite my fear of those men, of what they might do, my priority had been protecting my mom, not wanting to see the pain on her face when she found out.

It was the feeling of isolation, of recognizing how truly alone I was.

"Is that what rests at the center? Are you that afraid of being alone? Oh, how much fun we'll have together exploring it." Something brushed the side of my face, a touch so cold it made me tremble.

As soon as it happened, however, it stopped. Something on the edges of my awareness came through, a feeling, a ripple through the world that caused the trailer to waver.

The shadow shrank back, then let out a hollow laugh. "Seems our time's over today. Don't worry, though, I'll come back for you."

His withdrawal hurt as much as the initial attack had, as though he tore a wound wider by pulling away so fast. The surrounding trailer collapsed, the memory falling around me until it faded away, and with it, my consciousness.

My last thought before it all went dark was just how ominous his last words really felt.

I should have stayed home and just masturbated…