9

I know where stubborn, stoic pride comes from.

It's a mask for shame.

Didn't matter how much love there was in my world, each time I started a new school, I was secretly ashamed of my clothing,

of not being able to afford extracurricular school events, having no escort for father/daughter dances, being different in

countless mortifying ways. Then, to make it even more complicated, I was ashamed of being ashamed, as if by feeling this way

I was insulting my mother. Only Este had seen past it all to the real me. My outspoken friend, who was judged all the time

from every side and fit nowhere, never judged me, and we fit together perfectly.

Glancing over at Devlin, I was glad I'd refused to let pride affect my decision when he'd knocked on the front door shortly

after nightfall, asking if I'd like to go for a drink.

I'd wanted to hide in my bedroom, concealing my turmoil from the world, speaking to no one, pacing frantically, alternating

between grief and rage. Quell my bloodthirsty inner dragon, try to divine who could possibly have wanted to burn our house

down and kill my mother. Handle any and all problems privately, as I always did.

Instead, I put on makeup, brushed my hair, and slid into a new pair of designer jeans that fit like a glove, a silk top, and

(Jimmy Choo!) sandals and forced myself to go out with him.

The truth was, I was afraid I might lose all hold on sanity if I stayed in my room, alone, with only dark thoughts and explosive emotions for company. Or worse, venture to the garage, take one of the cars to New Orleans, and hunt the man I wanted to vent them on, one superbly equipped to handle it, a man I had no intention of ever seeing again, especially since I so intensely hungered to, and hunger was a double-edged sword.

The first four times Mom and I had to evacuate a town so abruptly that we were forced to leave everything behind, including

my precious few toys, I'd sobbed in the car, brokenhearted—not to mention terrified, channeling every ounce of Mom's panic.

To this day, I couldn't bear to hear the song "Sweet Child o' Mine." She'd sung it to me over and over as we'd raced through

the night, trying to soothe me. Much later I discovered just how many of the lyrics she'd changed, wisely leaving out the

whole "oh, where do we go now?" part. Wasn't that always the question.

By the fifth time we abandoned the small number of things behind that I had ever so briefly called mine, I was impeccably

detached. Implacability was easier on us both. We were a closed loop of emotion, Mom and I; her griefs and fears mine, mine

hers. Battening down our hatches protected each other.

The possibility that some malicious pyro had randomly picked our small, dilapidated house to torch didn't resonate with me.

I didn't know much about arsonists, but in movies, they tended to choose high-profile targets and strike at night, not in

the middle of the day. There was ego, often showmanship involved. What challenge was there in burning a tiny, low-rent home

in an isolated rural community?

Had the past caught up to us at long last? Was my father still alive? Who —the thought caused even more of a sick burn in my gut—had we been running from all these years, and why? Was it really my

father? Was he still alive? Why didn't Mom ever tell me? Why hadn't I pushed for the truth as I aged?

I knew the answer to that. She'd been so delicate by the time I was a teenager that I was unwilling to burden her further with questions. I couldn't bear to be the cause of additional suffering. Over the years, as I'd grown increasingly exhausted by my juggling act of responsibilities, resignation had settled into my bones, as sharp and bitter as any Midwest winter's chill. Life was what it was. There was no time for questions, only action. Dangerous stuff, resignation. It drained the life from you so subtly and insidiously, you began to forget how you once felt. Ergo my aggressive one-night stands, to remind myself I was alive. I could choose something for myself, and it could be all mine, and only about me.

Now all those questions besieged me. When it was too late, Mom was gone, and I couldn't see her death as anything other than

intentional. Someone out there in the world had deliberately set fire to our house, causing my mother to die a horrific death.

Whether arsonist or villain from our past, that person had murdered my mother.

"How was your first night in the manor, Ms.Grey?"

Devlin's voice rolled over me, deep and velvety. I glanced over at him behind the wheel of the car, strong and hot as Hades

in jeans and a collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up past his tattooed biceps, the fabric white against his dark skin.

His hair was longish, some of it falling forward, the planes of his beautiful face a fascinating study of shadow and light,

and I wanted to tell him to pull over this very instant, rip off his clothes, and dump all my grief and fury on his body,

in the hope that it would clear my mind a bit. "It was good, but if you call me Ms.Grey one more time, I'm getting out of

the car and walking back to the house. Call me Zo, Devlin. God knows, no one else will." Exasperation laced my words.

"Zo, it is then, fierce lass. Short for something?"

"Zodecky." Pronounced ZO-da-kye, emphasis on the first syl lable and inevitably butchered by anyone who read it from a list. No one had ever called me fierce in my life. Devlin had done so twice. Had I changed so much since Mom's death that people could sense the overload of emotions I was feeling? How embarrassing.

"Zo-d'kai," he murmured, and I shivered when he purred my name; it had never sounded quite so beautiful, so sexy when anyone

else said it. "Mean something?"

I didn't tell him there were two more syllables. A five-syllable name inevitably got butchered, so I'd done a hack-job on

it myself in grade school, insisting on just Zo. Teachers would say, Z-o-e? I'd reply flatly, No. Just like the word no . A Z and an O . Zo was a strong name; powerful. It was Oz backward, the mighty wizard. Once you added the e —in my opinion—the name became softer, more approachable. No point in approaching. I made that clear from the first. Zo—just

exactly like no . Do not get to know me. Do not ask to be my friend. We won't be staying long.

When I'd asked Mom where my name came from, she'd shrugged and said she liked the way the syllables flowed, which was a fine

way to knit together a name.

"Not that I know of," I answered Devlin. "Where are we going?"

"The Shadows. Live music, fine spirits, reminds me of a pub I used to frequent in Edinburgh. Like to dance?"

I did, and since I was most definitely not going to have sex with Devlin Blackstone in Juniper Cameron's insanely expensive Mercedes, against the supplest leather seats

I'd ever touched, which would feel divine beneath my bare ass while he thrust deep inside me, I hoped dancing would purge

some of my volatile emotions. Mom had instilled her wide and varied love of music in me. Many were the times, before she'd

gotten so sick, we'd had silly dance-offs to her favorite glam-rock bands. "Love to."

"Great," he said with a smile that made me stare blankly at him for a moment. "Ready to meet some of the more interesting townsfolk?" he asked as he parked the car in the crowded lot.

"Why not?" I couldn't picture the stiff, bristly Ms.Bean and her vegetable coven hanging out here, with their perfect suits

and perfectly coiffed hair, and I definitely couldn't get any more irritable, emotional, and aroused than I already was.

I was about to be proved wrong on all those counts.

The Shadows wasn't at all what I expected, and I was surprised such a place existed in a town of Divinity's size. The club

sat alone, a few miles beyond the outlying homes and businesses, down a long lane of dueling oaks that formed a leafy, moss-draped

tunnel over the drive. The rectangular building was three floors with a shallow fourth that looked mostly decorative, sporting

classical cornices and dormers, and I could see why it reminded Devlin of Scotland. It brought to mind the Hotel Monteleone,

with its elaborate architecture and tasteful lighting, but here the spotlights splashed up the side of the limestone facade

to drench the windows crimson, illuminating the cornices with the same fiery glow, effortlessly marrying elegance to "something

wicked this way comes." The windows were high, arched, and framed with wrought iron scallops. It was the kind of establishment

I'd have expected to see in a European city built long ago, when craftmanship was an art form, pagan holidays were observed,

and women were still burned at the stake as witches.

When we stepped inside, I gasped, prompting another of Devlin's devastating smiles. "Juniper had a hand in the design of this

place. Its prior incarnation wasn't nearly as impressive."

The coffered ceiling was a foot and half deep with ornately carved framing, the wood painted metallic gold, the sunken panels between charcoal. Glittering chandeliers hung before enor mous double-arched windows. The bar was dark leather and wood, the room lined with tufted leather seating and tables on a honey-oak floor.

"When was it built?" I asked.

"It was begun in 138 and finished two years later. Somewhere in the manor there's an album with newspaper clippings, blueprints,

and old photos."

"But Juniper would have been, what—only twenty or so at the time?"

"Nineteen. The old-timers like to say she came out of the womb carrying a briefcase and blueprints. When she was twenty-two,

five years after Roosevelt's Rural Electrification Act of 136, she lobbied to bring power to the town, and ultimately funded

Divinity's first electric co-op."

Designing buildings, founding power plants, having babies, never marrying. Big shoes to fill. "Is there anything Juniper Cameron

wasn't responsible for in this town?" I said dryly.

"Last I heard—contrary to popular belief—the sun didn't rise and set on her command," he said, just as dryly, and we both

laughed.

"Glad to hear that. I was beginning to worry."

"Main floor's a bit of dining and drinking, second floor is for music and dancing, with rooms for private parties off the

side."

"And the third?"

"That's Caelen and Kenzie's apartment. They run the club, live above."

I'd half expected to hear that I owned it and heaved a small sigh of relief that I didn't.

"But you own the place, Zo, so if you want any changes, you've only to let them know."

Of course I did, I thought irritably. "Do me a favor."

"Ask away." The intense, heated look in his dark eyes offered anything, anything at all.

"Don't tell me if I own anything else in this town. I need time to deal with what I already know about."

He laughed. "As you wish. What's your poison?"

"Bourbon. Rocks. Top shelf." Why not? I owned the club, I thought, with testy disbelief.

When he headed for the bar, someone grasped my elbow tightly from behind. Pivoting, I drew upon every ounce of my willpower

to keep my features impassive, as Ms.Bean had no idea that I knew full well what she'd attempted to do this morning.

Althea's smile was bright beneath eyes so cold I swore I saw a sheen of frost in them, a snowflake or two dusting her eyelashes.

Her shoulder-length ice-blond hair was carefully lacquered; her fitted, sleeveless black dress revealed arms paper-smooth

and white as snow and, above a choker of pearls, a similarly bloodless, pale neck. Diamonds flashed as she fluttered her free

hand in the air, exclaiming, "You must be Zo Grey! I'm Althea Bean. It's such a pleasure to meet you. There are so many people I'd like you to meet, you simply must come with me." She'd not relinquished her grip on me when I'd turned, merely

adjusted it, and now her fingers dug painfully into my arm.

Smile overdone, features tight, the venom Althea radiated was palpable. Since I was already in a shit mood, I locked eyes

with her and probed. Forewarned, I reminded myself. I'd take every shred of information about this woman I could get. My inner

calm wasn't accessible, but my ability to gauge people's emotions, to catch a hint of their soul in their eyes, felt sharper

and more potent than ever. I expected to be buffeted by waves of avarice, anger, resentment.

I sluiced in so easily, it rather stunned me, and got something else entirely.

Althea Bean was frightened.

Deeply, intensely afraid of something or someone.

Surely not me. Then who? Or what? Gently, I probed deeper... Ah, there was her anger, rising, uncoiling like a—

" Stop that!" Althea hissed, smile vanishing.

Wait, what? I gaped in disbelief. There was no way she meant what it sounded like she meant.

"Mind your manners! We don't do that to each other in Divinity, Zo Grey! I don't care if you are the Cameron heir!" Turning sharply, she stalked off without

another word.

"What the hell did you just say to Althea?" Devlin was beside me then, placing a drink in my hand. "I'd have wagered that

droves of flying monkeys couldn't keep that avaricious woman away from you."

For a long moment I couldn't reply. The idea that someone had actually felt me pushing into their head, as I thought of it, through the windows to their soul, was beyond my comprehension. But then,

lately, everything was.

"I didn't say anything," I finally managed to mutter, which was entirely true. Yet somehow she'd known what I was doing. Felt me doing it.

Upon reflection, I wondered if she'd been doing it to me, too. I'd gotten an itchy, uncomfortable sensation between and slightly

above my eyes, which had never happened before.

Until that moment, I hadn't credited the knowledge I believed I acquired probing gazes as... indisputable fact, rather like that ghost in the cabin we'd rented in West Virginia that I knew Mom saw, too (yet the single time I'd brought it up, she'd shut me down hard and fast). I think a lot of people do that, brush up against the weird, admit they "seem" to feel something, even avoid the room that sends an inexplicable chill up their spine, yet refuse to ponder it overlong. Mom had always taken a strong position against the paranormal, stressing science, math, the physics of normalcy and reality. She'd taught me there was only one kind of magic, and it was the most powerful of all: love.

Still, we'd left West Virginia shortly after I mentioned the ghost.

Now, I'd met someone who felt what I was doing to her, who'd somehow known I was taking a peek inside her head, and she'd

said, We don't do that to each other in Divinity, Zo Grey! implying others in town had the ability, too. What the hell? How was this even possible?

I was abruptly reluctant to meet anyone's gaze, lest they go poking about inside my head. I found myself on the cusp of an uncomfortable moral conundrum that cast me in an unfavorable light. Do unto others was a credo Mom had instilled in me.

"The band's about to start," said Devlin, placing a hand on the small of my back and guiding me toward the stairs. The heat

of his big hand through the thin silk of my shirt sent shivers of sexual awareness to places I needed to not be thinking about.

As we moved through the crowded bar, I watched woman after woman and more than a few men turn to follow my companion with

hungry gazes. It wasn't just me. Devlin Blackstone was a difficult man to ignore. Once you looked at him, you wanted to keep

looking, if only to find an imperfection that might make it easier to look away.

The staircase, with tufted leather walls and a ceiling of black so sooty it looked soft as suede, gave me an idea what to expect from the second floor. Still, I stopped and stared when we topped the final riser. Color me provincial, but I never got to go bar-hopping to fancy clubs with friends, and even if I had, small-town Indiana was hardly nightclub central. I've heard if you want a room to look smaller, you should paint it a dark color, but the opposite was true on the second floor of the Shadows. The area devoted to music and dancing was cavernous, every inch of it black, exquisitely embellished with gold and crystal accents. Normally, I'd find a room of unrelieved black oppressive, but the variety of textures and the eclectic glitter of crystal and lighting made it sophisticated, mesmerizing.

The floor was matte black; the lower half of the walls gleaming, tufted obsidian leather; the upper half folds of shimmering

onyx velvet. The ceiling, also inky, soared to an intricately coffered vault, the arched, sunken panels matte black against

gloss obsidian trim. There was a line of medieval-looking candelabras containing brightly burning torches strung down the

center, stretching from the back of the room to the stage, which was raised and looked as if it had been transported from

a centuries-old theater. The perimeter was rimmed with circular snugs beneath old-fashioned chandeliers that had large, incandescent

globes and were just peculiar enough to seem steampunk, and the seating curved around tables of such high-gloss black, they

rippled like dark mirrors, offering curiously liquid reflections of people and of drinks in glittering cut crystal. The bar

was a study in ebony and glass, the shelving faceted crystal, refracting the luster of lights in dazzling and unexpected ways.

It was atmospheric, elegant, and edgy as fuck, delivering on the wicked promise of the blood-stained facade. I couldn't help

but wonder if they held a Halloween bash here. If not, perhaps the new owner might suggest it.

When the LED lights came on, I gasped.

The coffered vault ceiling emitted subtle beams of light, splashing pinpoints of pale gold across the black-velvet interior, intensifying the myriad reflections in crystal and tabletops tenfold. As the dance floor began to glow a deep, inky blue, a gust of fog billowed across it. I felt simultaneously as if I were inside an old castle and standing in a verdant field beneath a starry sky on a cloudless, sable night. Cobalt spread through the room, working up the walls and into the ceiling, then, while the band set up and tuned, the color scheme morphed slowly to forest green, then violet, subtly shifting the ambience of the room each time.

"Juniper had a fondness for artistic lighting and put a lot of money into it, here and at the manor," Devlin said, watching

me.

"She certainly didn't let age prevent her from embracing new technologies." A lot of the older folks I knew back home found

them befuddling and irritating. Hell, I did, too. I hadn't even been able to figure out the manor's lighting system.

"Her heart was young and her mind sharp until the end. All that passion and energy trapped inside a dying body," he said,

shaking his head, and I realized he'd cared about the old woman. "We all loved her," he said, reading my expression. "She

had a way of bringing out the best in people, seeing possibility where others saw only obstacles. She didn't just think outside

the box; she invented entirely new ones."

For a woman who'd spent her whole life tightly confined within the boxes of obligation and demand, it was yet another tantalizing aspect of Juniper's inheritance: I need never be constrained by debts and duties again. I, too, could find possibility where others met obstacles. I could change countless lives for the better. I knew what it felt like to need that helping hand. I could repay people like Mae, who'd spoken up to get me a job I'd never shown up for (hopefully making oodles of paperwork for Mr. Schumann).

"Come," Devlin said, taking my hand. "You're about to be deluged, and I suspect you'd prefer a table between you and the town

when they descend."

By the time we reached one of the half-moon leather booths and slid in, people had already begun falling into a queue and

heading our way.

The next twenty minutes were a blur of faces and names, greetings and well-wishes. I met the Elders and Alloways, the Somervilles

and MacGillivrays, the Rutherfords and Mathesons, Napiers and MacLellans, the Galloways, Kincaids, and Logans. I took special

note of Isabel and Archibald Alexander, a mixed-race couple in their early forties—the alternate heirs, according to the Beanhead—who

projected only warmth and gracious welcome; not that I dared probe their gazes for more.

There were no icy Altheas; all seemed openly curious about me, glad I'd come out tonight, and kind, if a bit reserved, which

I understood completely. This town had a great deal at stake in me. I'd have been horrified that night if I'd had any idea

just how enormous those stakes really were, but I didn't, so, blissfully ignorant, I basked in the relief of discovering the

entire town of Divinity wasn't against me.

At long last, the line petered out, revealing a final couple I was delighted to see—Mr.Balfour, escorting a woman who could

only be his wife, so proudly did he usher her forward. "It's lovely to see you out and about, Ms.Grey. You've made my night,"

Mr.Balfour said, eyes dancing. "May I present my better half?"

Of an age with her husband, Lennox Balfour was dressed much like me in jeans, a silk blouse, and low heels, and she wore her long white hair parted in the center, loose about her shoulders. Her eyes were the warmest spring green I'd ever seen, framed by decades of laugh lines. Energy and vitality radiated from her trim frame, and bangles clinked together at her wrist when she shook my hand. Around her neck, she wore a shimmering crystal wrapped in silver filagree with matching crystal earrings.

"I can't thank you enough for everything you and your husband have done for me, Mrs.Balfour. Please, sit," I invited.

Flushing with pleasure, Mr.Balfour gestured for his wife to slide in first, then followed suit. I noticed countless avid

gazes turned our way and realized that, as far as he and the town knew, his job was on the line. He'd worked for Juniper Cameron

for over half a century, but now there was a new heir and no guarantee he had a future working at her side. My arrival was

tethered to everyone's applecart and could upset them all. God, what power Juniper Cameron had held in Divinity! And to hear tell of it, never once

abused.

I noticed that although the Balfours greeted Devlin, it was without warmth and, aside from an initial glance his way, they

kept their gazes on me. Even when he spoke, as we made small talk, they didn't look at him. I told myself not to read too

much into it. It would take time to ferret out the nuances and complexities of the relationships here.

The band began to play a haunting Scottish ballad sung by a woman with a voice so pure and resonant with emotion that although

I didn't understand a word of it, I was moved nearly to tears.

"It's called ‘The Sorrow of Anwenn' and is, as you intuited, quite sad," Mr.Balfour told me. "That's Meribeth Logan, our

local librarian and chanteuse. The Killians perform next."

"Is it Gaelic?"

"Yes," Lennox replied. "Divinity was settled over three centuries ago by a group of Scottish families seeking a new life, adventure, freedom to live and worship as they wished. They found all that and more here, yet never forgot where they came from. We're passionate about our heritage, honoring the old stories and ways. You'll find a great deal of history preserved about town, and many of our traditions on display, from bagpipes to kilts to our annual festival."

Mr.Balfour said, "They'll be playing a reel next. You must dance with us, Zo. I'll not brook refusal."

I had an oddly disembodied moment then, where I felt cleanly split in two and frozen by it. There was Zo whose mother was

dead, murdered in a deliberately set fire, filled with grief and rage and no small anxiety over the many sudden changes in

her life. Then there was Zo sitting in a trendy nightclub, wearing clothing that would have paid months of rent, filled with

curiosity and excitement and a kind of disbelieving hope that she might, one day, be happy again, that dancing and enjoying

herself wouldn't feel like such a betrayal of Joanna Grey and the countless questions that needed answering.

"What would your mother rather see you doing right now?" Mr.Balfour posed the question gently. "Grieving or dancing?"

Arrow through my heart. He'd seen right through me. Live, my darling Zo. Live. Thirty days of grief, not one day more. According to Mom's edict, I was permitted only two more weeks of weeping and woe.

"We lost our daughter, Erin, in the fire that burned our home," Lennox said quietly. "She was seventeen, getting ready to

leave for university, brimming with dreams and plans for her future. The whole world was waiting for her, and she was going

to conquer it."

Wincing, I said heavily, "I'm so sorry." They understood loss. And the loss of a child! To give birth, to nurture, shelter, and cherish, only to have that child stolen from you—hell itself could offer no greater torment.

"Though we knew there was nothing we could have done to save her, we punished ourselves for a long time." Lennox took my hand

and squeezed it.

Mr.Balfour cast Lennox a look of such deep, abiding love, it melted my heart. "I nearly destroyed our marriage over it,"

he told me gravely. "Almost lost my best friend and soulmate because I couldn't let go of it, couldn't give myself permission

to live in a world where I would never see Erin smile again, watch her become a doctor—that was her dream—or walk her down

the aisle to entrust her to a man who couldn't possibly deserve her. Never hold their grandchildren in my arms. Dance, Ms.Grey.

You'll have plenty of time for grief. It never wanders far. It's always there, a thought away, should you wish to hurt yourself

on it."

Walk her down the aisle to entrust her to a man who couldn't possibly deserve her . I couldn't imagine life with such a father, or any father at all, for that matter. It was official: I adored James Balfour.

Touched by their story, ceding the wisdom of their words, when Devlin took my hand, I stood and followed him to the dance

floor.

As we moved to the center and the band began to stir, the tables emptied and the dance floor filled.

Of course Devlin was a good dancer. Undoubtedly, with that beautiful body of his, he exceled at anything requiring dexterity

and grace. He was an exceptional partner, whose flirtatious patience was limitless as he taught me the intricate steps of

one Scots dance after the next.

I lost my worries on the dance floor. There's something about being in a crush of people committed to carving out a few hours of happiness for themselves, with no thought of yesterday or tomorrow, that builds an infectious energy and makes forgetting easy, as you give yourself over to a communal conspiracy to feel no pain. Mom used to say many people waste their lives in a liminal no-man's-land, stranded on a bridge between their tragic past and their uncertain future. The more they glance back, the more afraid they become to go forward. And there is, she'd told me, but one escape from that bridge. Live now, my darling Zo. That's all we have anyway. The past is baggage lost at the airport; don't present your claim check.

The uncertain future is nothing but fear about things that will likely never come to pass.

The songs were high energy with racing, frantic tempos, and I realized why Mr.Balfour and his wife were so fit. They burned

it up on the dance floor, vying with Devlin's frenetic footwork. At one point, Mr.Balfour, Lennox, and Devlin got into a

competitive showdown that had the crowd watching with fascination. I'd not have been surprised to see sparks flying from their

heels.

It was exhilarating and just what I needed. I wasn't the best dancer out there, far from it, but I wasn't the worst, and I

was indisputably the most committed and abandoned. With each song, more of the unbearable tension quit my body. If I'd learned

one thing from caring for a terminal loved one, it was that sometimes you had to relinquish the weight of the world for a

time to have any chance at all of shouldering it again the next day.

When the music shifted to a slow, haunting ballad, Devlin slid his arms around me, pulling me close.

Danger there. I was young and strong, and felt as if I was finally awakening after a long, terrible winter. Divinity was the

promise of spring, new life, second chances, and I was ravenous for it all. Rather than sating my sexual appetite, a single

night with Kellan had served as a bellows, stoking it hotter still.

"You've the makings of a worthy partner," Devlin said, his eyes sexy and hooded and full of unsaid things like: in countless ways .

I basked a moment in the frank appreciation of his gaze. He was regarding me with more than carnal interest, which was all

I'd ever been looking for in the past, and it made me feel both flattered and uncomfortable. This was ground upon which I

had no idea how to tread. Ground you walked on every day—you stayed .

"I had the finest instructor on the dance floor." I evaded the subtleties of the compliment, smiling.

"I've a suspicion you need little instruction in anything. Once you understand your gifts, you're going to prove a natural."

"My gifts?"

"You're a blood Cameron. Comes with gifts," he said, staring down at me with an expression I couldn't decipher. "I've a feeling

you might surprise us all."

There was that phrase again. I hoped I was. I wanted Juniper's legacy; all of it, her estate, her strength, her goodness.

"What kind of gifts?"

I was buffeted then by... an emotion. Rubbing up against me, as close as his body was to mine. As if he'd said inside my

mind, Seriously, you're going to pretend?

"What did you do to drive Althea away?" he asked.

He couldn't possibly know. Absolutely no damned way. "What do you think I did?" I equivocated.

Smiling faintly, he said, "Och, you want the words. Fine, then. I think you used one of your gifts ."

"What kind of gift?" I countered.

"The one where you lock eyes with me, lass, and see how deep into me you can look. You can be a bit rough if you wish. Try."

My jaw dropped as my brain stuttered over his words, echo ing them again and again, trying to process that he'd said it. He had to be kidding. I had not come to a town where multiple people could not only read others the way I could, but spoke openly about... well, psychic

stuff. Paranormal, extrasensory perception.

"Don't sell yourself short, lass. There are things we grow up believing because we've been taught to believe them. Things

we think are impossible because we've been told they are. Then there are those things we feel in our bones. Despite the lies heard by our ears, our bones know the truth.

Don't you feel, somewhere deep inside you, that there's more to life, to you , than you were given to believe? That perhaps, even, you were intentionally misled?"

Eyes narrowing, I growled, "Treading on dangerous ground there, insulting my mother."

"No father?"

I sliced my head in a tight, pissed negative.

His eyes narrowed. "I imagine your mother must have felt she had good reason for the way she raised you."

Anger vied with curiosity; my desire to know more won. "Are you implying my mother had this... this..."

"Deep sight," he supplied.

"Too?" I finished. There was a name for what I could do. Others knew it and could do it, too.

"Not implying. It's in your bloodline. Those of us who possess the ability begin instruction at a young age."

"If what you're saying is true, and I'm not saying it is, why would she conceal it from me?" I'd tried to talk to her once

about how I got deluged by emotions, even images, if I looked too deeply into someone's eyes. She'd told me to stop imagining

things. Focus on the real world , she'd said. The one that actually exists. The one where I need you to go pull carrots from the garden for dinner.

"Try it on me. Test this thing you don't believe is real."

On the off chance he was serious, on the off chance this "ability" of mine was something that truly existed and others could

do it, too (refusing to ponder that my mother might have known and not only never told me about it, but flat-out lied to my

face), and because I was insatiably curious about him and he'd given me permission, I locked gazes with him and probed.

Lust. Desire. He was feeling things that made the blood in my veins catch fire. I didn't get thoughts or clear images, just

the enormity of his hunger wed to fierce strength, energy, and the timeless patience of something endlessly old, undeterred

by waiting however long was necessary for whatever it was he wanted. According to Mom, "old souls" were people who'd lived

many lifetimes. Although they didn't retain any memory of past lives, they did retain the lessons learned. Born with experience

embedded in their very marrow, at a young age they displayed maturity, resilience, and wisdom others lacked. Devlin felt like

a very old soul to me. Beneath it all was deep, powerful, unwavering emotion. He was true, constant, an undeterrable arrow

to a committed goal.

Then a perfectly smooth blank wall. "Enough," he said.

"You felt me there," I said, stunned.

"Althea felt you, too. Dinna fash yourself for doing it, she'll tread lightly with you in the future. As she should."

"What is with this town?"

"What do you mean?"

"It's..." Freaking me out! "Strange." In countless ways.

"Is it? Or is it merely the first place you've ever felt as if you might fit? Where you might discover yourself? Become who and what you were always meant to be. Fear has no place in power, and you, Zo Grey, have great power. Be aware, be cautious, don't probe another's eyes in this town without invitation, never without invitation, and you'll be fine."

Then the music shifted up-tempo again, he threw back his head and laughed, and I shivered. He was so darkly beautiful and

different from any man I'd ever met, and this town was so damned strange. Devlin and Divinity were stirring things inside

me I couldn't begin to comprehend. I felt as if I were awakening from a deep fugue state, and the world, which had always

seemed... well, gray as a Midwest winter, drab and bland, was far more vibrant and intense than I'd ever dreamed.

"Ah, I've been waiting for this one. Cut loose, Zo. You've mastered the reel. Make sparks fly. Best me. If you can, wee one." He flung the challenge with a devilish grin.

Pipes were joined by guitar, then the richly harmonic voices of many men chanting, and finally, the resounding crash of bass

drums punctuating the chant.

"Wee one, my ass," I growled.

"You're a pup. You can't play with the big dogs out here. Or can you?"

When he spun me sharply away from him, I went flying across the dance floor. "Best me, Zo Grey," he shouted across the distance,

and a maddened kind of exhilaration filled me. As the floor shifted to crimson, between the drinks I'd had, the onslaught

of more company interested in me than I'd entertained in my life, and the bizarre turn of conversation, challenged by a man

so unusual, so strange and strangely beautiful, goaded by the exotic-sounding guttural chant that kept increasing in tempo— cummer gae ye before, cummer gae ye, gin ye winna gae before, cummer let me —I let my inhibitions fall with a surge of competitive spirit so intense, it startled and surprised me. I'd spent my life meeting expectations, doing my best to succeed at whatever tasks were on my plate, but I'd never felt such a fierce desire to win .

Watching him like a hawk, I matched him, move for move. I danced with all the fury and grief and pain and passion in my soul.

I danced like I'd fucked Kellan, without a single hold barred. I danced as if my very life depended on it.

Crimson slid across the floor, up and up, staining the starry walls with flame. I was moving so fast, the room blurred into

a brilliant fiery smear as I remained utterly fixated on his feet, on making mine do the same. I was oblivious to all that

was happening around us until Devlin shouted, "You've cleared the floor, lass, but you still haven't bested me," and I realized

the others had fallen back into a circle to watch us.

I had no idea how I was supposed to best him, doubted my feet could move any faster, then the townsfolk moved together in

a circle around us. Joining hands, they began to dance in a counterclockwise fashion (which I would later learn was "loupin'

lightly widdershins"). It felt almost as if the frenetic tempo of their unified rotation was channeling energy to me, that

I was dancing at the center of some kind of vortex that was pulling visceral power and adrenaline from the townspeople gathered

round, funneling it to me, filling me with a frantic, primal drive, waking me up, making me feel intensely, almost painfully

alive. Then abruptly my feet were going even faster, and Devlin was the one working to keep up.

The song seemed to go on forever as, faster and faster, we danced. The chanting waned, and the song became one of screaming guitar, frantic pipes, driving bass, with only the occasional guttural grunt. I felt as if my feet must be smoking in a room that was suddenly unbearably hot, so hot, I was dripping sweat as crimson flames licked up the walls to the onyx ceiling high above. The drum ratcheted up, intensifying to deafening crashes of thunder, pounding, pounding, like the ominous, inflammatory drums of war, goading me to dance better, faster, longer.

On and on we danced.

On and on they circled.

Not once did the bastard miss a step. Not once did he fail to match me. But, at least, I consoled myself, I'd taken the lead

for a time.

When, finally, the song ended, I felt incredible .

Intoxicated, drunk on life, strong and centered, focused, a vessel overflowing with abundant energy, exquisitely aware of

every inch of my body, each beat of my heart, every scent and sight in the room. Never had I felt so... electrified, connected,

acutely aware, and... hungry, so very damned hungry, for everything.

Cheers broke out, then Devlin was beside me, taking my hand, dragging me from the dance floor into one of the dimly lit side

rooms, shoving me back against the wall, locking eyes with me, and saying roughly, "Kissing you now, Zo."

"Yes," I said breathlessly, and before the word had even left me, his mouth was crushed to mine.

The dance had stirred a sexual frenzy inside me, and I kissed him back, matching his lust as I'd matched his steps, tearing

at the buttons of his shirt, grinding against him.

No, no, no , a distant voice shouted in my head. Do not shit where you eat!

The common colloquialism from back home jarred me to my senses, and I forced myself to break the kiss, thrusting him away. "No," I said, pressing a shaking finger to his lips. "Not doing this with you."

"Why?" he demanded in a rough voice.

"It's too much right now," I said, shoving off the wall and walking quickly past him, putting distance between us. Turning

my back to him, because merely looking at him at this moment, with the tempest I was feeling, was too much temptation.

"?‘Right now' implies you've not a closed mind to it. To us," he said to my back.

"There is no ‘us,' Devlin. I want to go home. I'm tired." It was true. Abruptly, I was exhausted. The dancing had both invigorated

and oddly drained me.

"Don't give me your back, woman. Look at me."

I spun irritably.

He said nothing, merely cocked his beautiful dark head, regarding me for a long moment with those unusual, patient coppery

eyes.

His shirt was half open, and I got a bit stuck there, so I yanked my gaze to his chin, but then his mouth was in my line of

vision and I wasn't nearly done kissing it. I jerked my gaze to his eyes, narrowing mine, trying to decide if he was probing

me.

"You'd feel me. Want me to show you?"

"Yes," I said testily. If any of this was true, and it seemed to be, I wanted to know if the itchy feeling I'd gotten with

Althea was what it felt like. If I was going to be living in a place where others could do it, I needed to know when it was

happening.

"You invited me in," he said carefully.

"Meaning?"

"You might wish to put some guards up. Ken you how to do that?"

"I've never had to."

"Then I won't. I'll teach you how to protect yourself first."

"A gentleman."

"Try not to sound so surprised."

"You must have dated every woman in this town." Fucked was what I really meant but wasn't about to say. To do so would betray a covetousness to which I had no right.

"Not one. And they rather despise me for it. I don't shit where I eat."

I blinked.

"It's a southern colloquialism."

"Northern, too. But I'm where you eat."

He sighed. "There is that. Come, I'll drive you home."

Home , I thought, as we turned and headed for the stairs.

It was such a seductive word.

But then, everything about Divinity was.

"It's too late," the man said quietly into his cell phone as he watched the couple in the black Mercedes drive away. "They

broke the rules. It took the entire coven, all twelve Highblood families, but they awakened her fully tonight. Ripped her

straight through the next six steps. She's empowered. Ignorant as fuck, with no clue what she is, but empowered, and you know

how dangerous that is. She's both walking prey and nuclear bomb. I have no clue what they think they're doing. Trying to save

their asses, I suppose, and they'll sweep up after the mess, if there's aught left to sweep. She could go either way now.

Insanely risky, if you ask me."

He listened a moment. "I'm not sure I can. She's blood Cameron, from the nine houses, and she's fully awakened." Another pause. "Fuck you! You know I want the same thing. But I'm Halfblood. It's dangerous enough for me, being here. It was one thing when she was a sitting duck—"

He broke off, then snarled, "Fine. But no way I'm doing it. I may know someone who's willing, for the right price."