“I don’t want to make things complicated for him, now that I’m leaving.”

She is silent for a long beat. When I turn to face her, I find her staring. “Thank you, Serena,” she tells me. Serious, and uncharacteristically heartfelt.

“For what?”

“For not taking him from us.”

“Oh.” I rub a hand down my jeans. “How do you know that he . . . ?”

“I didn’t. Or maybe I did, but not because he told me. I knew from the start that it would come to this. From the moment he returned from the Southwest and told me that he’d found you.” She chuckles, shaking her head. “He was so mad, Serena, for actually liking you so much. And I took Saul aside and said, this is how we lose Koen. He doesn’t know it yet. And if I told him, he’d ask me to fuck off and call me a . . . a prickhound, or something. But I knew it.” Her expression sobers. “I would have forgiven him if he’d left the Northwest. But I don’t think he’d have forgiven himself. So thank you.”

That’s when her phone rings, as planned, and Amanda walks inside the house to take the call, leaving me alone.

As planned.

THIS TIME AROUND THERE ARE NO DRUGS INVOLVED, AND WHEN I find myself bound and gagged in front of Irene, I’m feeling grateful.

Honestly? I set the bar too low. I need to start asking more of my abductors.

And then there is a hideout about eight miles from there, Nele told me yesterday, pointing at a map. It’s inconvenient, because it’s so close to pack territory, the risk of being caught during patrols is high. But Irene never gave it up.

Because of its proximity to her father’s home?

She nodded. There were rumors that the previous huddle leader wanted to tear the house down, and Irene decided to keep an eye on it to make sure it was still standing. We don’t really have a burial place for Constantine, so it’s like a memorial. It inspires us.

I looked at Koen. It would make sense for me to take a trip there, since I just found out about my family. Someone like Irene, who’s spent her entire life upholding Constantine’s legacy, wouldn’t find it weird.

I took Koen’s gritted teeth as assent, and here I am. Blinking at Irene as she kneels in front of me. Trying to avoid her touch as she cups my face with her thin, soft hands, and tells me, “You made a mistake, choosing the Northwest over your people. I know you are young and untrained, but you should have known better.”

I thrash around a little, mostly for show, but this is cathartic. I’ve never had a family to disappoint before, and it’s a bit of a power trip. Lots of fun. I don’t understand what Misery has been going on about.

“I’m not giving up on you, not if I can help it. You are Constantine’s only direct descendant, and my only blood relative.”

One of the Favored, a male Were, approaches to whisper something into her ear. Irene nods, looking pleased, and he leaves. I wonder where we are. We drove about five hours south.

“The thing is, Eva.” She lowers her voice. Her smile is wistful and threatening. “I might simply not be able to help it. If you refuse your birthright and don’t allow me to elevate you to the symbol you should be . . . I’m going to have to turn you into a martyr.”

She glances at my arm, where the tracker is implanted.

I pretend not to notice the gleam in her eyes.

MY EYES WIDEN WHEN I SEE THE WEAPONS THEY HAVE AMASSED, and it’s not another example of award-winning acting. I was prepared for the firearms, but not for the explosives.

This has clearly been a while in the making. When night comes, I pretend to fall asleep, and gather snippets from conversations floating around. They were almost ready to strike, and my presence is just an opportunity to expedite the proceedings.

We don’t have a long time, but . . .

. . . that tracker? They can see her location, are probably on their way . . .

. . . ideal situation, but we need to hurry . . .

. . . might not come. He left her alone close to the border, after all, not the act of someone who cares.

. . . nonsense. He had his closest second guarding her. The woman. She screwed up.

. . . is very attached to the girl . . .

Poor Koen is probably grinding his teeth to stubs. I wonder if he’s called Amanda a testicle yet, just for siding with me about the plan. I wonder if this is shaving a couple of years off his life. I wonder if it’ll be better for him, once I’m back in the Southwest. Out of sight, out of mind will never be our thing, but maybe not knowing whether I’m in danger will save the lining of his esophagus?

I should talk to Jorma. Make sure that someone is there to take care of him, even if I can’t.

“Eva,” a voice calls, and my eyes pop open. It’s a Human man, holding something sharp. “I’m sorry. This won’t hurt.”

I’m out before I can wonder what he’s referring to.

MY NEXT MOMENT OF AWARENESS IS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT. I’m groggy and confused, in the same safe house where I fell asleep. Except, it’s no longer bustling with activity.

It’s just me and two Human guards.

My upper arm, where the tracker was, hurts like an open wound. Dried blood clings to my biceps, pools in the inside of my elbow.

And that’s when I realize that I may have underestimated Irene.

CHAPTER 37

She’s a small wolf. Cream and white colored, with the same dark brown eyes as her human form, and pale yellow ears that are large for her body and more pointed than most. Her thick tail and delicate muzzle have a few light markings that make her utterly unique. So pretty, he thinks that if she were the last thing he saw, he wouldn’t mind. Not at all.

THEY TOOK MY TRACKER AND LEFT ME BEHIND, WHICH IS NOT how I thought it would go. Irene must know that the Northwest is going to notice that it’s no longer attached to my body, which could mean a handful of things. At best, she’s aware that something might be off and decided to be cautious. At worst, she knows exactly what our plan is and opted for using a less valuable bait, outfit it with my tracker, and let it be a casualty of the fight that will break out.

It, because I don’t want to believe that Irene would sacrifice one of the Favored.

The moment I’m fully awake, I yell into my gag. Writhe. Make a scene. One guard, a man with gray hair and a long beard, watches me for a few minutes. Then he sighs, comes closer, and frees my mouth. “What is it?”

Where the fuck did they go? would be my conversation starter of choice, but I settle for “I have to go to the bathroom.” It’s not even a lie.

He and the younger guard share a look. “Just . . . go.”

“Where?”

They seem confused.

“You want me to just piss myself?”

“I mean . . . yeah.”

I consider pulling a Do you know who my father is? but decide to go a little subtler. “Irene would let me keep my dignity.” Classy, if I say so myself.

“Would she?” Beard seems doubtful. He glances at the gun next to his right hand, then at the younger man, who’s clearly not in charge. Unlike Beard, he looks properly intimidated by the idea of being on Irene’s shit list. “Maybe. But I’ve watched enough TV to predict how the take me to the bathroom, untie me for just a second shebang always ends.”

“Have you?”

He nods, proud of his clairvoyance.

I sigh. “Okay, listen— don’t untie me. Don’t even take me outside. How about you just lower my pants and underwear so I don’t have to sit in my own urine for the foreseeable future? Your buddy can hold me at gunpoint so I don’t try anything. Not that I could, since my arms and my feet are tied up.”

Beard thinks it through, finds no objections, and the rest is easy enough. Not very smart of them, to assume that I’d need someone else to untie me. Then again, they have no idea I can shift.