Just a friendly little reminder, the text reads, $1,000, 3 more days.

I swear under my breath as I pack up at work. With shaking fingers, I text back, I know. I step out into the blinding sun after work on Monday. Mentally, I think through all of my things again, considering what I could sell to come up with the extra five hundred.

Nothing. Nothing I own is worth that much money.

Short of selling my body for services, I can’t think of anything I can do to come up with the money before Thursday.

“You seem tense,” Mina says as we both slide into my car.

“Not all of us can afford to buy mansions at the drop of a hat,” I say, annoyed. I pull out of the parking lot and head onto the road.

“If money is what has you so stressed out, perhaps you should talk to Cyrus,” she says. “You are a Royal, after all. That entitles you to certain benefits.”

My brows furrow and I look over at her in surprise.

Money.

Cyrus obviously has plenty of it. He’s had thousands of years to earn it.

And the Houses. There has to be a source that supports them in some way.

Of course it’s Cyrus.

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I can take care of myself.”

It’s obviously not true. But I can’t stomach the idea of crawling to Cyrus and begging for his financial help.

Mina shrugs and doesn’t say anything more.

I pull into the parking lot of my apartment. “I’ll be right back, you can just wait here,” I tell Mina.

With heavy feet, I trudge up the stairs.

Harvey, my slimy landlord waits for me at my old door, standing in it, an obvious sign of not a chance you’re getting back inside\, written all over his body language, his burly chest blocking my way.

Good thing Cyrus and I got everything last week.

He only scowls at me as I hand over the key.

I hand over my freedom. My thread of adulthood. My backup option.

I can’t even look up at him as I turn to go.

My stomach sinks.

It’s so final. I may not have had another choice in giving up my apartment. But this feels like the first item crossed off the list in saying goodbye to my human life.

Silently, I climb in the car, and we drive back to Cyrus’ house. Back home.

We walk through the grand doors. And I’m just too heavy. Too tired. Too everything.

I barely even glance up at Cyrus as I walk in. His head perks up, but maybe he knows how to read me, now. He doesn’t say anything.

I head up to my room. I curl up in the bed. And I just try not to think.

* * *

Two more days, Shylock texts me on Tuesday.

One more day, he sends on Wednesday.

I’m sweating bullets. I don’t sleep. Anxiety crawls its way up my chest all day at work.

I consider asking Emmanuel if I can borrow it. But then I’m just in debt to one more source, and then I’d be dragging him into my mess.

When I get home, I find myself scanning the house.

Anything. I could take anything from here, sell it, and have enough money.

But that only makes me a thief.

All I can do is show up at the meeting place tomorrow and beg for more time. And mercy.

“I have a thing I have to take care of tonight,” I say on Thursday morning. “I’ll only be gone for about thirty minutes. I haven’t tried to run yet, and I don’t plan on doing it now. So Mina can take the evening off.”

I say it all in a rush while staring into the fridge. I’m not hungry. My stomach is full of knots. There’s not a chance I can eat. But it’s habit, and there’s something human and comforting about habit.

“From your tone I assume you’re not going to say what this ‘thing’ is,” Cyrus states.

He’s just walked down the stairs and stands in the doorway to the living area. His hair is wet, slicked back. He slowly buttons up his shirt. He leaves the top three open.

“It’s all part of our deal,” I say emptily. “Closing up my human life.”

Cyrus looks up at Mina, who gives him a doubtful look.

“You can take the night off, Mina,” Cyrus says as he begins rolling up his cuffs, exposing his lean forearms. “I trust Logan when she says she won’t run.”

I nod my head in thanks as I close the fridge. I grab my purse off the counter and head for the door.

I feel Cyrus’ eyes on me as I walk past him, but I don’t have the mental energy to put on a show of strength and bravado for him.

It’s the longest and fastest day of work, ever.

I keep looking at the clock every five minutes. Every time I look, it’s half an hour later.

Time speeds along, and all too soon, it’s five and I’m clocking out. Mina and I drive back to the house.

Fredrick is serving dinner, and no one says a word as we eat.

At twenty to seven, I head to my bedroom. I pull open my bottom drawer and pull the folded up hundred dollar bills from a sock. Only five of them. Not enough. But it’s everything I have.

I suppose it’s a good thing vampires still have to eat. I wouldn’t be able to afford to feed myself if I wasn’t living here in this house.

I may not have had a choice, but there have been several unexpected benefits to being a prisoner.

“I’ll be back soon,” I say when I reach the bottom of the stairs. I don’t even look around to see if anyone is around to hear me.

I imagine all the bones Shylock could break as I drive to our meeting place. Fingers. Toes. Legs, if he’s feeling particularly angry over five hundred dollars. Maybe my nose. A black eye might satisfy him over a few weeks’ delay.

By the time I pull into the parking lot of the gas station, I’m about ready to puke. Every one of my nerves is on high alert. Fight or flight is raging through my system at supersonic speed.

I’d run.

Without a doubt.

But he knows where to find the people I care about.

My knees quake as I climb out of my car. Half of me feels numb as I walk around to the back of the building, to the narrow alley between the shops behind it.

He’s already waiting.

The moment I step into the alley, he pushes off the wall and walks toward me.

Shylock. The money shark. The man I turned to when everything in my life fell apart.

The shark that’s been breathing down my neck for the past two years.

“Let’s make this quick,” he says, looking around to be sure no one is watching. “I have another appointment after this.”

Appointment—as in someone else to scare half to death.

Shylock is tall. Probably weighs two hundred fifty pounds. His too-thin hair hangs long and dirty down his back. He wears a long black jacket, even though it’s summer. Black boots are strapped around his ankles.

Picture a money-loaning lowlife, and you can imagine Shylock.

“I…” I stutter, and I hate it. I need to sell this. “I need another week. I have half now, but you moving up the date like this-”

“Excuse me?” he says, leaning in, his face too close. “I said today. You agreed to my terms, however flexible they may need to be, back when you came to me. Twice.” He growls, his breath fowl. I barely hold back a gag. “I said today. Payment will be made today.”

I swallow once. I reach into my pocket with trembling hands. “I have five hundred now,” I say, forcing my voice not to quiver. “I’ll have the rest a week from today.”

Shylock snatches the money from my hand and I flinch back half a step.

His hand lurches out, grabbing the front of my shirt. He yanks me forward into his face as he slips the money into his pocket.

“Not good enough, Lo,” he hisses, using Amelia’s nickname for me. “And now I’m going to have to charge you some kind of interest.”

He pulls me closer, crushing us chest to chest. I let out a little squeal, a mix of anger and fear. He reaches forward, sliding his hand down my backside.

I shove against him, but he yanks me close again. The fabric of my shirt rips at the collar, tearing halfway down to my stomach.

I let out an angry cry, shoving against him again, but he just gives a disgusting little laugh and pulls me forward with his hands cupped around my rear.

“She’s a feisty little fighter,” he breathes, pressing his nose into my ear, whispering against my cheek.

“Get your slimy hands off of me,” I growl, shoving against the man who outweighs me by well over a hundred pounds.

He just laughs again. With his weight, he backs me against the wall, and I smash into it, pain shooting out along the contact points. He reaches down between us, searching for the button of my pants.

A low growl whips both of our heads to the left.

Through the dim light, a pair of glowing red eyes stares us down.

“I was going to intervene,” a low, calm but dangerous voice says. And my pulse skyrockets. “I was going to offer to pay her debt off and let you go your own way.” One step, Cyrus enters the alleyway. “But then you had to go and put your hands on her. And touching my things is an unforgiveable sin.”

Shylock is stiff, wary.

Cyrus is smaller than Shylock. Shorter. Not as muscled.

But when a man with glowing red eyes is fixated on you, when he speaks with dangerous, controlled words, you’d best fear for your life.

“This here has nothing to do with you, freak,” Shylock growls. But there’s a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “Just keep walking.”

Cyrus smiles, and oh how terrifying the man’s smile is.

“Oh, but it has a great deal to do with me,” he says. “You’ve threatened this rather incredible woman. And now you’ve put her hands on her.”

Shylock spits in Cyrus’ direction, landing on his boot.

And like he can really ignore Cyrus’ presence, Shylock searches again, and this time succeeds in unbuttoning my pants.

One second he was there. The next, Shylock is gone.

A scream is strangled from my throat when I’m nearly knocked over as Cyrus pounces on Shylock. They hit the ground ten feet from me, rolling only once.

Cyrus lands on top of him. One hand wraps around Shylock’s throat. He looks up at the King with wide, terrified eyes.

Cyrus leans in close, their noses only two inches apart.

“Perhaps the world has forgotten common decency,” Cyrus says in that controlled voice of his. “This world is full of all kinds of predators. I would know since I made the most powerful ones. But you…” he trails off, his lip curling in a sneer. “You are the worst kind.”

I can’t figure out what happened at first.

There’s a little pop sound.

Shylocks eyes go wide.

They stay that way.

Even when his head relaxes back a bit.

And then there’s blood.

One short breath huffs out of my mouth. And then I press my hands over it, trapping the scream behind them.

Cyrus squeezed.

And squeezed.

And squeezed right through his neck. Snapping his head right off.

I turn, crouching down into a squat, holding my hands over my mouth so that the screams don’t spill from my lips.

Sharp breaths pull in and out of my nose and tears prick my eyes.

I’m not sure how much time passes. I hear the sound of the dumpster at the end of the alley open and close, something heavy hits the metal bottom.

But then there’s a warm hand on my back.

And the emotions rip through me at tornado speed.

I shakily rise to my feet.

And I bury my face in Cyrus’ chest, letting tears overtake me.

He wraps his arms around my back, holding me close. “It’s over,” he whispers. “He’ll never, ever bother you again. Whatever debt you owed him, you’ll never have to worry about it again.”

I sob. I tremble.

Because all I can think about is the feeling of Shylock’s hands on my rear. His fingers slipping inside my waistband to unbutton my pants. The evil look in his eyes as he decided exactly what kind of interest I would pay.

“It’s over,” Cyrus whispers again, pulling me closer.

Shylock would have raped me.

His fingers were right there.

Too strong, too possessive. The look in his eyes told me everything.

He would have taken me, right here in this alley.

“Let’s go home,” Cyrus says quietly, cradling my head against his chest.

I squeeze him tighter, clinging to him.

Safe.

Not just safe, protected.

And those two words, they make me pull back, and I look up into Cyrus’ eyes. They no longer glow red. He looks back at me, and everything in his eyes echoes those two words.

How? I think to myself. How could I possibly feel that way around this dangerous man?

“Come on,” Cyrus says. He takes a step back, but takes my hand, guiding me. To my car, he leads me. He opens the passenger door and I sink into it. As I give him the keys, I realize my shirt is torn open, exposing my chest and most of my stomach. I pull the fabric closed, attempting to cover myself.

With slightly jerky movements, Cyrus drives us back to the mansion.

I’m numb. Not in the present. I don’t even remember walking up the stairs, but suddenly I hear the sound of a door shutting and look around to realize I’m in my room. Cyrus stands at the door, looking at me with concerned eyes.

“Thank you,” I whisper. And he holds me there, captive.

“I apologize,” he says. He takes one step closer, but no more. “I should have intervened sooner. I-”

I shake my head. “You stopped a very bad man from doing something very…” my voice cracks just a bit. “Very bad. Thank you.”

Cyrus’ lips form a thin line. I see all kinds of questions in his eyes. He gives a small nod.

I walk to my closet. I’m so out of it, I forget to even close the door as I change.

I throw the clothes in the trash. I don’t ever want to see them again, remember the feel of his hand on the outside of them, see the button he undid.

I put on a pair of sweats and pull on a tank top.

Cyrus sits in the chair in the corner when I walk out. I sink onto the bed and stare at the floor.

“I went to Shylock for the money to finish school,” I explain without him even asking. “I told you that I had enough money to finish one semester after my money was stolen from my car. The bank wouldn’t loan me anything. My parents didn’t have enough. So I asked around, and Shylock’s name came up.”

I shake my head, thinking how stupid, stupid I had been to go to someone like him. I should have just taken a few semesters off, worked. But I’d been so determined to keep going.

“He loaned me all the money up front. Set up a payment schedule.” My throat is thick. “It was ambitious; I knew I’d barely be able to keep up with it. But I was desperate, so I agreed. I was keeping up with it by working nights while I was at school. I didn’t get more than a few hours of sleep here and there, but I was making it work.”

I nod, thinking of those ever-tired days. I was always exhausted. Falling asleep in classes at times. Occasionally falling asleep at work. But somehow I always got away with it.

“But then in January my dad had an accident,” I say, remembering when my mom had called me. “He’d fallen off a roof he’d been working on. He broke his back.”

My chest hurts. I grip the neck of my top, clinging to that ache.

“He wasn’t paralyzed, but he needed surgery, and he was going to have to learn how to walk again.” I picture my dad, getting rolled away to the operating room. “He’s self-employed, so insurance is always a nightmare. He didn’t realize his insurance hadn’t renewed. So suddenly they were slammed with tens of thousands of dollars in bills. They…they were going to lose their house, ‘cause Dad couldn’t work. Mom about had a heart attack from the stress.”

I squeeze my eyes closed, remembering sitting with Mom at the kitchen counter while she just sobbed. Eshan sat on the other side of her, trying to keep it together, but he didn’t know what to do either.

“I borrowed another ten thousand from Shylock and paid their mortgage without them knowing,” I continue. “They thought some of the neighbors had helped out. But when I borrowed more, the payments went up and Shylock got a lot more demanding. I started at the mortuary and was making more money, and things were okay for a few months. But then Amelia moved in with her boyfriend and I had all of the rent to cover by myself. And I just…” I suck in a breath. “I couldn’t keep up.”

“This is what’s been bothering you all week,” Cyrus says, leaning forward, fixing his eyes on me. “That lowlife has been holding this over your head.”

I nod with my eyes fixed on the ground.

I hear Cyrus stand and he sits on the bed beside me.

“I know you’re fiercely independent, Logan,” he says. He sits near, but he does not touch me. “You’re determined to take care of yourself, and everything you’ve done to do so, and help your family, it’s commendable.” He shifts, taking something out of his pocket. He holds out a piece of paper. It has an account number on it, and a card taped to it. “Fredrick got this set up just after we confirmed you are a Royal. You will never have to worry about money again, as a Royal. Of course, it is up to you if you ever wish to use it or not.”

Tears pool in my eyes as I take the paper. My lip trembles.

I’m strong. I’m nasty when I want to be. I can sling hurtful words and show anyone who’s boss.

But right now, I’m just a girl who was nearly assaulted.

I’m just a girl who is so thankful to the man beside her, but so confused all at the same time.

So for just this moment I let a little bit of vulnerability show. I lean into Cyrus, and let him cradle me against his chest and hold me as I shake.