We planned to leave early the next morning, and as we piled everything we needed in the back of Asher's truck, Ben approached, a look of determination on his face. He crossed his fingers and faced Asher.

"I'm coming with you."

I could feel Asher's Alpha instincts kicking into high gear as his eyes dropped to Ben's pregnant stomach. I knew what he was thinking. It was dangerous. Not just because Wamp might show up, but because of the fumes and the smoke and who knew what else. But I knew, even though we hadn't spoken of it, that Ben's determination was unshakable, that he was driven by a need none of us could match.

"He's coming," I said before Asher could speak his decision, preventing a fight over his authority. Once Asher spoke, he would have to stick to his word, or else be thought weak. Not that any of the alphas present would think that, but there would be a primal reaction we wouldn't be able to control, and instinctively, we would lose a small amount of trust in Asher. There was already enough dissention in our ranks. I looked to Ryan, who stood on the other side of the truck with his arms crossed over his chest, his face unreadable. "You're in the car with me."

I didn't look at Asher, but he mindspoke to me. Are you certain of this? He's your responsibility if he goes.

That's fine.

My responsibility. The truth was, I'd felt responsible for Ben for some time now, ever since I'd found him crying outside of my RV. No, the truth was I had felt this sense of responsibility since the fire when I'd held Ben in my arms while he cried over his dead mate.

This was a new feeling for me. All my life, I have been made to feel as if I were useless. My family didn't appreciate my technical bent, and on more than one drunken occasion, my father had told me that he wished that I had died instead of my mother. Since no one wanted me, I was determined to not want anyone in return because that only led to pain.

I couldn't imagine anyone more different from me than Ben Finston. He clearly had loved his mate, and I could only assume that he was loved in return. His anger was made of fire, while my resentment was made of ice. But it was that fire that warmed me to him, that made me feel at ease and unsettled at the same time.

He made me want to care again.

I sat in the back with Ben, the middle seat empty between us. Dallas and Ryan kept up a steady stream of conversation in the front seat, as they always did on our way to a mission. I rarely had much to say. What was the point of speaking except to relay information that others do not already know?

I appreciated that about Ben. He didn't push me to talk more than I needed.

I'd often wondered about this… this social requirement for discussion that most others seemed to understand intrinsically. There must be some evolutionary reason for it. Was it simply a positive emotional feedback loop? If that was so, I didn't understand why so many couples argued. I tried to copy it, sometimes, to practice fitting in, but it felt awkward, like too small shoes, and I always returned to my quiet.

I wasn't sure what the fire today would accomplish. It made no logical sense for Wamp to let himself be drawn out when he was so well concealed. But most humans, and especially most shifters, acted with emotion, not logic. Perhaps Casper was hoping that the event would blind his logic and encourage him to make a fatal error.

We had investigated Wamp’s house nearly 2 years ago, back when we thought he was a simple arsonist. We've been keeping tabs on him since, but he seemed to have abandoned the property. It was a small cabin, nearly as far out from Nashville as we were, but to the east, whereas we were to the south. We pulled up cautiously, but Asher seemed to trust Casper's insistence that Wamp would not be here. Ryan's uncertainty rang in my mind though, and I paid close attention to the slightest shift in the wind as we exited the car.

"Let's do this," Asher said, dropping the tailgate of his truck.

I pulled out a gas can and handed it to Ben. "Can you carry this?"

Ben's lips pressed in a line of determination as he took the can. He leaned heavily to one side, but he marched up to the house and began splashing the gas around the base of the walls without hesitation.

It took only minutes to prepare the cabin, and Asher laid down a single line of gas far away from the building. He pulled out a pack of wooden strike anywhere matches and handed them to Ben.

"Would you like to do the honors?"

There was no pleasure in Ben's face as he lit the match. There was no satisfaction as he dropped it on to the line of gasoline. There was no relief as the fire ran down the line and hit the puddles of the flammable liquid at the base of the house with a loud whoosh.

I kept one eye on the fire and one on Ben as we watched the cabin burn. We stayed until well past dark when the small building had become a large pile of embers. In any other circumstance, it would've been perfect for roasting marshmallows.

When the sky began to drizzle, we were finally satisfied that we weren't about to spark a devastating forest fire, we loaded up, and headed back. It was late and dark, and the roads were slick with rain. It seemed a fitting end to a night that had been surprisingly anticlimactic.

"Do you feel any better?" I asked Ben quietly, hoping that if the men in the front seats could hear, they at least had the sense to keep their mouth shut.

"No." Ben looked away, out the window. "I had expected something… More."

I didn't know what "more" he meant. I didn't know what kind of closure he had been looking for to begin with.

"I had thought that I might feel some sense of revenge for returning at least a small part of my pain to him. But I just feel emptier."

I didn't know how to respond. I could protect Ben from physical danger, but I didn't know how to protect him from his own expectations.

Ben twisted around to look behind us. In the dim glow of headlights, I saw a hint of concern across Ben's face.

"Hey, Dallas? Do you see that guy coming up really fast behind us?"

Dallas his eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. "Shit, he's going really fast. I'm going to slow down and pull over to the side a little bit; wait for him to get past us."

I turned around to look for the vehicle they were talking about. The interstate was nearly empty except for the one pair of headlights that was coming too close, too fast.

"What the fuck does he think he's doing?" Dallas had moved almost all the way onto the edge, but the other vehicle seem to be following us.

"Dallas… Dallas I think you need to speed up." My eyes were calculating the trajectory of the other vehicle, the speed, the slick road… And it wasn't looking good.

"Motherfucker!" Dallas hit the gas and the wheels spun on the slick road, thankfully grabbing on to the grooved edge that was used to wake up drifting, tired drivers.

Asher, something's not right. We've got a—

The other vehicle slammed into us without slowing, sending Dallas’ car into a full spin. Instinctively, I reached out for Ben, but I couldn't fight against the force of the spin. The car stopped with a sudden jolt, slamming my head against the window. I heard glass shatter, but as if from a distance.

Danger. Danger. Danger. My mind was fuzzy. I was wet and dizzy. I blinked frantically, trying to clear my vision. Ben's door was open. Ben wasn't in the car.

That got me moving. I fumbled with my seat belt and reached for my door handle. The latch popped, but the door wouldn't budge. It took me a moment to realize that that was because the side of the car was pinned against the ground. I scrambled for the other side, with the open door, and looked frantically around for Ben. I jumped when Dallas’ door opened behind me.

"You okay?" He asked, shaking his own head. A white dust covered his face, and his nose and cheek were red, as if from a rug burn.

"Where did Ben go?" Dallas turned but moved slowly. Fuck. We couldn't afford this. My hearing and vision were slowly clearing, and it struck me how silent everything was.

"Hey, asshole!"

I spun around to the source of the voice. It was bad. All I could see was his silhouette as he limped toward the vehicle that had hit us. The car had ended up facing backward, pointing directly at the vehicle, which I could now see was an old, beat up truck. It was halfway off the shoulder into the grass.

"Ben! What the hell do you think you're doing?" I hurried to him. Chances were the driver was drunk, and had been knocked out, if not worse, but what use was there in taking chances?

The driver side door opened and I burst into a run. My cat yowled to be released, but I couldn’t afford even the slight delay of shifting. The car's headlights illuminated the drivers face perfectly. It was one I knew too well: Ernest Wamp. I had been staring at this man's face on paper for almost two years, and now he was finally in front of me.

His hair was longer than his pictures, and his eyes more sinister. His smile was unsteady, as if he were attempting to imitate one, without quite having the right muscles for it.

I saw the kid circle around the hood of the vehicle just before I reached Ben. The kid raised his hands palms out, pointed at Ben, and I knew a split second before it happened that Ben was going to die. I leapt forward with a scream to push Ben out of the way, and my body lit with pain.