THREE MONTHS after I’d left the court, I was lost.

At first, I followed Clay’s statement in Charlotte when he’d said that Louise would already be back in New York. At the time, I hadn’t paid too much attention to his words, but now that I was on my own, it was the only solid lead I had.

I spent a month scouring the streets, listening for any information about mysterious deaths or anything that sounded as if it could be Rain related. A few times, especially when I was close to Central Park, I could have sworn I was being followed, but whenever I turned around, I was always alone. I’d initially planned to try to follow trails of odd murders and strange activities, but it was getting me nowhere. I had no way of knowing which deaths had a logical explanation behind them and which were linked to something more sinister. The fact that I’d been framed as a suspect when my father was killed proved that the Rain had control over the media and could cover their tracks.

After too many weeks of no solid leads, I was close to giving up, but then I saw an article on the front page of a newspaper. It wasn’t the headline about a hero who’d saved eight people from a burning yacht that caught my eye. Instead, it was the photo that accompanied the article of the hero in question, topless as he appeared to wave off thanks. What drew my instant attention were the thick black lines of the tattoo on the hero’s collarbone. A dove. The exact same dove as the one that hung around Clay’s neck.

I scoured the paper for any details about where he might be, but the article only mentioned Ipswich Bay, Massachusetts. It may have been stupid, and slightly suicidal, to chase random Rain operatives in order to find Clay, but it was the only lead I had. If I could somehow disguise myself enough to approach him, I could ask if he knew Clay or his family. I was so excited by the possibility that I left New York immediately. It took almost a week to get to Ipswich Bay.

In the end though, I didn’t need a disguise because all leads to the man vanished.

When I arrived in Ipswich Bay, I found a follow-up article from two days prior with information that hadn’t made it to New York before I left. The more recent article spoke of the sudden disappearance of the mystery hero.

Disappointment flooded through me. I’d put so much faith in something that had disappeared. And it isn’t even the first time.

I didn’t know what to do next. Where to look or what to do. If I revealed my true nature, I had no doubt I would have Rain operatives swarming the area in days. Yet they were so adept at blending in that it was impossible to find the one I wanted more than anything else.

How do you find someone that doesn’t want to be found? Someone with access to cover up every death and disappear without a trace?

At least when he’d been looking for me, Clay’d had access to a myriad of computer programs and databases to help him. I just had me. I barely had any money, just whatever I could siphon from a small pile of credit cards I’d reluctantly stolen from unknowing victims. Each time I used one, the risk of being caught increased. Even though I’d survived for a little while without returning to any shelters or the court, I really had no idea what I was doing.

Trying to avoid using the cards except in emergencies, I’d taken to hiding out in reserves and national parks. The knowledge Dad had shared with me was finally able to shine. I’d learned that I was quite adept at fishing, hiding, and camping.

I was on my way back to New York, hiding among the huge hardwood trees in Breakheart Reserve near Saugus, Massachusetts, when I was interrupted.

“Lynnie!”

Looking around for the source of the feminine voice, I spied a flash of green between the trees. I dragged myself out of the little nook I’d found between two twisted tree trunks and followed the sound.

“Lynnie?” Whoever was calling for me spoke again.

I turned, glanced around and saw her. Willow. She stood in the middle of the hiking path a few dozen yards from where I’d been hiding.

“Willow?” I asked as I closed the distance between us. “What are you doing here? Why are you looking for me?”

She smiled at me, each of her perfect white teeth glimmering in the muted sunlight. “Aiden thinks he might have found him.”

My heart stopped at her words. Aiden had found Clay? “How?”

“The same way we found you,” she said as she shook out her long corn-silk hair. “We have scouts and spies all over. Some not in the form you’d expect. Aiden asked for anyone to come forward for increased Rain activity. There’s something big going down tonight in Salem.”

“Salem?” I repeated. “Salem, Massachusetts?”

She grinned.

“That’s just a few hours walk from here.” My voice was a low whisper as I realized that if the information Willow was giving me was even partly right, I might see Clay in a few short hours. My stomach leaped and twisted. My mind reeled.

Despite looking for him for so long—or maybe because of it—the thought that he might be just a few hours east was enough to make me want to launch myself in that direction and run as fast as my legs would carry me.

I had to be cautious though. It was a big enough city that we could easily cross paths and never see each other.

“Lynnie,” Willow said, glancing around her cautiously. “I just wanted to add that I’m sorry if you were hurt or left because of my actions.”

I shook my head. “Don’t be. It was exactly the catalyst I needed to do this. Who knows how long I might have made excuses not to leave otherwise.”

“I’m glad. From what Aiden has told me, what you feel for this Rain is very strong.”

I nodded. “I just hope it’s strong enough,” I confided.

 

 

AS I WALKED the cobblestone streets in Salem, I wasn’t comfortable. Among the milling tourists, I felt exposed and unprotected.

It had been so long since I’d willingly ventured into a crowd. Even while searching for Clay in Manhattan, I’d moved through alleys and avoided the more crowded areas. I’d grown increasingly agoraphobic as small groups of people jostled around me, vying for their place on the path. Some were tourists, their cameras always at the ready. Others were there in a more official capacity, dressed in period costume as they strolled along the streets, giving directions and offering assistance.

Just as I was about to give up and head for the safety of a deserted alleyway, he was right in front of me. I couldn’t believe it, despite how impossible it might have been, I was almost positive it had been Clay I’d seen from across the street, about to walk into the Witch History Museum. I was certain it was him.

Isn’t it?

The one thing that made me doubt myself was the tension that seemed to constantly invade my body from just being in this town. Everything I saw was another warning of how nonhumans were treated. The witches were ridiculed from shop windows, effigies with hook noses and green skin hung in open displays. It was more than a little surreal seeing Clay—whose family was top of the nonhuman hating list—right in front of me among so many reminders of the Witch Trials of the late 1600s.

If only they’d actually ended then.

My heart pounded as I stared at the dark-haired man I thought could be Clay.

Had I imagined him?

Were my eyes, and my heart, playing tricks on me?

After two years of silence he couldn’t be right in front of me, could he? It couldn’t have been that easy. Everything flooded back to me, every minute of our time together. My body ached to be held in his arms again. The unseen threat among the throng of people was the only thing that kept me locked in place.

A thousand questions leaped into my mind as soon as he took another step closer to the building. What’s he doing here? Does he know I’m looking for him? Where is his family?

In the years since I’d last seen him, the lean bulk he’d had on his wiry frame had firmed into a collection of well-defined muscle. Everything about him screamed strong and protective. His clothes, a faded black leather jacket and once-black denim jeans, were clearly well-loved and road-wearied. I wondered whether he’d been on the road for as long as I had.

He stood at the door and took one last glance into the street. Even though it was only the slightest glimpse, I studied his face intently. Almost-black scruff littered his jaw and framed his bowtie pout. The gash that had rested just above his cheekbone had healed into a slightly puckered scar just below his eye. While he surveyed the crowd, he raised a hand and scratched his fingers along his chin.

Just as my doubt over whether it was Clay peaked, his gaze fell on me. In that instant, I knew. It was his eyes that convinced me that it wasn’t a case of mistaken identity. They widened slightly in shock as he stared at me through the throng of shoppers and sightseers. With a narrowing of his eyes, he turned away.

I followed his gaze and finally spotted his brother a few yards from him. When Clay turned back to me, it was clear that he recognized me despite the thread-worn hoodie I wore over my hair that obscured part of my face. His eyes still held a tenderness in them as they held mine captive, despite the years that had obviously hardened his body.

In the moment after our eyes had met, the corners of his lips tugged up into a small smile. It wasn’t the smile of a predator—not one of a hunter who’d spotted his prey—but one of someone remembering a long-forgotten dream. I half expected him to break out into a run and take me into his arms. Instead, the smile fell from his face to be replaced by something more melancholy. An instant later, he’d turned and headed into the museum.

Watching him walk away, I remembered passing the Hawthorne Hotel not too far back and thought it would’ve been a perfect place for a reunion attempt away from prying eyes, if only I could think of some way to let Clay know about it. I’d stopped walking for a moment as I’d paused to consider my options. A woman in a black dress and white bonnet walked up to me to ask if I needed any assistance. I smiled as a plan formulated instantly in my mind, all to do with the hotel’s namesake.

“Do you have a piece of paper and a pen?” I asked.

Although she gave me a strange look, she passed me a flyer and a pen. I’d quickly jotted down a phone number that I’d memorized when I was on my own in the months after he left, one belonging to a church in Arizona.

“My boyfriend just went into the Witch History Museum over there and I want to surprise him when he comes out,” I said, raising my eyebrow in what I hoped appeared a suggestive manner. “Can you please pass him this note and say these words to him, ‘The number written will be beneath Washington’s griffin on the eve of the fire. Meet me at Nathaniel’s house.’ He’ll know what it means.”

Once she nodded—still looking at me like I’d grown a second head—I gave her a description of Clay and passed her the last of my money as a thank you.

After passing on my instructions, I practically sprinted back to the Hawthorne.

Circling the hotel, I checked for any and all possible escape routes. Once I saw the split roof of the hotel, I figured that if I booked into certain rooms the roof might offer me an exit—even if it wasn’t an easy one. Once I’d determined the perfect room, I headed inside to see what I could do to get as close as possible to it.

The check-in clerk pursed her lips as I asked for a room on the first floor.

“We only have a few rooms available,” she said after tapping her inch-long nails on the keyboard for a few minutes. She reeled off the rooms she had available, but they were all too high to be able to access the rooftop escape route I’d spotted.

I allowed my disappointment to bubble up to the surface and gave a sad sigh. “Oh.”

She glanced up at me. “Would you like to check in to one of those?”

I closed in on the desk. “Look, I know I should have booked ahead, but I didn’t think. I wanted to surprise my boyfriend by booking the same hotel room where we . . . well, where we shared our first time.” I dropped my voice to a whisper as I said the last part, leaning closer to her again. “See, I think, in fact, I’m pretty sure of it, but I think he’s going to propose tonight. It would have been nice to return to the same floor at least.”

Her expression softened, and I hoped I’d hit the mark.

“Some of these rooms haven’t been checked into yet.” She offered me a small smile. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you so much. I really appreciate it.”

I waited as she tapped on her keyboard again. Fifteen minutes later, I had booked into the room beside the one I’d ideally wanted.

“Thank you, Cherie,” the clerk said, reading the name off the stolen credit card I’d given her for payment.

I left Clay’s name and description at the front desk together with another note containing nothing but my room number. At first, I worried that my trail was too obvious, that it might somehow lead others in the Rain to me. After waiting in the hotel room for three hours, I wondered whether it was too subtle. The museum didn’t appear big enough to take that long to get through, and it was only a five-minute walk from the hotel.

Don’t worry, he’ll come.

. . . unless he can’t.

Or maybe he just doesn’t want to. He left you remember? Nothing has really changed since then; all the reasons he left are still valid.

Except that he certainly looks like he’s strong enough to protect you now.

A blush crept over my body as I thought about exactly how “strong enough” he looked. A daydream of being held tightly against his newly developed chest as the well-defined muscles of his arms held me securely overtook my mind for a moment, at least until the nerves over why he was taking so long reclaimed their rightful place.

I sat on the hotel bed, with my knee bouncing uncontrollably. The unaccustomed luxury of the room only fueled my discomfort at the whole situation as I waited to see if he would follow my trail.

For the umpteenth time, I wondered, Why here? Why now?

Was it really him?

Waiting impatiently on the hotel bed, I thought about the hint I’d given him. Maybe it was too cryptic. Surely Clay would understand it though?

Leaping to my feet, I paced the room, desperate to shake loose some of the energy that threatened to burst out of me. I’d already done everything I could think of to pass the time: I’d showered, packed everything back in my bag . . . twice, and flicked through every single channel on the TV.

My thoughts were splintered and erratic, swinging wildly from hope that he’d be knocking on the door at any moment to despair that he no longer cared for me. Maybe he believed in the Rain more adamantly than ever before. Maybe he had no doubts over his mission to kill me now.

It was also conceivable that in the last few years he could’ve fallen for countless other women. The painful realization that he could have a girlfriend or worse . . . a wife, stabbed at my heart with precision strikes, inflicting an agony I wasn’t prepared for.

After pacing the length of the room twice, I tried to force myself to stay still but failed miserably. My arms crossed and my fingers tapped against my elbow before I lifted my hand to my mouth and tapped my nails impatiently against my teeth.

My gaze flicked to the phone on the bedside table, as if it would burst into life and provide answers to all of my silent questions.

“Where are you, Clay?” I asked the room.

A tapping drew my attention to the door. It wasn’t really a knock. It had been too quiet for that. I peered through the peephole, but the image was distorted, leaving me nervous and unsure of whether or not to open the door.

“Evie,” whispered a voice that I recognized despite it being two years since I’d last heard it. “It’s me.”

As I stood behind the door and opened it just a fraction, I wondered again whether it had been a wise choice to let Clay find me. After all, his family was merciless in their pursuit of nonhumans. I’d experienced that first hand and was still haunted by nightmares of the car chase. Ultimately, regardless of his motivation, Clay had chosen to leave me for them. There were no guarantees that he had any allegiance to me anymore. He’d saved my life once, many moons ago, but I had no way of knowing whether he’d regretted it every day since. His family could have just as easily swayed him back to their staunch views of a black and white world.

I stepped back as the door inched wider. My breaths came in short, erratic bursts as I tried to wrestle my emotions back under control. There was a part of me so desperate to see him, I wanted to swing the door open and throw myself at him. Only, I had no idea how he would reciprocate.

As Clay stepped into the room, his gaze searched for me. When our eyes met, the smile I’d seen on him earlier came to life across his features. One step into the room, he dropped everything in his arms. With his arms empty, he rushed toward me.

My heart raced faster than his steps.

He halted directly in front of me, a shadow passed over his features. He reached out for me before stopping at the last minute. Paused with his arm halfway toward my face, he stared at me with a weary expression. His eyes echoed the same doubts I’d had since spotting him.

Two years was a long time. There were no guarantees for either of us. He’d walked away from me while I was still reeling from my father’s death, which should have been enough for me to hate him. Except, I never could. The last words I’d said to him, “Don’t bother,” rang in my mind. Did he believe them?

“Clay,” I breathed, almost in disbelief that he could really be in front of me despite all the evidence.

Covering the final distance between us, I placed my hand on his chest. His heart hammered against my palm. I closed my eyes to memorize the rhythm. One of his hands rose to caress my cheek.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” I said, opening my eyes and leaning against his palm. The movement caused his fingertips to graze across the corner of my mouth. “And I wasn’t sure that you’d want to see me.”

His smile turned coy.

Unable to take the intensity of his stare a moment longer, I dropped my gaze away from his. His palm cupped my jaw, and his fingers toyed with the hair tucked behind my ear.

“Did you actually think that I’d forgotten about what I said to you?” he asked.

I smiled at his intuition. “I missed you,” I admitted. “Is that crazy?”

He was silent until I lifted my eyes back to his. His gaze was sure and steady as he said, “Not at all.”

The heat that had burned between us during our time together scorched the air.

“I’ve been going crazy since I left you in Charlotte. I thought about you so much, hoping that you were safe and staying out of trouble.”

I flinched at his words. My life hadn’t been trouble-free.

“How on Earth did you know I’d be here? I desperately wanted to check up on you, but they were watching my actions so closely. I couldn’t risk it. But you’re here now. I still can’t believe it. You’re even more beautiful than I remember. Did you know I’d be here?”

“I hoped you would be,” I said. Then, because I didn’t want to risk him asking questions about what I’d done since he’d left me, I pushed him for information. “What happened after you left?”

“Eth was certain you’d drowned in the river, but they did their best to make sure you were an official suspect in the fire at your house just in case.”

I nodded, recalling my run-in with the police because of my “wanted” status.

“I told them that you never came home.” He gently caressed my cheeks with his thumbs. “I didn’t want them to know where I’d left you or that we’d seen each other again. I’d rather they continue thinking you’d drowned. Even after . . .” He cut himself off and swallowed hard. “Even when they thought I was on their side again, I never told them the truth. I couldn’t betray you, Evie, even when I tried to live their way.”

“What do you mean?”

He sighed. “After I went back to Dad, he forced me to undergo retraining with the Rain.” A dark look crossed his face and then he shook his head as if to clear an unpleasant thought. “For a time, it almost worked.”

Even though I wasn’t exactly sure what “retraining” meant, his haunted eyes made me confident it wasn’t pleasant. I shuddered as I thought about what he must have gone through—all to cover up for me. During his confession, we’d moved even closer to each other. His hand ran over the back of my head, and his fingers went to the nape of my neck and traced the hair there.

“What did they do to you?”

Clay looked away from me, staring at a point on the wall somewhere over my left shoulder.

“Nothing that hasn’t been done before, or wouldn’t happen again if I go against the code.”

“They didn’t hurt you did they?” I asked. The thought that I might have been a cause of pain for Clay was devastating.

He met my eyes and pain echoed deep within them, but he hid it quickly. “No, not physically. They just . . . tried to make me enthusiastic about the cause again. Reminding me of all the reasons we do this, that sort of thing. I made sure it looked like I was, and then for a while I started to believe in it again. I trained harder than I ever had, and I took every mission I was offered. But inside, it just felt different. I can’t see the objective as being so black and white any longer. I can’t help but wonder if some of the other things we’d killed were just like you. As sweet, and loving, and caring as you.”

A small smile flickered across my lips.

“And that maybe . . . well, that they didn’t deserve to die.”

Resisting the urge to shudder at his casual mention of the murders he’d had to commit, I dropped my forehead onto his chest.

He kissed my hair softly before he continued. “Don’t get me wrong, I still believe in the things I’ve had to do—there are some things out there that are pure evil. I just wondered whether the Rain has some stuff wrong too.”

Lifting my head, I smiled as bravely as I could. I wanted to shut out everything about what I was and who he was for just a little while. However, it was too much to hope for to have the typical reunion of young sweethearts ripped apart too early.

“You opened up my eyes, Evie, and I won’t allow them to be closed again.” A moment later, he touched his lips to mine.

I responded eagerly to his kiss. It had been too long since I’d experienced anything like that. Every part of me wanted him.

Holding me tightly to him, he deepened the kiss, and my tongue searched desperately for his. Sighing into my mouth, he pulled my body flush against his. My hands roamed freely, tracing the length of his back and wrapping around his neck. The heat between us ignited rapidly into something I’d tried and failed to recreate with both Brian and Aiden.

His hands ran down my spine and onto my lower back, gripping the fabric as he pressed against my body to close the gap between us.

Fisting my fingers into his hair, I pulled him closer to me so that I could enjoy every second of our contact.

His lips left mine to caress the column of my throat, and he trailed soft, wet kisses down my neck and into the collar of my shirt. Trailing his fingers down to my thigh, he hitched my leg up to wrap around his waist. His need for me was obvious.

“Evie,” he murmured in reverence against my ear before claiming my mouth again.

Stepping forward, he pushed me backward until I was flush with the wall, grasping my hips tightly as if fearful I would disappear if he loosened his hold even a little. His kisses were desperate and spoke volumes to places deep inside my body.

I hummed with pleasure. Before I could second guess anything else, I tugged my hands through his hair. With my hold, I pulled his head back and exposed his scruffy jaw. A grin stole across my lips at the sounds that escaped him as I peppered feather-light kisses across his jawline. After running my hands across his broad shoulders, I went to push off his leather jacket.

I’d waited too long for this particular reunion. There was no reason to delay things even a moment longer.