Her salt stirs when my fingers swirl in the air above the fine grains.

“Gypsies are tied to salt. We use it so regularly that it’s become an extension of us. In a way, you’re now an extension of me,” I go on, watching the salt swirl again.

“If there’s some third plane where final-decay ghosts can see but not be seen, I hope you’re not there, even as I want you to know how angry at you I truly am,” I tell her, my voice staying calm as the salt goes silent and still, my fingers lowering as I just stare.

“Men are much more complex than you made them sound. You were sort of narrow-minded like that. Monsters are twice as freaking complicated, because life gets more complex the longer you live it, it seems. My life sucks pretty hard right now, and you’re not here to kick me in the ass and tell me to get on with it. Instead, I’m yapping at your salt like an idiot, because I don’t have you here. I don’t know what to do next, and you’re not here to offer up some ludicrous idea.”

I sit back in my chair, shaking my head.

“I was meant to find them; I’m just not really sure why yet. Things are developing a little quicker since you bailed after slowly killing yourself by being my friend, instead of saving yourself like you should have.”

I stop when my voice cracks, because I’m really sick of the emotional overload.

“Mom never let me cry. It always hurt her when I cried, so she made me tougher. Like her. Like you. I could really use one of you right now, and one of you is a salt pile in an urn, while the other ghost is who knows where for who knows what reason. Maybe because of this soul sucking thing attached to me, she’s not been able to get close? Doubtful, but still a theory.”

I grab one of my apples from the bowl on the counter that no one ever seems to touch but me. The oranges disappear so quickly. The apples get picked around like the unwanted fruit. Someone even put some red apples into another bowl, as though the green ones weren’t good enough.

No one even bothers to sample them.

I crunch the apple in my mouth as I roll my eyes. “You’d be disgusted with me right now,” I prattle on, glaring at the urn. “I finally figure out my purpose, and I’m sitting here feeling sorry for myself. But I was just starting to feel like maybe my purpose was them. So arrogant, I know.”

Standing, I go to grab a bottle of water, as I continue eating my apple.

“It’s all for the best,” I explain. “I mean, it’s clear they need someone a little more badass than I’m capable of being.”

I sit back down and glance over the sales for yesterday, talking myself out of my stupor.

“Vance made me feel like I was a moment of pure distraction, and in that moment, he wanted nothing more than to lose himself in me. Slowly, deliberately, and intensely.”

I take another bite of the apple before groaning.

“Then it was aloofness followed by me getting the same Vance as everyone else. I stopped being special, and…then I sort of felt special again…and then I didn’t…”

I really am pathetic.

“Now I have no idea, but it doesn’t really matter. I do know he’s going to help me, but not because I’m special. It’s because he doesn’t like feeling as though he owes yet another horrible debt. I turned out to be the vessel to deliver that message.”

Looks like sales are picking up nicely. The toothpaste is flying off the shelves. I’ll have to make more of that.

“Just so you know, he was the butterflies-in-the-stomach kind that had me staring at my phone for days after I left four really lame voicemails. I’m trying to pretend that didn’t happen.”

I flip the page, also noting the orange-infused products are unsurprisingly moving quicker than the green apple-infused products.

“Damien’s the kind of drugging sex that leaves you addicted for a blinding moment of sheer bliss. He made me feel the most wanted. Then he left me feeling the most dejected. It’s hard to put myself through that so soon after the last time, but he has something about him that just makes me want his attention as much as he wants mine. It’s not the empathy thing like they seem to think. Then again, they think they have an ever-changing world all figured out.”

I shrug a shoulder, sighing a little sadly.

“Emit made me feel like I finally wasn’t alone. I felt liberated, but his own guilt left me feeling chained. And then when those wolves attacked, I froze. I just kept hearing the word omega, and none of it made sense. Because I thought I had the gist of things. I’m still confused. The guys argue too much and get sidetracked too easily. It makes it hard to simply listen in and piece together things at a quick pace. Idun could be back before I figure out all I need to know.”

I rap my fingers on the table and just stare inside her urn for a second longer before putting the lid back on.

“The omegas are about to be really mad at me,” I say quietly as I close my eyes. “But how can I just walk away knowing how wrong these innocent Neopry monsters keep getting done? Not just by them, but by my mother’s family too? She wouldn’t let me be a monster for a reason, Anna. I need you to tell me I’m wrong before I make any mistakes, and I keep taking your really bad advice that just weaves in another layer of complication to my already complicated existence. That’s why I’m so mad at you that I sometimes think of flushing you down the toilet.”

I give her urn a small smile.

“I’d fill the bowl with cheap bourbon first, of course.”

I cross over to the side, lifting Arion’s jacket from the counter where I dumped it last night, and pull out the picture I discovered in the pocket.

“I’m not sure why I kept his jacket instead of wearing my own. Maybe because I’m the most stupid when it comes to him. He makes me feel like the world is at my fingertips, and he’s ready to give it to me no matter the cost. It’s not for me, though. I know that. It’s for them. Possibly, it’s for her.”

My thumb brushes over the small, well-preserved painting of a beautiful woman’s face. The details are as intricate as the feathering on the edges of Emit’s wolf’s fur. Her hair is dark and carries a shine. Her cheeks are strong and prominent.

“There’s a certain menace in her eyes, but the smile on her lips is inviting and charming. She’s as complex as all of them, when we both know I’m a simpler sort of girl.”

I carefully place the small painting back into the pocket of Arion’s jacket.

“He still loves her, and he’s giving her up for them if he’s really serious about making me their new center or whatever. I almost let Damien die, because I didn’t know what to do in that one situation where I should have reacted. I doubt she’d have failed him,” I add quietly. “I’m the prey. Not the predator. Omegas are only supposed to fight when backed into a corner.”

Someone knocks at the front door, and I wipe away my stray tears, as I slide Anna’s urn to the recess wall cubby.

“The store’s closed,” I call out as I head to the door and start unlocking it. “And the girls are out right now if you’re here to—”

My words cut out as a sizzle pops in the air. In the next instant, I’m pulled outside, and Ace/Arion is staring down at me with a smirk.

“I’m trying to figure out why you’re not chasing me yet, love. I came back. Did Shera not deliver that message?” he asks very seriously as his thumb runs over my lips. “Is that wound on your head worse than you let on?”

I swear I have to do a double-take sometimes to figure out if I’ve missed crucial information that leads from one encounter to the next with him. Life is twice as confusing since he stopped being just Ace and started being just Arion.

“What?” I ask incredulously.

“I played your game,” he tells me, leaning over to run his lips up my chin, as his other hand slides down my back.

I work damn hard to ignore all the things his very intense attention does to me.

“My game?” I ask, starting to worry he really does think I’m Idun and has all along.

“You wanted me. Just me,” he says as he presses me up against the side of my house, his lips brushing over mine as he pulls me closer.

My hands come up between us, lightly pushing at his chest. “That was when I thought you were a ghost,” I remind him.

“To have me, really have me, you need all four,” he goes on, gently cupping the back of my neck as he ghosts his lips over mine again. “It’s the only way I’ll ever replace her, because she always gets them back, regardless of how hard they fight. Or so I thought.”

I shove a little harder at his chest when he reaches between us, tugging at the button on my jeans. “Arion, stop,” I hiss.

“Now you have them, love,” he murmurs against my throat as he drags his lips over one spot and sucks, teasing my flesh with the gentlest of pricks on my neck. “I didn’t think I was supposed to chase you too,” he adds on a small, confusing whisper.

When he starts working my pants down like he’s about to take me right out here in the open, my heartbeat drops just enough, as my emotions boil over and rise with my swing.

My knee collides hard with his groin, and he stumbles back, doubling over, as he makes a loud, pained sound and heaves for air.

He staggers into the porch railing, and he leans over it almost involuntarily, while he tries to recover. His mouth opens and closes, eyes wide, as he finally coughs on a painful breath. My knee throbs a little, and the wind stirs just barely.

He acts like he’s going to be sick for a second, but he straightens at last, looking over at me like he’s finally paying attention.

“I see you took my advice and put a bit more oomph in your hit,” he says through strain.

I don’t know why I almost smile. I hate it when I’m trying to be angry and they do something that makes me want to smile or pity them.

“How’s your knee, love?” he asks through a tight smile, like he’s fighting through the pain.

“Now that I have your attention, do you really think I’m over the fact you gave me hope I could save Anna and that I’m just going to run to your bed now that I’ve completed your really fucked up quest?” I ask him like he’s lost his mind as I button my pants back up.

He stands at a lean, as if he’s still feeling a bit of pain. It gives me a weird sense of satisfaction…accompanied by a lot of stupid guilt that I hide.

“How’d you manage to not crack your knee?” he asks me instead of answering.

He seems more genuinely annoyed at the fact I’m able to hurt him, rather than the fact I actually did hurt him.

“I guess some parts of you are still a little soft,” I say with a cold smile.

He gives me a dubious look. “I have quite the high tolerance for pain. Though, admittedly, I can’t think of a single person, aside from you, to ever aim there since I started ripping off heads for far less,” he adds somewhat thoughtfully.