Lavinia couldn’t believe she had accepted Lane’s suggestion to spend the night at the Directive’s headquarters.

“It’s the only place where I can guarantee you’ll be safe,” the detective said.

He had been studying her every move since the moment they’d entered the white building in the Parioli neighborhood.

Or maybe she was being paranoid.

“We have a small apartment where agents rest in between stakeouts,” he said, pointing his chin at the end of the white hallway that seemed never to end.

The place looked like it had been carved out of white marble. The polished material covered every surface, from the floors to the impossibly high ceilings. The carved accents were in marble, as well. Even though the place was spacious, a bout of claustrophobia gripped Lavinia. Her werewolf nature disliked the mausoleum quality of the Directive’s Roman headquarters.

Or, again, it was all in her mind.

“This way,” Lane said, gesturing ahead.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, unable to contain the question any longer.

She was tired, overwrought by recent events, and on the verge of having a nervous breakdown. Asking for the truth seemed a small thing.

“Like what?” The detective paused in mid step and nodded a silent greeting to an agent who walked past them in a hurry.

“Like I have grown another head,” she said.

An amused smile graced Lane’s face for the briefest of moments before he answered, “There’s something about you—”

Lavinia frowned. “Something like what?”

The detective’s nostrils flared, then he shook his head and shrugged. “Not sure. Just a hunch.” He resumed walking, exchanging a few words with the other agents who passed by.

Finally, he stopped in front of a dark paneled door and opened it for her. “It’s not much, but it’ll do in a pinch.”

Lavinia stepped into an airy foyer and thought his idea of the place being “not much” greatly differed from hers, but she didn’t voice her opinion. Instead, she walked further inside, taking in the large room with several other doors around. She counted six entrances in all. “Which one is the bedroom?”

“First to your right.” Lane moved to open the door for her. “It has an en suite bathroom, and breakfast will be brought to you tomorrow morning.”

Lavinia entered the room and recoiled. A strong sense of dread gripped her heart, and she brought her hand to her chest.

“What’s happening?” Lane asked.

Lavinia shook from head to toe. “Something evil,” she said. Her teeth rattled in her mouth. “Blood—” The metallic tang of stale blood coated her tongue, and she gagged. Her throat burned. A scream escaped her mouth as she collapsed to the cold marble tiles.

Unbidden, the image of a young woman appeared in front of her. She was dirty and had holes all over her arms.

Lavinia blinked, trying to get rid of the unwanted intrusion, but the woman didn’t go away. Instead, the hallucination became clearer. The woman’s eyes stared in horror at Lavinia, and her mouth opened in a silent shout that contorted her features. Lavinia’s werewolf teeth lengthened in her mouth. Blood coated her tongue, and she gagged and screamed at the same time for the nightmare to stop.

“Lavinia!” The detective reached for her shoulder, but she jerked away from his touch. He raised his hands high. “It’s okay. I don’t want to hurt you.”

A searing pain tore her apart. In her panicked state, Lavinia mumbled, “It’s too early.”

“What’s too early?” The hovering shape of the detective came in and out of focus as she tried to stay awake.

“The full moon is in two days,” she said, her voice hoarse as if she had been shouting for hours.

“Are you in the shifting throes?” The man crouched close to her, regarding her with the same curious stare from earlier.

“Yes,” she answered, only to take stock of her condition and realize that it was the wrong answer. “No—” She shook her head, unable to process what was happening to her. “I don’t know,” she finally said.

“Okay.” He stood and offered her his hand, but then thought better of it and lowered it by his side. “Do you feel better now?”

This time, before answering, Lavinia assessed her situation. The sensation of doom that had followed that strong sense of despair was gone. “I’m better.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She didn’t need to think about this answer. “No. I’d rather forget all about it.”