Glory kicked them out of the hospital room and told them to let her sleep. With smiles, they left, even though there was really nothing to smile about. It felt like the beginning of the end. It felt like slow, inexorable decline to Isobel, who had experienced a similar feeling before. Only back then, she had ignored it, and had paid the price.

They walked in silence back downstairs to the parking lot. Evan looked exhausted, and Isobel was exhausted. His face still looked rough, his bruises were dark smears across his skin.

His knuckles still looked like hell too, but the swelling had gone down.

"I have to run back to the house to grab some stuff. I need my textbooks."

Evan nodded. His arms had been so warm, so comforting, and now, she felt like she couldn't leave them, like leaving his embrace made her weaker. It wasn't hard to be stronger with him nearby, it wasn't hard to be bigger than her physical presence.

"See you there?"

"Yeah," she said, nodding and trying to put on a cheerful face.

He smiled at her.

Her heart fell apart.

She climbed into her junker car and started it. The heater wouldn't work, but at least it started. Evan followed her back to the house. The suburbs weren't too far away, but it was too long a drive knowing that Evan was going to meet her there.

She had fired a gun. She had almost shot someone. She had stood her ground in a way that she had never quite been able to before. The house was going to be trashed when they got there, that was part of how those bastards had gotten their message across. She was afraid, for Evan. Afraid that he would do something drastic and stupid, or even that he wouldn't do anything at all and be afraid.

They drove within viewing range of the college as they passed. Isobel wondered if she would go to class tomorrow. She didn't feel like it. It had been a long night so far and she had a feeling it wasn't over. Having never missed a class before she came to be with the Lockwood family, she did feel kind of justified in skipping every once in a while. In fact, there were a lot of things she hadn't done before she had gotten with the Lockwood family. Like playing with a very harmless Ouija board. Or doing a tarot reading. Watching The Sopranos, or eating spaghetti bolognese.

Or like kissing someone with bloody, raw knuckles. Someone who told her just what he wanted, just how he felt, just what she made him feel. Evan's heart was full of live wires, open and exposed, and the electricity made the hair on the back of her neck stand straight up.

Where Glory was starting to feel like decline, Evan felt like a new, rising sun.

She pulled up to the curb, with Evan pulling into his parking spot right after her. He climbed out of the car, slamming the door shut and locking it with the key fob. The lights blinked, and the alarm plink-plinked, and she smiled, because it was kind of silly.

The front door was busted, the lock broken from where one of the two men had kicked it down. Isobel's mind was a fast-moving security film track of what had happened. She had filled out a police report, and they had told her they would call her in the morning.

They had kicked down doors, upturned the dining room table, thrown things off the kitchen counters. The office just off of the sitting room wasn't touched. They hadn't wanted him to think they were there to steal anything.

Evan went upstairs and Isobel followed him.

The big TV was destroyed, the screen busted through. Isobel's spindle had been broken by a boot, her new silk singles ruined with mud and tied into knots. She picked it up and put it into her backpack. That was twenty dollars wasted, and not enough silk to bother with unless she blended it with some wool or something.

Evan kicked something gently with his foot. He looked so defeated.

"I don't think I want to do this anymore," he said.

"What?" she asked. "Fighting?"

"Hurting people."

"Why, because you've been hurt now?"

Evan looked at her, bewildered. His eyes were wide and uncertain. And then his dark and heavy brows furrowed. "Yeah."

"Have you ever hurt someone so badly they were permanently injured, Evan?"

Evan thought about it for a minute, even as his fists clenched and unclenched.

"I don't know. I don't think so."

"Every time someone sustains a blow to the head, it causes brain damage. If they keep getting hit, their brain is more and more damaged until it can't heal the damage anymore. Football players get it a lot. How many people have you hit in the head, or knocked out? How many concussions have you caused?"

She didn't know the answer, but clearly, it was taking the energy out of him to consider it.

"They chose to fight me."

"And you chose to hurt them."

"I'm not the only one who does this."

"No, but you're better than this. Which is why it bothers me so much that you do it. I heard you were going to school for architecture, to learn to build things. Why are you tearing things down?"

Evan sighed. Isobel huffed. It took a lot out of her to say those things to him. But her heart still ached all the same. She almost wished she hadn't said them.

"Do you think I can do better? I needed the money. Does that make me worse than anyone else?"

"No. But you kept doing it. Even after you got money. That's pretty shady."

He sighed. A moment passed in silence. Then, Evan looked up and met her eyes. He said, "Would you . . . Would you help me clean up this mess? Maybe tomorrow? I know it's kind of a lot to ask, you've got a lot going on. But . . . Well, I don't want to do it alone."

Isobel felt like her heart was melting. "Yes. Yeah. Yeah, of course. Of course I will. I get out of class at two."

"Okay. Yeah. I'll be here."

Isobel nodded. "Okay, I'll see you then."

"I'll walk you out."

She went down the stairs first, her heart thundering in her chest. She felt like breathing was hard, like her heart was a weight in her chest holding down her lungs. Her cheeks were hot, uncomfortably so, to the point where they were starting to tingle.

She easily swung open the broken door, and Evan followed her to her car. In the dark, she couldn't see the color of his eyes, just the sparkle in them. She saw the rise and fall of his breath, the fog showing her just how fast his breathing was. Like a fist, she was struck with desire. No, she had to leave. She had to go. To run.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then," he said casually.

"Yeah," she said, opening the door to the back seat. She tossed her backpack in and slammed the door shut. "It'll be okay, we'll get the place cleaned up and the doctor will give Glory some kind of pills for her heart, and we will all go back to the way things were."

The smile that crept up his face said he knew she was lying, but appreciated it all the same.

* * *

Isobel walked around and climbed into the driver's seat. She watched Evan walk around the house to his cottage in the back. Pulling her keys out of her pocket, she took a breath. It would be fine. Everything would be fine.

She was too close.

She was too close to all of this.

Now it made perfect sense, why she would be fired for getting too close to these people. Her heart was breaking open.

Putting the keys in the ignition, she turned it—and it didn't start. The engine turned over once, twice, three times . . . And then died. With a huge, heaving sigh, she looked out the windshield to the stars. Glory. Glory had done this. In some weird, witchcraft-fueled way, she had done this to her.

Evan was there. He was right there, at his house.

She climbed out of the car and rolled her eyes, slamming the door shut. Damn it.

Walking around the house to the cottage in the back, she found Evan's lights on. She marched up to it, and tapped at the glass door with her knuckles. The door opened. As usual, Evan answered the door like a barrier, leaning his hand against one door jamb with his body curved toward the door.

"Isobel," he said hoarsely. "What's wrong?"

He stared at her. Her gut flipped, and her heart skipped a beat, and she could see her breath, turning to mist, hard and fast.

"My. . . My car won't start," she said, gesturing back the way she’d came. "I don't think I . . . I can't leave."

What she didn't say was that she didn't think she was supposed to.

"Well, I can jump your car, or I can give you a ride," he said, his voice low. "I can . . . Or you can sleep in the house."

Isobel was finding herself disappointed. She was . . . trembling.

"Um . . . Yeah. Yeah! Yeah, I think I'll just sleep here. It's easier. I'm tired."

"Are you?" he asked.

"Yeah. Tired."

"Me too. But to be honest, I would feel more comfortable if you slept here. That house doesn't lock right now."

Isobel was dying with uncertainty. Was she imagining the double meaning in EVERY word, or was he actually trying to tell her something without saying it? Was she?

"Oh, for God's sake," she said, and she walked right up to him.

His arms flew from the door jamb and wrapped around her, and he lifted her up as easily as he had the last time. He kicked the door shut and took her to the couch. She felt his response, the stiffness of his cock pressing against the zipper of his jeans. Her hands fumbled at the button, but he took her hand, gently, and moved it up over her head.

"Oh, no, Isobel," he whispered against her lips. His mouth moved from her lips, up the edge of her jaw, and to her ear. "I've waited too long. I'm going to savor every second of this. I'm going to drag it out. I'm going to tease you until you're crazy. I'm going to make you beg."

Isobel shuddered. She gasped. He nipped at her throat, and it hurt, but worse was the ache between her legs. That kind of ache was new. He moved back, just a little, so he could look at her face. As carefully as he could, he brushed her hair back.

"I may only get tonight. Only this one chance. So I'm going to make it last."

Isobel used her free hand to gently touch his face. She shut out the thought, refused to think too much about the long term. She was here now, with him.

"Well, better get started then."

He pulled her up, and pulled the sweater off of her, then the t-shirt. She pushed his shirt up, and he took it off. Throwing it on the ground, he grinned in a way that sent shivers up and down her spine. He pushed her back, and tugged aside her bra, slipping the strap down her arm. His mouth on her breast was hot, his tongue flicking across her nipple, sucking and tugging and making her writhe beneath him. She let out soft moans, little sounds of pleasure.

He unbuttoned her jeans. With a soft pop, he stopped sucking on her breast and straightened up, trailing his fingers down her sides, her belly, to reach the waistband. When he stripped her, slowly, he scratched the sides of her thighs with his fingers.

Once she laid bare before him, he stared at her. She looked up at him, struggling not to cover herself. It had been a long time since someone had seen her like this.

"Isobel," he said.

"Yeah?"

He reached down, trailed a hand across her belly, down her hip, across her thigh. His hand slipped between the lips of her pussy, his finger brushing her clit. Electricity shot through her.

"I think I'm in love with you," he said quietly.

When she tried to answer, he started stroking her, softly, trying to find the right rhythm.

"No, don't answer. Don't speak. Not yet."

"Evan . . . I—"

And then she gasped, and he grinned. There. His fingers tested, teased, and he pushed her legs open. She shivered, and moaned, and an orgasm began to build, everything inside her coiling and tensing, her sighs getting louder, her moans turning to shouts, to screams. She gripped the couch, twisted her hand in her hair, and the whole time, she couldn't stop, she wouldn't. With Troy, she had only ever felt shame. With Evan, she felt free.

When the orgasm hit her, it blossomed like a flower bursting open. Heat and light pushed her over the edge, and her scream caught in her throat. Her back arched. Her legs closed, not wanting him to move. He was in just the right place.

Evan couldn't stand it anymore. He had plans for the night, but he didn't care anymore. He had wanted to tease her, to hear her begging for him, but now, all he could think about was fucking her. He was so hard it hurt.

She helped him pull off his jeans, and watched his face as he eased her down. Isobel's leg caressed his, her knee raised high. He slid inside her, and groaned from deep in his chest. She took a deep breath, then another, looking him right in the eye as he slid his arm under her head, holding her shoulders.

His hips bucked once, then he moved more slowly, drawing himself almost all the way out before sliding it back inside her as deep as she could take him.

She grabbed his face and made him look her in the eye. "Evan. Don't go slow. I'm tired of going slow. Fuck me," she growled, and he shuddered.

"Whatever you say," he whispered in her ear, before he drove himself inside her, hard and fast. His own orgasm tensed inside him, and he wasn't sure he could hold himself back. She bucked against him, whispering his name, letting out little sounds of pleasure, of desperation.

"Come for me, Isobel," he sighed.

Just as he was about to cum, he reached down between them and stroked her clit, so that she gasped, and tightened around him. "Evan!" she cried, and he bucked once, twice, his eyes wide and his mouth open. His eyes screwed shut, he buried himself in her neck, tense . . . And then he collapsed. He was heavy on her, but it was a good heavy, a comforting weight.

She gently stroked just behind his ear with her fingertip, and the two of them were quiet for a while.

"So the timing may not be great," she said quietly. "But I think I'm in love with you too, Evan. And not just because of the sex."