Ten o’clock.

Night had fallen heavy outside, bringing with it a fog that pressed in against the windows. Elena had been extra cranky, so Marguerite had put to her bed early, although she knew it was only going to be a few more hours before she was up and wanting to tear through the streets howling her head off. Keeping her quiet in the city was the hardest part. But if Elena was loud and noisy, it would only bring attention to them.

We’ll need a nice farm, far away from anybody else, so she can have her freedom at night. Especially once she hits those teenage years.

Ten-oh-one.

Marguerite turned away from the clock, realizing she had been staring at it, waiting for Everett to come home. Back to his apartment, that was. Which was silly, considering. After all, he had made it clear that he didn’t have any answers for her. So why was she so anxious to have him home?

Maybe it was because she needed to apologize. She had been out of line earlier that day, calling him off work just to rehash things they both already knew. And her comments had been unwarranted. In truth, she had been upset that he had left that morning when it was obvious that he wasn’t going to work. Which was ridiculous, because he had his own life, and just because she showed up didn’t mean that he shouldn’t be answering booty calls. It wasn’t like his life should be put on hold because she was there.

He had been more than kind already, letting them stay in his spare room. The whole mess would be far more terrifying if they were in a hotel and she had to worry about being kicked out during the wee hours of the morning because of Elena’s noise. This was as safe a place as they could be, with his special soundproofing and everything else he had put into place to make sure nobody ever found out about him.

And she wasn’t going to sit around like a jilted lover. Nope. With everything that was happening, she was letting herself slip up. She was going to brush her teeth, braid her hair, and go to bed. Then, when three o’clock rolled around, and it was all fun and games with two werewolves, she would have the energy and mental stamina to keep going. She wasn’t going to think of Everett anymore.

But as she was hunched over the sink, scrubbing her teeth, the sight of her cleavage deepening as she bent over reminded her of the way he looked at her that morning. She wanted to be angry over it. It wasn’t appropriate for him to be eyeing her the way he had. But she really should have closed her robe more so that he couldn’t.

It had been so long since she had allowed herself to run headlong into an affair. Before Elena was born, Marguerite did it all the time – fell hard and fast in love and into men’s beds. She always told herself that she was in love, but the truth of the matter was that she never really knew them. And being so close to Everett brought up all those feelings that she’d had when she first saw him in the bar. Only it was worse, because now she was getting to know him.

He was amazing with Elena. Even if he didn’t have experience, he was exactly like the father Marguerite had always hoped she’d one day have for her little girl. And maybe with enough time, Everett would be a permanent fixture in their lives . . . 

And what would he be to Marguerite? There was already so much emotion wrapped up in this. She rinsed out her mouth as she considered it. Best to keep it in the background. Until things were figured out she just had to make sure that she didn’t let her hormones take over her good judgment.

Still . . . She toyed with the top of her jeans. Remembering that night isn’t going to hurt anything, is it?

She had just unsnapped the top button when she heard the door to the apartment open. Quickly, she buttoned her pants again and hiked the neckline of her shirt up a couple inches before she stepped out of the bathroom. To her surprise, it wasn’t Everett that stepped in.

The woman was tall, muscular, with a perfect hourglass figure. Her hair was buzzed – a brilliant scarlet – and her blue-green eyes widened as they landed on Marguerite. The woman wore a spaghetti-strap summer dress and had a backpack with her.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” she snapped at Marguerite.

“I’m . . . a friend of Everett’s. Who are you?”

“A friend?” The woman looked her up and down. “Huh. Funny, I don’t see him around. Everett never leaves his women clothed for more than five minutes. So, what? He ran out to get condoms?”

She slammed the door and Marguerite winced. She glanced over her shoulder, hoping that the noise hadn’t woken Elena.

“Look, I’m not Everett’s woman and you need to keep your voice down, whoever you are. I have a little girl sleeping in the next room and I’d really like it if she could sleep for a few more hours.” Marguerite huffed out an annoyed breath as she looked the redhead over again. A frown crossed her face. Why would Everett give a random woman a key to his apartment? “Wait, are you Kristen?”

The woman slung her pack to the floor and rolled to the balls of her feet. “Who are you?”

Marguerite shivered at the growl in the woman’s voice. This had to be Kristen. Everett’s ‘sister’ who had the same problem as he did. She shoved her hands into her pockets to try to stop from looking threatening. “My name is Marguerite Ward. I’m . . . my daughter is also Everett’s daughter.”

Surprise flitted across Kristen’s face, but it hardened again quickly. “You just said that you aren’t one of his women, and yet you have a daughter with him?”

“We had a fling six years ago and my daughter just started exhibiting the same . . . ” Marguerite struggled with how to phrase it. “The same behavioral traits that Everett has due to his . . . condition.”

Kristen stepped back. Her eyes widened and she ran a hand over her buzzed hair. “You mean the change. Holy sh—” She cut herself off and let out a deep breath. “Okay. Well. That changes things. Yeah, I’m Kristen. You have a kid that changes? Wow. I told him he needed to be more careful. What sort of shitty life is this for a child?”

The redhead stalked to the alcohol cupboard and pulled out a bottle, which she drank straight from. Even though Everett had told her that alcohol didn’t affect them the same way as humans, Marguerite couldn’t help but wince. She wasn’t certain what she was supposed to do. Kristen clearly had issues. Anger issues, at least. Probably PSTD, like Everett, if her initial reaction was to try to get drunk when she knew she couldn’t. Marguerite really couldn’t do more than have a few stabs at a diagnosis without proper testing.

“So . . . I’m a psychologist,” she started hesitantly. “I can tell with Everett that this is really hard on him. If you want to talk—”

“A psychologist. Really?” Kristen gave her a weird look. “You think you can shrink me? I’ll tell you what exactly is wrong with me. I turn into a monster ever night. Where’s Everett?”

Marguerite shook her head slightly. “We had a fight earlier and he hasn’t come back from work. I was about to head off to bed.”

“Without him? Oh, darling, you really shouldn’t.

Heat rushed to her face. “It’s not like that between us.”

“Why?” Kristen glanced at her and grinned. “You a lesbian?”

“I—” Marguerite counted to ten. “My sexual orientation is none of your business, and there are plenty of reasons why I’m not sleeping with him that don’t—”

Kristen snorted, though her eyes still glittered. “Maybe I was asking for myself.”

Marguerite didn’t reply. She recognized it for what it was now. Oftentimes, patients who weren’t ready to talk about their problems would use sarcasm and try to get a rise out of her to avoid talking about their issues. Well, if she wasn’t ready to talk about this . . . 

But the mother side of her wasn’t about to give up, and the professional side retreated. After all, Kristen wasn’t her patient. She was a source of possible answers when Marguerite had no other leads. As the other woman started rifling through Everett’s fridge and pulled out various food items, Marguerite inched forward.

“Do you remember anything from the lab?”

Kristen froze half in the fridge. Her hand shook and then she straightened with a chicken leg in his hand. She slammed the fridge door shut and turned on Marguerite with narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw.

“You mean that hell-hole where my life was destroyed? Yeah, I remember. It’s something I’ve tried very, very hard to forget and I don’t need some head-shrinking quack coming along and poking and prodding memories that are best left buried in the dust. Got it? Whatever Everett’s got you here for—”

“He doesn’t.” Marguerite kept her voice low and calm. “Everett hasn’t told me much about you, except that you and he escaped together.”

Kristen narrowed her eyes, clearly disbelieving.

“Like I said, my daughter has inherited the change that you go through. I’m asking because I want to find out what is going on. What happened to you two to make this happen. To know how it is going to affect my daughter.” Marguerite searched Kristen’s face. “Everett doesn’t remember anything, so anything that you can tell me – anything that might lead to some answers—”

“No. There are no answers.” Kristen turned away for a moment before she sighed and turned back again. “I’m sorry. I can only imagine how terrifying this must be, being a mother and not knowing what was happening with her daughter.”

“I just want answers. I need answers.”

Kristen poured herself a glass of water as Marguerite slumped at the kitchen table. The other woman joined her there and sighed as she sat down. “I know how that feels. It’s something Everett and I have clashed on a lot in the past. I’ve known him for six years, and he’s . . .  he doesn’t like to think about the future or the past. He’s always living in the moment.”

Marguerite nodded. She’d observed that about him, too. “Probably due to the trauma that you both suffered in the lab.”

Kristen sipped her water. “I did wonder if our . . . if the curse would be passed onto the next generation. And since you said your daughter is like us . . . I guess that means I’m never having kids.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’d probably be a crappy mom anyway.” Kristen shrugged. “Someone with my damage shouldn’t procreate, right?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

Kristen snorted. “No, you’d say it in a much fancier way that would sound all scientific. Look, I don’t remember much. I remember that there was a doctor or scientist named Simon Bell who was in charge of me and Everett. I’ve wanted to look for him to get answers, but there isn’t much I can do on my own. Everett refuses to help me.”

Marguerite grasped Kristen’s hands, willing herself to stay calm. “Well, you’re not alone anymore. Tell me everything you know and I will do everything I can to find him.”

“Promise?”

“Yes.”

Kristen nodded and leaned forward. “Okay. But none of this goes to Everett. He wouldn’t understand.”

Marguerite thought about the big, strong man and his insistence that she does not bring up what happened to him. She nodded – Kristen was right, after all. He wouldn’t understand.