She was like a zombie, doing whatever Ryder said without much thought or care. He’d taken her to Cortez’s suite, and pointed her to the shower, softly instructing her to clean up. She did, ignoring the rivulets of red flowing down her body and swirling at her feet.

He’d given her clothes to change into. She’d put them on, not paying attention to their make or color.

In the living area, he’d handed her a glass of whiskey and told her to drink. She did, not feeling the bite that usually accompanied hard liquor. When she finished the glass, he offered her more. She’d accepted, sucking the liquid back as silent tears trailed down her cheeks. When she’d curled up on the couch, he’d covered her with a blanket and told her to let it out.

She did.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d cried, or how her body was even still able to produce tears, just that it felt like hours had passed. Dawn was yawning toward the horizon, but it was dark yet, the sky reluctant to let go of night. She and Ryder had been silent for a long while. They’d received no word about Cole or Goldie.

Was that a bad sign? Or was no news good news?

From her place on the couch, she asked in a scratchy voice, “Why did you bring me to Cortez’s room?” There had to be other rooms available for her to wait in.

Ryder glanced up. “Because he wanted me to.”

Burrowing deeper into the cushions, she sniffed. “Why would you think that?” Cortez hadn’t said anything of the kind. He’d merely jerked his chin for someone to remove her from the vicinity. “For all you know he could have meant for you to escort me out of the building. He might be upset to find me here.”

Ryder opened his mouth to respond, but the door burst open, cutting him off.

Someone stomped into the room. By the subtle change in Ryder’s posture, it had to be his leader, Cortez.

Naia cringed, sinking deeper into her hovel of blankets, the couch hiding her from where Cortez seemed to have stopped. She was afraid to peek over the couch, afraid to see his expression—it would surely tell her if Cole was dead. For a few more glorious seconds, she could pretend everything would be fine, and she’d have Cole back in no time, everything set to rights.

“The VEA will arrive shortly,” Cortez announced, pacing. “They received an anonymous tip. Dante really went all out with this one. A bludgeoning, a draining, and an overdose. It’s a tri-fucking-fecta of death.”

A choking sound interrupted him. Naia’s hands flew to her mouth, a great sob breaking free.

“Shit,” he muttered. “I thought you’d be in the bedroom.” He skirted the couch and then knelt in front of her. He was more disheveled than she had ever seen him, dark stains cradling his eyes, clothes wet with blood. Too much blood.

She gasped. “Is that Cole’s blood?”

He hesitated. “Partly. But he’s alive. I was able to save him.”

The assurance didn’t sink in at first, her heart still trying to bounce back from its devastating fall. Then she saw the truth of it in his eyes and another sob ripped out of her, this one the product of pure happiness and joy. “He’s alive?” her voice was hoarse.

“Yes. Everything is going to be fine.” Had his eyes darted evasively?

Cole was alive!

She threw her arms around his neck and cried, “Thank you. Oh, God, thank you so much.” So grateful was she that she didn’t even care about the still-wet blood from his clothes squishing between them.

He didn’t seem to mind either. He held her like that for a moment, petting her hair until she realized he might not want her so close. Was probably just being kind in light of the seriously fucked up circumstances.

Though it was the last thing she wanted, she pulled away, sniffing. “Can I see him?”

He snatched her unfinished whiskey off the coffee table and swallowed the contents down in one gulp. After a moment of heavy silence, he said, “He was beaten pretty badly. I-uh had to do something extreme to save his life.”

“What does that mean?”

He took a second to refill the glass. She expected this one to disappear the same as the first, but then he handed it to her. Foreboding stole her breath. She sat up and reluctantly accepted the whiskey.

Cortez cleared his throat. “I had to change him.”

“I don’t understand. What do you mean change...” The Whiskey slipped from her grasp, landing with a dull thud on the carpet, the contents arching out before conquering the expensive fibers. Her gut twisted painfully as understanding crushed into her skull from every angle, and she was suddenly gasping for air. Her heart tore open, flayed and shredded with the industrial strength of a hydraulic pulverizer. Her sweet, normal, human brother was no more. Changed forever into something…unnatural. Like me.

Cortez turned anxious, reading her reaction.

New vampires were notoriously volatile and blood thirsty, often mindless with their need for blood. If it was anything like what she went through as a siren—and she had no doubt that it would be a thousand times worse—everyday would be a struggle. He would never be the same.

“He’ll be a freak?” She hadn’t meant to allow her fears to whisper through her lips.

Cortez’s expression went blank, almost cold. “He would have died had I not changed him.”

She dropped her head into her hands. Of course she was grateful, and she tried to convey that through her sobs, each time the sound growing more and more muffled. Cole would live, but the cost was so great. Changed against his will, just like Cortez. Neither had asked for this, but the decision was made and would affect them all forever.

This is all my fault. If only she hadn’t taken Dante’s job. If only she and Cole had left one day earlier! Damnit! They should have left town weeks ago. It had been selfish of her to stay, not wanting to start over again…and then not wanting to leave Cortez. Because of her, Cole had nearly died. Had suffered unimaginably. Now he was going to be a vampire.

When she finally reined in her sorrow enough that she was able to breathe without gasping, the full ramifications of that settled over her.

“He’s part of your clan now.” Her voice came out hollow. “He can never leave here.”

Cortez didn’t respond, which was answer enough.

Her eyes burned, tired and swollen. A headache sparked behind her skull. She glanced at her hands surprised to see red all over them. There was more on her shirt and neck from when she had hugged Cortez.

Blood all over me.

She just stared at her hands.

Cortez, still kneeling in front of her, hooked her chin with his finger to bring her head up. “Jesus, you’re beat. How are you even still awake?”

“I need another shower,” she grumbled, pushing to a stand. Her head spun a little, and her balance wavered.

Cortez scooped her up in his arms, cradling her. “Ryder, leave us.”

Ryder bowed and then slipped out the door.

Dizziness surfed her brain, making her a little loopy. She snorted. “Did he seriously just bow to you?” She laughed then, and even she heard the thread of hysteria. “All hail the king? Is that what my brother has to look forward to now? A life of feeding off the life-force of others and following orders?” At least she had her freedom? Could Cole even be happy here? All other choices stolen from him. Because of me.

“Be as prickly as you want. I’m not taking the bait.”

She wasn’t trying to be prickly. She was just running on whiskey and exhaustion and self-loathing, which was making her lash out.

Cortez carried her into the bathroom and set her down on her feet. He waited a moment, as though making sure she wasn’t about to fall over, then engaged the shower. When the temperature was right, he shrugged out of his shirt.

“What are you doing?” she asked in a deadened tone.

He jerked his belt loose and snapped his pants button open. “Getting in the shower.” His trousers hit the floor.

Then he reached for the hem of her soiled shirt.

The scornful, hate-filled look he’d given her in that meeting room, before all hell had broken loose, popped into her mind. She slapped his hands away. “I’m not getting in there with you.” He’d accused her of sleeping with Dante and then warned her never to return to his club. And now, after everything else that had happened, he wanted to get naked with her?

Her headache flared, momentarily stealing her vision. Equilibrium shot to hell, she reached out for something to steady her, coming in contact with Cortez as he propped her against his hard body, one arm hooked her waist.

“You’re sure as hell not showering alone. You can barely stand up. I won’t have you slipping and cracking your head open. There’s been enough tragedy today.”

Because of me. Fresh tears filled her eyes.

“It’s going to be difficult enough being Cole’s sire without letting his beloved sister bite the dust in a needless accident.”

Cortez was already a master of a large clan. So what exactly would he find difficult about adding another member? Was it because he hadn’t wanted to change Cole? I have no desire to turn any more vampires. Or was he referring to Cole’s connection to her? The traitor that had caused all of this?

Her bottom lip quivered. “I can undress myself.”

Cortez sighed and let go of her, backing away. Once fully undressed, she padded toward the stall. Just as she stepped one foot in, Cortez took her hand, helping her with her balance. She tried not to read anything into it. He was right. She was too overwrought for her own safety. She could easily crack her skull on the tile. Cole was going to need her support in the coming weeks. She couldn’t give him that if she was gone.

Washcloth in hand, Cortez followed her under the spray and proceeded to wash the blood off her hands. To her tired mind, his actions almost seemed tender, and for a minute she let herself revel in it, imagining he still cared for her like he had before.

By the time Cortez finished washing the both of them, she had to fight to keep her eyelids open. He quickly toweled her dry and then lifted her back into his arms. Her eyes did close then, and she was out before he settled her under a warm set of covers. She didn’t register him crawling in beside her, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her close, or the kiss he placed oh-so-softly on her shoulder.