GEORGIE woke up the next morning around ten. Rose had checked on him three times by then, and when she finally saw his blue eyes looking back at her, her knees went weak and she had to lean against the door frame.
"Well, there you are," she said. "How are you feeling?"
"Okay," he said.
She came closer, sat on his bed, and touched her lips to his forehead. He felt dry and warm. No trace of a fever. "Declan told me you called him."
"He was closer," Georgie murmured. "I couldn't find you. You were too far."
Guilt clutched at her. "I'm sorry."
"What happened?" he asked.
She told him.
"I tried to tell you about the wolf and Casshorn," he said. "But you had to hurry to work, and then I forgot."
"I'm sorry," she said again. "The next time you have something important to tell me, I'll listen, no matter what. I tell you what - I'll go and get us some tea and funnel cake, and you can tell me all about it."
"There is funnel cake?" Georgie's eyes lit up.
"I made some especially for you. You're the hero. Heroes always get funnel cake."
She came back, and he told her the whole story between bites of funnel cake and sips of raspberry tea. The more he talked, the clearer the picture became in her head.
"I see," she said finally. She saw quite well now. Declan following her into the Broken. His stubborn insistence on staying in her house. She was still angry at him. Very, very angry. But certain aspects of his behavior finally made sense.
She regretted her loss of temper. A lot had happened in the last few days: Declan's presence, the hounds, losing her job, the attack on Georgie. Any event by itself was enough to upset her, but together they turned her into an emotional pressure cooker. All of it had to come out somehow. She just wished it hadn't come out quite the way it did, in front of Declan, who no doubt thought she was throwing a tantrum. It's hard to convince someone to listen to you and leave your house when you're raving too loud to be taken seriously.
"So what happens now?" Georgie asked.
"Now I need your help for my second challenge to Declan." She hesitated. "Do you think you're strong enough to walk?"
Georgie nodded.
"I'm sorry to ask this of you, but I need you to come to the porch."
"I need the bathroom first," he said.
"Do you need help getting there?"
Georgie gave her a long look. She sighed and left him to it. When she finally got married, if she ever got married, she hoped her first child would be a cute little girl. A cute, sweet, harmless little girl.
ELEONORE stepped into the kitchen, mentally steeling herself. She had only a few minutes before Rose would return from Georgie's room.
Declan rose at her approach with a polite shallow bow and a narrow smile. "Bonjour, Madame."
"Bonjour, Monsieur." She sat into a chair and continued in French. "I would like to speak about my granddaughter."
His face turned cold. The smile remained, but it gained that polite, icy tint the bluebloods adopted when they wanted to strangle the conversation with courtesy.
"I want there to be no misunderstandings," she continued. "This isn't an attempt on my part to broker some sort of tryst between the two of you. On the contrary."
His eyebrows crept up a fraction of an inch. He really was a blindingly handsome boy. "Do you find me unworthy of your granddaughter, Madame?"
Inwardly ElEonore groaned. She was out of practice. "I have no doubt as to your pedigree. I merely wish you to understand the situation clearly. If you're willing to listen, of course."
"I'm all ears, Madame," he assured her.
ElEonore took a deep breath. "My husband abandoned me a number of times during our marriage. I say this not to gain some sympathy for myself. It's simply a fact. He loved me passionately, but he loved the sea more. Because I suffered without him, I did my best to raise my son with a sense of responsibility for his family. Unfortunately, I failed miserably. Just like his father, John abandoned his wife and children frequently. Growing up, Rose had learned that 'father' is a temporary presence in one's life."
She fell silent. Finding the words proved harder than she realized. "Pardon. This is difficult for me. Rose's mother was traumatized by the untimely death of her parents, and in her final years she sought to stave off her mortality by any means necessary, usually by finding solace in the arms of any man who would have her. Eventually even that remedy failed and she died. Rose was an adolescent and the boys were mere babies. Thus, my grandchildren were abandoned both by their mother and by their father."
She glanced at Declan, but his face was earnestly polite and about as transparent as a cement block.
"Then Rose flashed white. You must understand, my lord, it's been over a century since an Edger flashed white. She was just a child, barely eighteen, and not at all equipped to either anticipate or deal with the consequences. Due to her mother's loose behavior, it was assumed that Rose was the child of an out-of-wedlock liaison. Overnight she became a valuable commodity. First, her flash made her desirable as a powerful addition to any family; second, her magic hinted at the possibility of blueblood ancestry; and third . . . my granddaughter is lovely, as I'm sure you haven't failed to notice."
"Indeed, Madame."
His tone was perfectly neutral and pleasant. If he Madame 'd her one more time, she would have to throw something at him.
"Rose had a terrible life," ElEonore said bluntly. "For almost a year, she was literally hunted. The Edger families wanted her for her power, the borderland blueblood families wanted her for breeding, and those who didn't want her, hated her. Envy can be a terrible thing. Her mother's exploits already made her a pariah, and her flash only exacerbated the problem. What few friends she had abandoned her. Her boyfriend - who is a terrible creature - betrayed her. We had weathered a siege and arson and being shunned. The slaver was by far the worst. He had arrived under the pretense of courting Rose, promised her the security and acceptance she so desperately wanted, and nearly won, if not her heart, then at least her mind. Fortunately his identity was discovered, but the damage was done. She has learned the lesson again and again: people, men in particular, cannot be trusted. I watched this damage happen, and I was powerless to stop it. Finally after a year of this chaos, things have calmed. My son was there for her during that year. Even he understood that his family couldn't survive this storm without him. That is the longest he had ever spent with his family. However, as soon as pressure lessened, he escaped. He ran away from his own children in the middle of the night, once again abandoning the boys to Rose's care."
She took a deep breath. "It was the final betrayal, my lord. It wounded Rose very badly, and she's determined to spare her brothers this hurt at all costs. She put her life on hold, so her brothers would never know what it's like to be abandoned. A young girl is a creature of dreams, my lord. A woman with one foot in the world of fantasy, searching for the face of true love in every handsome boy she sees. Rose has no fantasies. One would expect a woman who has gone through her trials to be bitter and angry, but she isn't. She's kind, sweet, selfless, and generous, and I thank my lucky stars for this every day."
ElEonore rose, buoyed by her anger. He got up as well.
"I'm sure that you're successful in your pursuits of female attention," she said. "I'm sure that there is a trail of broken hearts in your wake, and you probably look at it fondly, remembering your past conquests. For some young women, being swept off her feet by a man such as you might be thrilling. It might even be a good lesson in the nature of the male species. However, Rose has no illusions to soothe her and no parents to reassure her. If you break her heart, it will shatter my granddaughter. It will destroy her utterly, turning her into a bitter wreck. So I implore you, my lord, to leave her in peace. You don't need her as your trophy. And if you won't, I swear to you that I'll curse you with my dying breath. We both know the power such a curse carries."
Declan bowed. "I'll take it under advisement."
She growled under her breath and stomped into the depths of the house, not sure if she had accomplished more harm than good.
ROSE stuck her head into the kitchen. Declan sat at the table, his eyes lost in thought. A smile curved his lips.
"Come outside," she said. "We need to be in the yard for the next challenge."
He followed her to the porch, where she sat in a chair and he leaned against the rail. She stared at the trees shrouded in morning fog.
Declan cleared his throat. They had managed to keep from saying a single word to each other during breakfast, but now he looked as if he had something to say.
"I lost my temper yesterday," he said. "My sincerest apologies. It won't happen in the future."
"I'm also sorry. I shouldn't have been quite so . . . dramatic."
They looked at each other.
"My behavior aside," he continued, "I meant everything I said."
She stuck her chin in the air. "So did I."
"Very well."
"Indeed."
He sat back down, and she picked a spot as far from him as the porch steps would allow.
"Also," he said after a small pause, "your funeral cake was delicious."
"Funnel. Funnel cake. I'll get you the recipe. It's similar to pancakes."
"Thank you."
They sat in silence. She broke it first. "Don't you think it's dangerous to do this challenge, with Casshorn waiting for the right opportunity?"
"We've destroyed a large number of his hounds," Declan said. "Since I'm his primary target, he'll need to build up his forces before he attacks again. We're safe for two days, maybe three."
Probably longer than that, Rose thought with a small sense of satisfaction. Yesterday, after the fight with Declan, she'd spent nearly all of the minutes remaining on her cell phone. Her words didn't carry much weight in the Edge, but Grandma's did, and now they knew the name of their menace and what he wanted. It would be difficult for Casshorn to find prey in East Laporte come nightfall.
"So he's vulnerable now," she said. "Why don't we go after him?"
Icy green eyes fixed her. "I would go after him. But I have no idea where he is, and your brother was unable to find the scent trail during our last excursion."
"Of course. Blame the child for your failure."
"I blame no one. How would you feel about a side bet on this challenge?"
"No more deals, Lord Camarine. You can't be trusted."
He seemed unfazed by her snippy remark. "If I win this challenge, I'll remain in your house and your family will assist me in my efforts to dispatch Casshorn. If I lose, I'll sign writs of citizenship for the three of you. The writs would make you legal citizens of the Weird. You could seek employment there. The children could attend school."
She clamped her mouth shut, biting a caustic reply. Her mind spun through the possibilities. "That will just put us in a place where you have the most power."
"On the contrary. First, I have sworn to leave you alone if I fail. Second, the laws of the Weird will protect you, given that you'll be a citizen, and you can have me arrested on stalking charges if I show up on your doorstep. Think about it, Rose. You've lost your job, and you aren't likely to find another. And no matter how much you force the boys to pretend that they have no magic, they do. They can't live in the Broken; they would slowly suffocate without magic. Look behind you." He raised his arms, encompassing the house. "This is what you've settled for. Do you actually want to make something of yourself?"
He pushed all the right buttons. "What guarantee do I have that this writ isn't a worthless piece of paper?"
"I'll affix the Camarine seal to it. As an earl, I have the authority to do so."
"You're not a real earl. The Earl of Camarine is a courtesy title."
He stared at her. "And where did you come by that little tidbit?"
"I read it in a book," she said, trying to freeze him with her voice. "Even us ignorant types do read occasionally."
"Apparently not very well," he said. "A courtesy title is awarded for meritorious service and a couple of other things. A peer titled by courtesy has the same executive peer powers as a full peer. Check your book."
"Don't move."
She stomped into the house and almost ran over her grandmother.
"Is everything all right?" Grandma asked.
"Everything is perfect." Rose climbed to the attic, grabbed the enormous Encyclopedia, and wrestled it down. If he was lying, she would rub his nose in it.
She dragged the dusty tome onto the porch and dropped it on the boards.
For the first time this morning, Declan displayed some emotion besides stony determination. "Good God, where did you find that antique?"
"None of your business." She had traded a Rand McNally Atlas, two jars of saffron, and a three-liter bottle of Pepsi for it. Rose flipped the pages to the index and found "Writ of Citizenship, Adrianglia, 1745."
"It looks over two centuries old," Declan said.
Rose turned to page 1745 and read out loud. " ' Writ of Citizenship - a document legally conferring all rights and obligations of Adrianglian citizenship. A Writ of Citizenship may be issued by the following authorities: the Office of Census, secured by the Seal of the Minister of Population; the Office of Domestic Affairs, secured by the Seal of the Minister of the Realm; or a Peer of the Realm, secured by that Peer's House Crest. Only peers of rank Earl or above have the right to issue a Writ of Citizenship. The following is the list of peers possessing such authority as known to the publisher on the date of publication of this volume.' " She scanned the list and ran into "Earl Camarine."
"Satisfied?" Declan asked dryly.
If she passed on this chance, she would be forever kicking herself. Was there a downside to this?
"Do we have a deal?" he asked.
"We have a deal." It nearly killed her to say it. Rose forced herself to smile. "You'll never win this one."
Georgie chose that moment to step out onto the porch. He saw Declan, walked over, and simply hugged him without saying a word. Declan's eyes went wide. Slowly he put his arms around the boy.
It was an odd moment, a thin, fragile, blond child in the arms of a much larger, stronger blond man. A vision of the future that could have been Georgie's if his magic didn't betray him.
Rose sighed and headed to the shed. "Georgie, tell the blueblood about Grandpa Cletus."
Declan let go, and Georgie sat on the porch next to him.
"He's very tall," Georgie said. "He was good with swords. He had several."
"Like mine?" Declan asked.
"No. His were long and thin. MEmEre still has them."
"Rapiers," Declan guessed.
Georgie nodded. "He used to laugh a lot and tell us stories. He was a pirate."
"A privateer," Rose corrected, nudging the last ward stone out of the way. "Georgie, are you up to holding Grandpa?"
Georgie nodded.
Rose grasped the heavy dead bolt with both hands and jerked it aside. The door flew open, and Grandpa Cletus charged out, dragging the chain behind him.
Declan leapt to his feet and over to Georgie, a knife in his hand.
Grandpa reached the end of the chain. The collar jerked him back, and Grandpa flew off his feet. Instantly he rolled over and snarled like an animal, clawing at the empty air with his long fingers. His tangled beard trembled as he strained on the chain and bit the air with yellowed fangs.
Rose sighed.
Grandpa's pointed ears twitched. He spun and lunged at her. She stood her ground. A foot away from her, he ran headfirst into an invisible wall and crumpled to the ground.
"No," Georgie said.
"But I want my pint money," Grandpa moaned.
"No," Georgie repeated sadly. "You better sit down."
Grandpa sat cross-legged, rocking back and forth.
Declan jumped off the porch and approached them, peering at Grandpa. "Were his ears always pointed?"
"It happened after," Rose said. "The beard and hair also. He was clean shaven when he died. And the claws. Those also grew after death."
"What's your name?" Declan asked.
"Please answer Declan," Georgie said.
"Caedmon Cletus Drayton," Grandpa said sadly. "Caedmon from the British caed, meaning 'battle.' Cletus from the Greek kleitos, meaning 'illustrious.' "
"He retains his memories?" Declan asked, his voice neutral.
"Bits and pieces." Rose reached out and patted the matted mane of Grandfather's hair. "Mostly he wants to go down to the pub. Sometimes it's the tavern and he has to meet his friend Connor before their corvette, Esmeralda, sails from the harbor. He remembers who we are and he remembers . . . the woman you saved with Georgie. He'll cry if he sees her or if I mention her name."
She felt close to tears herself and swallowed a clump that blocked her throat. "Georgie doesn't like to let things die."
Declan's green eyes studied her. "There are others?"
"No humans. Birds. Kittens. Little creatures he felt sorry for."
Declan's face darkened. "How many?"
"We don't know. He hides them."
Georgie looked away to the grass.
"My brother has a very good heart," Rose said. "But he can't let go of the things he brings to life. We tried explanations, rewards, and punishment. He knows that he's dying, because keeping all those creatures alive is sucking the life out of him. But he doesn't know how to let go. You wanted a challenge. Here it is. Save my brother from himself."
DECLAN sat next to Georgie while Rose herded Grandpa back into his shed. She heard Declan's quiet voice. "You didn't want your grandfather to die?"
"No."
"All things die, George. That's the natural order of the world."
Good luck with that, Rose thought. They'd had this talk a dozen times. It led nowhere.
"Who decided?" Georgie said softly.
"Nature. It's a way for humankind to survive."
Georgie shook his head. "It doesn't have to be like that. I don't want it to be like that."
He got up and went inside.
Declan sat, frowning, his arms resting on his knees. When she passed him on her way inside the house, he said, "I'll need some supplies. Would it tax you too much to obtain them for me?"
She stopped. He actually had some sort of a plan. "What do you need?"
"Blue candles. A metal bowl or a large pot. Certain herbs. A basin, the larger the better. Some other things."
That seemed pretty specific. "How sure are you that the hounds won't attack?"
"Very sure."
"In that case, put on the clothes Amy gave you. I'll take you to Wal-Mart."
Ten minutes later, they were both in the truck. Her cab wasn't that small, but Declan made it seem cramped and tiny. She started the engine. "Have you ever been in a car before?"
"No."
Rose nodded at the guns. "Can you use a gun?"
He picked up a rifle, locked, and loaded.
"Good. Keep the rifle out of sight and please buckle your seat belt."
They drove in silence for a couple of minutes. "Why the sudden benevolence?" Declan asked.
She avoided looking at him. "How long do you think George has?"
"It's hard to say. I don't know what his capabilities are and how much drain he's under or for how long. But judging by his physical weakness, I would say he has less than six months. He's featherlight. He can't do more than two push-ups and he tires very quickly. I thought he was anemic."
"There's your answer," Rose said. "I hate to say it, but if you truly think you can convince my brother to stop his slow suicide, I'll help you, even if it costs me a challenge."
She drove on. "When did you have a chance to see him do push-ups?"
"Two days ago while you were cooking dinner. I gave each of them a knife and put them through some basics. Jack is a born killer. George had to sit down after a couple of minutes."
"It won't help you," Rose said.
He raised his eyebrows.
"Making friends with the children won't help you," she clarified. "We won't leave with you."
"I made friends with the children because I wanted to do so. Not everything I do is calculated. Although I understand why you would think that."
"Oh?"
"I spoke to Madam ElEonore at some length this morning, while you were with George."
Oh, really? He really did get around, but if he thought her grandma would join the Declan-worshipping parade, he had another think coming. "What did she tell you?"
"Many things. Your grandmother is very conflicted. She's unsure if she should encourage or discourage me, so she has done a bit of both."
She glanced at him. Their stares connected, and she didn't like what she saw in his eyes: they were resolute and determined. Disturbed, she turned away to watch the road.
"It's difficult for you to trust anyone," he said. "I contributed to this by my deception. For this, I'm sorry. But it was necessary."
"You keep saying that, but you don't tell me why."
He said nothing.
"That's very illuminating," she said. "You knew the creatures were a threat to the whole Edge. I know we're nothing to you, but couldn't you have at least tried to warn us out of common decency?"
"I did," he said. "You have no law enforcement and no central authority, so as soon as I crossed into the Edge, I went to your church. Your priest seemed like a reasonable man. I told him that the Edge needed to be evacuated. He nodded, pulled out a gun, and unloaded twenty-two shots into me. When he realized the bullets weren't hurting me, he threw his sidearm at me and called me an agent of Lucifer."
Rose winced. "That's because George Farrel, the local preacher, is borderline insane. He preaches hellfire and damnation every Sunday and checks the church for the rogue angels that fought against God with Satan. He's convinced they're out to get him. He probably thought you were an evil angel."
"I see," Declan said dryly.
"Nobody goes to his church except for some old ladies," she said. Not that it helped the situation any.
"Next I went to the largest house I could find. My logic was that anyone who owned a house of that size would have some roots within the community."
Rose's heart sank. There was only one large house next to the church. "Which house? The Ronn house, with the blue roof?"
"Yes."
She almost cringed. "The dogs."
He nodded. "Yes. The owners set a pack of dogs on me. I suppose they were also expecting agents of Satan?"
"No, they have a meth lab in the house. They're producing illegal narcotics. They're high all the time, and they're paranoid the cops from the Broken will somehow get into the Edge and raid the place. Did you try anyone else?"
"As I crossed the road to the next house, a woman tried to run me over with her truck."
"You were in the middle of the road!"
Declan's face was still impassive. "At the next two houses, I was ignored. They saw me and hid inside. I decided not to waste any more time and began tracking the hounds. It took me a day and a half to untangle the different tracks. One of them led me to an isolated house. A woman emerged - the same one who had tried to run me over - and declared that she would not marry me and I better leave or the two kids at the windows would shoot me."
Rose struggled for words. He had really tried. He'd tried more than many other people would have in his place. "You must've thought the lot of us was insane."
"The thought did cross my mind. I went along with you because I needed a foothold in the Edge at any cost. I knew that the hounds were drawn to your family because their magic lingered in the area, and contrary to your assertions of yesterday, I don't want anyone to be hurt. You gave me a very good idea of what you expected a blueblood to be. If I went along with your expectations, I thought I could reasonably predict your reactions. And I wanted to know why you wouldn't marry me. I found you intriguing."
Aha. Intriguing. She would buy that for a dollar. Next thing she knew, he'd try to sell her some intriguing oceanside property in Nebraska.
"Declan, I spoke to Georgie, and he told me what Casshorn said. I thought about it, and I realized that Casshorn was right: I am bait. Except it's not you who is doing the baiting, it's him. He's using the threat to me as a means of keeping you put. You can't go out looking for him, because you're worried he'll attack me or the boys. That's why you followed me into the Broken, that's why you insisted on staying at my house, that's why you timed your expedition with Jack for the morning when I was going to spend most of the time in the Broken food shopping. You're trying to do it even now. You've dangled those writs in front of me to make sure that we can escape into the Weird if you fail the challenge and can't defend us."
One glance at his face told her she was right. She parked.
"Why are we stopping?" he asked.
"We're at the boundary. You might not survive it if we cross it in a vehicle - it's too fast." She unbuckled her seat belt. "Look, I understand why Casshorn would view me as bait. He thinks I'm trash and a whore and that I'll just sit on my hands, content to let you guard me until he decides he's done playing. What I don't get is, what exactly makes you think that I will stand for it?"
Declan unbuckled his seat belt and leaned over, too close, blocking out the world.
"What are you - "
His lips touched hers, warm and inviting. She was still furious at him, but somehow her anger didn't stop her from opening her mouth and letting him in. No, it drove her to him, and she kissed him back, caught between the urge to slap him and the thrill of tasting him. His arms closed about her and he pulled her to him. She wasn't sure if she was trapped or shielded or both, but it made her feel happy and she kissed him.
The sound of a car horn blared at them. They broke apart. A red truck roared past them, its windows down. Rob Simoen screamed some obscenity at them and sped past the boundary into the Broken.
Declan growled. "I'll have to kill him one day."
Rose pushed on his chest with her hand. "If you let go of me now, I'm going to chalk your mauling of me up to temporary insanity."
He kissed her again, lightly brushing her lips.
"Declan!"
His grass green eyes laughed at her. "I wanted you to be sure that I wasn't temporarily insane."
"You can stop pretending now, remember?" she said. "I know you didn't come here for me. You came here because of Casshorn, so no need to keep up the seducing charade. I find it bothersome."
"This is probably the point where I should be suave," he said. "I used to be able to do it, but somehow my skills leave me when I'm with you."
"Oh, please." She rolled her eyes.
"I should be more polite about this, but I don't think you'll understand me unless I speak directly," he said.
She'd heard those words before. It took her a second, but she remembered where - she had said them to him outside of the Burger King.
"You're a prickly, stubborn, spirited woman."
"Don't forget crude, rude, and vulgar."
"Only when it suits you. You're sly when occasion calls for it, direct to the point of forgetting tact even exists, sarcastic, fierce, I did mention stubborn, didn't I?"
"Yes," she said dryly.
"You're also smart, kind, gentle, beautiful, and always cling to your personal integrity, even when it's in your best interests to abandon it."
A little warm feeling spread through her chest, and even her natural suspicion that he was lying couldn't quite extinguish it. Where was he going with this?
"You're also quite funny," he said.
"Oh, I amuse you?"
He gave her one of his devastating, slightly wicked smiles. "You have no idea."
Arrogant ass. "And all of that means what?"
"Just that I mean to have you."
She frowned at him.
"I mean to have you, Rose, you and all of your thorns. I'm a disagreeable and stubborn bastard, but I'm not a fool. You didn't really expect me to pass you up, did you?"
Heat flooded her face, and she knew she flushed. Declan laughed.
"Well, you can't have me," she parried. "You lied to me. I don't trust you, I'm not leaving with you, and I'm not sleeping with you either. Now let go of me and get out of the truck, so we can get through the boundary and get this trip over with."
They faced the boundary together. It would be difficult for him. Most people from the Weird had difficulty adjusting to the Edge, let alone the Broken. But he had done it once before and showed up in the Burger King to open a glorious can of whoop-ass for Brad. Still, she had to be very careful.
"What happened when you tried to cross the last time?" she asked. "It's important."
"Pain," he said. "I went into convulsions. I think I might have stopped breathing, but my recollection is murky."
This would take some work. Rose gripped his fingers tighter. "We'll do this easy and slow. Just follow me, and if you feel like you might be blacking out, tell me."
She anchored her magic through her palm to his and took a tiny step forward. He followed her. A small portion of magic drained from him, and she replaced some of it with her own. It felt like hooking a vein in your arm with tweezers and pulling it out slowly.
Another step. Again she cushioned the magic drain.
Declan was perspiring.
One more step. Rose felt her body quake. The shock traveled down her arm, and he glanced at her. She gave him a bright, reassuring smile.
Slowly, little by little, they passed across the boundary, and when the last spark of magic died within Declan, she gave him all she had. Another breath and they were through.
Declan stumbled and shook his head. "That was considerably easier. Rose?"
She sank onto the grass, struggling against sharp pain in her stomach. "Give me a minute."
He knelt by her. "Are you all right?"
She cradled a spiky knot in her stomach. "Fine. Just after-shock. Taking someone across the boundary takes a bit of effort, that's all."
He picked her up.
"There's no need to hold me," she told him. "It's just harmless pain. It's passing already."
He ignored her. "What would've happened if you'd let go?"
"You would've died," she said. "My magic would've torn out of your body, and the shock would've killed you."
"You missed your chance to do away with me."
"Drat," she said. "I guess there's always next time."
A moment later she made him put her down, crossed the boundary, and got her truck.
Despite it being Sunday morning, when a good number of the Broken's citizens flocked to churches, the Wal-Mart parking lot was crowded.
She swiped a cart. They walked in side by side, and Declan stopped. His eyes surveyed the crowd, taking in the electric lights, the bright colors of the packages, rows of gleaming primary color picnic glassware on his right . . . He reached for her and firmly took her arm.
"What?"
"Too many people," he said quietly. "Too loud."
His face closed in, and she was sure that if they had been in the Edge, his eyes would now glow pure white. He resembled a soldier in enemy territory, expecting a sniper's shot from behind every aisle and a land mine under every floor tile. His magic remained in the Edge; his swords and rifles and even her gun stayed in the car. It was a lot to take in.
She slowly pushed the cart to the side, to a display of fresh flowers. "Let's stop here for a little while."
They stood together, watching the crowd. After a few minutes the tension in Declan's shoulders eased.
"Better?" she asked him.
"Yes."
"Let's try walking," she said. "We'll take it easy."
They moved down one of the wider aisles. A couple of young girls coming the opposite way gawked at Declan, giggled, and scooted out of the way. Rose glanced at him. He had forgotten his ball cap in the truck, and his hair fell down over his shoulders, clasped together by a piece of leather cord. His broad shoulders strained his green sweatshirt. He'd pulled the sleeves up to his elbows to reveal forearms corded with muscle. The jeans molded to his long legs. The Broken stripped him of the dangerous power-sharpened edge and haughty perfection. Here he was just a man, a bit rougher about the edges and a lot sexier than most, but knitted from the same fabric as all the other people instead of being carved from a glacier. And the air of menace that lingered about him made him devastating to all things female.
An older woman at the jewelry counter nearly dislocated her neck, trying to get his attention. A housewife fussing over a little girl in a cart looked up as they maneuvered around her and simply stared, openmouthed. A woman at the clothes rack raised an eyebrow, tugged her low-cut white blouse lower, and followed them with a determined look on her face.
Just what they needed, more attention. Rose took a sharp turn into the aisle running between the shoe section and sporting goods and glanced behind her. Six women, some discreetly, some openly, followed them. It irritated her to no end.
"I should've made you wear a hockey mask," she murmured.
Declan glanced back and unleashed a dazzling smile. One of the younger girls squeaked like an unoiled door. Somebody mumbled, "Oh, Lord."
"Stop that!" Rose snapped.
"Stop what?" He turned to her, and she found herself on the receiving end of that same smile. She could've stared at him for a year and never gotten tired. "That," she said firmly. "Quit it."
"Is it upsetting you?"
The adoring crowd seemed to have grown. "You're going to cause a riot."
"You think so? I've never created a riot before. I did cause a brawl at the last formal. A large number of young women there actually arrived with the expectation of seducing me into matrimony, and a couple of their mothers came to blows. It was hilari - I mean, dreadful. Simply dreadful."
"Yes." Rose sighed in mock pity. "It's awful to be rich and mind-bogglingly handsome and have women fawn over you. My heart bleeds for you. Poor dear, how do you manage?"
"So you do think I'm handsome."
She actually stopped for a second. "Declan, I'm not blind."
He looked disgustingly smug.
"Oh, get over yourself."
"Not just handsome but mind-bogglingly handsome," he said.
He'd never let her live it down. She spun about and fixed their audience with a look of withering scorn. "Ladies, have some decency."
The crowd scattered.
"And now you're feeling possessive."
"I think I liked you better as an icy blueblood." She shook her head and dropped another set of blue candles into the shopping cart.
