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“That was shitty,” she says. “I told you I’m trying to keep a low profile, and you—” She shakes her head, drops my arm, rolls onto her side. “This is why I always told myself I wouldn’t fuck a Hunter.”

Her words shoot straight through my chest, and I slide backward off the bed, staring at the curve of her spine. A million responses flit through my head, chief among them the undeniable fact that I know she liked it, me telling her about the kill while I was inside her. I felt the surge of her arousal, heady and sweet and undeniable. And not only that, but I liked that she reacted that way. It felt⁠—

It felt like maybe we’re meant to be together. Like maybe after a hundred and thirty years, I finally found someone new.

But I can’t say that now. Whatever arousal she felt before is long gone. Her anger simmers around her. It’s thick with sadness, too. Sadness and other emotions I don’t know how to identify.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” I say stiffly.

She looks at me over her shoulder. “You’re dropping me off in Clifwell tomorrow,” she says. “Then I’ll never see you again. So how exactly are you going to protect me?”

I falter. My face feels hot. She doesn’t know I’m going to stay in Clifwell. She can’t know, because my plans are going to ruin her plans. But it does mean I’ll be around. I can protect her if something happens.

And what about when it’s all over? When I’ve killed Nicholas Wolrath, and she flees town? The cops might link the two kills. They might find that thread of hair she’s so worried about.

My stomach churns. Maybe I did fuck up.

“I’ll keep an eye on you,” I say. “I promise.”

Penelope sighs and flops away from me again. “We’re what? Two hours from Clifwell? This brings a lot of heat on me, Victor. So thanks.”

I back away, all the ecstasy of earlier melting into a cold, clammy guilt. “It’ll be fine.”

“I’m sure you will be.”

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” I say again, more firmly this time. “I’ll⁠—”

I want to say protect you, but I stop myself. Maybe she doesn’t want my protection. She certainly doesn’t need it, not with Hunters for a mother and a sister. She’s a human woman who knows how to pray to Hunter gods. What need does she have for me, in the end? And it’s not like I was able to protect the last human woman I cared about, anyway.

But I tell myself I’ll stay close by. Just in case.

19

PENELOPE

The sun comes out the next morning, as bright and clear as any October sun, and it feels surreal that the storm happened at all. I stand out on the motel walkway, watching the snow glitter in the light, and look out at the other motel buildings.

I wonder which one has the body.

The thought doesn’t unsettle me much, the way thoughts of violence rarely do. Murder has always been in my life, and I’m sure it’s broken me in some fundamental way. Like last night, how hard I came at the idea that Victor had just killed someone, that his first thought after killing someone was fucking me.

I squeeze my eyes shut against the memory. I can not keep doing this. I can not keep giving into him like that. He’s a Hunter. He’s driven by a single primal need, and maybe it’s not his fault, not exactly, but it is the truth. And I’ll always be secondary to it.

That body, whatever room it’s in, is just proof of that.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. A text from Adrian—I messaged him yesterday about the storm, told him I should be in Clifwell this afternoon. And it looks like that’s still true, assuming Victor doesn’t decide he needs to take another murder detour. Or that body he left behind gets discovered while we’re still here.

Adrian

Any updates? You think you’ll still make it today?

I squint out at the bright expanse of snow. The parking lot isn’t too bad, the snow and ice already turning to slush in the morning sunlight. The highway has already been cleared, too.

Yeah. Not sure when. Will text you when I arrive.

Thumping from inside the motel room. A second later, Victor steps out, dragging my suitcase behind him. In the daylight, he looks ordinary. Handsome, unfortunately, but ordinary. Just a man I keep making the same mistake with over and over.

“We should go,” he says, and I know damn well why he says that. He wants to clear out of here before the body is found, too.