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So I’d just have to see that he did.
Back at the squat, I found Zaq in the kitchen, learning how to make another of Dex’s abuela’s special dishes. Dex had Zaq slicing tomatoes, the two of them chatting like old friends. Zaq’s sun-streaked hair was tucked behind his ears, his T-shirt loose around his too-thin body.
Longing welled up in me. I wanted to go to him, wrap my arms around his waist and rest my head against his back the way I’d seen other women do with their men. Beg him to leave New York before it was too late, to save himself.
Think like a slayer.
For once, the mantra didn’t energize me, and it brought me zero comfort. I couldn’t even bring myself to finish it.
Because I wasn’t just a slayer. I was a woman, too. A woman who wanted the same things most women did.
A life partner, an existence outside my rigid world of training and undercover operations.
Maybe even a child.
Joy.
Something deep in my chest constricted. I wasn’t happy and hadn’t been for a long time. The idea of happiness hadn’t even been on my radar.
Zaq frowned at me. “What’s up?”
I gave a small shake of my head. “After we eat.”
He gave me another searching look, then glanced at Dex and went back to the tomato he was slicing.
To my surprise, I enjoyed dinner. We were joined by two other people from the squat and several of Dex’s friends, all human. We talked about their world—the economy, politics, music, the best place for fried chicken. We laughed, me and Zaq sharing did-you-get-that? looks across the plank table.
After helping clean up, Zaq and I went for a walk, ending up in a park by the East River. Dusk was falling and the park had started to empty. We found a path along the river and took it.
Zaq caught my right hand and interlaced his fingers through mine. “You’re worried. Why?”
I was no longer surprised at his ability to pick up my emotions. It went both ways. Something between us—something I refused to examine too closely—made it possible.
Guilt tightened my throat. Dex’s excellent meal turned to lead in my stomach.
I pulled my hand from his. “It’s about your father. I know you’re having a hard time believing he’s behind this. But what if he’s blood mad? He wouldn’t be thinking clearly.”
He recoiled and narrowed his eyes at me.
“What?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Just…there’s a rumor going around the syndicate to that effect.”
I pounced. “What if it’s the truth?”
“It’s not. You don’t know my dad. He is not blood mad.”
“You might not know.”
“I’d know. And even if he hid it from me and my brothers, you think he could hide it from my mom? They’re mates. Sometimes you’d swear they have one brain.”
I folded my arms over my chest. “Have you ever met a mad vampire? Because I have. They’re smart, insanely so. Some have hidden it from everyone for years, especially in the early stages.”
“How many of them had mates?”
“None,” I admitted. “But this came straight from my alpha. A blood-mad vampire is irrational—your father might honestly believe you three are plotting a coup. He may even believe you’ve figured out that he’s going insane and he wants to take you out before you report him to SI.”
He started to argue and I lifted a hand. “Just consider it, okay? She says it’s not just you and your brothers, that he’s purging the syndicate of his top people. Andre Redbone was just the first.”
