I shook my head. “Why did you lie to me?”
“I never lied to you. The last time we spoke about night bloods, Ronnie was the only one living here. She was the only night blood besides yourself that I’d ever spoken to. That was the truth at the time.”
I narrowed my eyes. “That was only three weeks ago.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Walker said, and he had the nerve to look baffled.
“Don’t ma’am me. After over thirty years of knowing only one night blood, you find twenty in the past three weeks?”
Walker crossed his arms. “I make friends fast. Look at us.”
I balled my fists to keep from strangling him. “How are you meeting so many night bloods in such a short timeframe?”
“There’s safety in numbers. We get picked off so easily on our own, one night blood at a time, but together, we finally stand a chance against them, against the fate we were born to.”
I shook my head, equally awed and horrified. “You’re building your own coven of night bloods, an army to fight against the vampires.”
Walker didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. I could see the fire deep in his eyes and the effort it took for him not to smile at the thought of fighting and killing vampires.
“Not everyone wants to fight them,” I whispered. “I’d prefer to avoid confrontation.”
“Dinner with Bex is avoiding confrontation?”
I glared at him. “The vampires are faster, stronger, more lethal, and harder to kill than us. Fighting them is suicide.”
“I can’t just stand by meekly and let them have me,” Walker snapped.
“I’m not saying you should. Protecting yourself is one thing, but seeking trouble is another thing entirely.”
Walker sighed. “How is living together under one roof seeking trouble? We’re simply protecting ourselves. Safety in numbers, like I said.”
“Together or apart, we’re no match for them if they decide to attack. Living together just makes it easier for them. The sheep are herded together under one roof now, gathered for slaughter.”
“Like shooting fish in a barrel, you’re saying,” Walker murmured. “You think I’ve cornered us.”
His quiet, unsure tone made me hesitate. He wanted to do the right thing. He thought he’d been doing the right thing. I rubbed my upper arms, lost in thought and mixed, irresolute feelings. “I don’t know. Who am I to arrive here one minute and judge you the next?” I bit my lip. “But standing in this house, knowing that over a dozen night bloods are here with me, feels a little like standing in the center of a bullseye.”
“It’s safe here, Cassidy. I’ve taken measures to ensure everyone’s protection against Bex and her coven.”
Walker spread the icy-hot patch over my skin, pressing its frigid length along the curve of my hip. I jerked from the shock of it, but Walker held me immobile against him, his hands steady on my hip as he applied the patch.
I breathed in a sharp hiss between my clenched teeth. “I’m sure you have taken precautionary measures, but—”
“No buts. I have, and I think you’ll enjoy meeting the other night bloods. Until now, I’ve been the only night blood you’ve spoken to. Maybe sharing your experience with them will help put things in perspective. Help you better see my perspective.”
I pursed my lips and tried to harden my resolve, but my will was no match against his velvet brown eyes. “I’ll keep an open mind,” I relented.
Walker smiled, and I recognized the intention and heat in that slow grin.
I sidestepped around his advance toward the bathroom door, but he blocked my exit.
“Excuse me.”
He stepped closer. “I have something else I’d like to discuss, if you don’t mind.”
“I mind. I’m already late for a phone call.”
“Then you can continue to be late for a few more minutes.”
I crossed my arms and stared him down, but Walker’s grin only widened.
“We haven’t had much time alone since you arrived, and with a full house, I doubt we’ll have as much alone time as you might have anticipated.”
I raised my eyebrows. “So you’re taking advantage of the little alone time we have now, in the bathroom?”
He laughed. “Not exactly. I just wanted to make my intentions clear, if they weren’t already.”
I held my breath for a moment against what I was about to say, but I’d never been one to mince words. “Honestly, they’re not.”
“They were clear enough that you came to visit.”
“That was before I realized that you and Ronnie were living together,” I said pointedly.
Walker blinked. “Ronnie?”
I nodded. I’d seen their looks. I’d seen his smile. He could discount their relationship if he wanted, but he’d be lying to me. Worse, he’d be lying to himself.
He leveled his eyes on me. “There’s nothing romantic between Ronnie and me. She’s my family.”
“If that’s true, why didn’t you tell me that you live together? You’ve known that I was visiting for weeks. In all that time, you could have warned me.”
“It never occurred to me to ‘warn you’ because there’s nothing to warn against. There’s nothing there.”
I rolled my eyes. “You didn’t tell me because whether or not there’s nothing or something there, you know how it looks. I’d bet some of the people living in this house think you’re a couple. How long did you live together, just the two of you, before you started building your night blood coven?”
Walker pursed his lips, his grin wiped clean. After anticipating this visit for weeks and finally closing the physical distance between us, the inches separating us now felt wider than the miles we’d been apart.
“I guess you have everything figured out,” Walker said. He turned away from me, and I let him leave the bathroom without another word.
Chapter 3
I wasn’t good at keeping in touch with people, which made distance impossible, even with people I loved unconditionally, like my parents and Nathan. I had the uncanny ability to not see or speak to friends and family for months, and when we finally did visit one another, pick up right where we’d left off. Other people, so I’m told by frustrated friends and family, normal people, need regular phone calls to replace the physical void that distance creates.
Walker was the second person with whom I’d ever achieved a functional long-distance relationship. The emotional closeness we’d developed while we were physically apart still stunned me.
My little brother was the first.
When I moved to California for those four years of undergrad at Berkeley, my parents had fits about my lack of communication. I didn’t call. I didn’t write. I didn’t email. I texted Nathan, which likely only made my silence toward them even more infuriating, but since they wouldn’t upgrade to texting, which was all the communication I honestly had time for during the week, I didn’t talk to them until I traveled home for Christmas.
On weekends, when I finally had ten or fifteen minutes to breathe between classes, essays, interviews, and a social life, I called the one person I wasn’t angry with, who hadn’t nagged