I groaned. "Not that again."

  "So…you don't want one? Or do you? You seem like the kind of person who would."

  "Honestly? I'm indifferent." I shook my head. "It's something my friend Peter started, then he told Seth."

  She cut me a suspicious look. "You know, you sure seem to hang out with Seth a lot."

  "Hey, you can be friends with nice guys too." I had no idea why I still felt the need to keep my relationship with Seth a secret. Some instinct told me it was the right thing to do.

  "Too bad," said Maddie, finishing her own margarita. "I bet he'd treat his girlfriend like a princess."

  "Yeah," I agreed wryly. "So long as that princess doesn't mind a mistress. Sometimes I think his writing will always be his first love."

  To my surprise, Maddie didn't laugh or look outraged. "Well, I think that's the price you've gotta pay if you want to be with a man like that. It might be worth it."

  Now I became pensive, wondering if this was true. Was I too hard on Seth and his distractibility? When lunch wrapped up, we walked back—not too tipsy—to the bookstore. I nudged Maddie as we stepped inside.

  "Okay, here's the deal. In the next week, I want you to do three adventurous things."

  She looked startled. "What kind of adventurous things?"

  "I don't know." I pondered, thinking I might be drunker than I'd suspected. "The adventurous kind. Go out clubbing. Wear red lipstick. Doesn't matter. All I know is that there's going to be a pop quiz later, okay?"

  "That's ridiculous. It's not that easy," she said with a scowl, turning away. "You can't just make something like that happen."

  "Did I just hear you tell Maddie to go clubbing?" Seth's voice asked a moment later. She was already halfway across the store, and I doubted she'd take me up on my challenge. Too bad. I turned around to face him.

  "I'm helping her live life."

  "By drinking in the middle of the day?" he teased.

  I pointed upstairs. "Don't you have a book to finish? I'll talk to you later. I have important things to do."

  I felt only a little bad about dismissing him, seeing as we had dinner plans and would see each other later. He wandered off to write, and I threw myself into my work. Someone was home sick, so I got to be out amid the holiday shopping frenzy. Maddie worked a register beside me, and I was pleased to see how cheery and charismatic she was with customers.

  When closing time came, I stopped in front of the newspapers, looking for…well, I didn't know what. But I hadn't forgotten about that poor drowning victim. I wondered if there might be more about him—or more about anything that might help me figure out what was happening to me in my sleep. Sadly, the headlines offered no insight today.

  Seth and I drove to Pioneer Square for our late dinner and unsurprisingly couldn't find parking. We ended up several blocks away and were freezing by the time we entered the restaurant. The trek was worth it, though. This place was one of my favorites, serving up Cajun food spicy enough to chase away the winter chill. With gumbo and étouffée, it was hard to brood for too long.

  We'd almost finished dessert when my cell phone rang. I didn't recognize the number.

  "Hello?"

  "Hey, Georgina. This is Vincent."

  "Hey," I said, surprised to be hearing from him.

  "Look, I really need to talk to you in person. Is there any way I can see you?"

  "Right now?"

  "Yeah…it's kind of important."

  I glanced over at Seth, who was finishing the last of his bread pudding. He was so easygoing, I doubted he'd mind if Vincent stopped by.

  "I'm out with Seth…"

  "It'll just take a few minutes," Vincent promised.

  "Okay." I told him where we were, and he told me he'd be there shortly.

  He wasn't kidding. I'd barely explained the situation to Seth when Vincent walked into the restaurant.

  "What'd you do, fly over here?" I asked as he slid into a chair beside us.

  "Nah, I was just close." He gestured to the remnants of our desserts. "Looks good."

  "It was great," I said. "Now, what's up?"

  He hesitated and glanced in Seth's direction.

  "It's fine. Seth knows everything," I assured him. The waitress came by and dropped off our receipt and change.

  Vincent studied Seth a moment more, then turned back to me. "Okay. I just have a quick question for you. We can talk about it on our way out."

  The three of us set out into the cold again, heading toward Seth's car.

  "So," Vincent began. "Remember that story you told me a little while ago? About the cop shooting his partner?"

  "Yup."

  "Where'd you hear it?"

  We walked in silence for a few moments as I tried to remember. "I don't know. Probably on TV. Maybe I saw the headline at the store. Can't recall."

  "Are you sure?"

  I frowned. "Positive."

  Vincent sighed. "Well, here's the thing. I looked into that story and had a hard time finding out anything. It was never made public. I actually had to go investigate with some police sources."

  "It had to have been made public. How else would I have known?"

  "That's what I'm trying to figure out."

  I racked my brain. Where had I heard it? No clue. I'd just known it when I talked to Vincent that day. But, obviously, it hadn't sprung up in my head out of the blue.

  "Do you know anybody in the police department?" he suggested.

  "No one I would have talked to. Maybe I overheard someone. Seriously, I just…I just can't remember."

  "What's the story?" Seth asked me.

  Puzzle pieces suddenly fell together. The cop was just like the guy who'd swam Puget Sound. Both had had a vision of something that wasn't true, but their subsequent actions had brought it about. And I had known about both stories before I should have.

  "Georgina?" asked Seth.

  "This cop went crazy in a store and started—"

  "Okay, just stop. Just fucking stop."

  The three of us jerked to a halt as the voice came out of the darkness. In heading toward our remote parking spot, we'd strayed quite a ways away from the hustle and bustle of Pioneer Square. And from around a corner, a man in need of a shave and clean clothes had emerged. He made Carter look genteel. Muggings were rare in Seattle, but statistics meant little when actually being mugged. The man had a gun aimed at us.

  "Give me everything you've got," he growled. He had kind of a wide-eyed, paranoid look, and I wondered if he was on something. Again, it meant little. He had a gun. We didn't. "Every fucking thing. Wallet. Jewelry. Whatever. I'll shoot. I swear to God, I will."

  I took a step in front of Seth and Vincent, small enough not to raise the guy's alarms but enough to put me in the line of fire. I'd been shot before. It hurt, but it couldn't kill me. My humans were the ones in danger.

  "Sure," I said, reaching into my purse. I kept my voice low and soothing. "Whatever you want."

  "Hurry up," he snapped. His gun was aimed squarely at me now, which was fine.

  Behind me, I heard Seth and Vincent rustling around for their wallets as well. With a pang, I realized I'd have to give up Seth's ring, which I'd worn on a chain around my neck tonight, but that was a small price to pay if we all walked away from this unscathed.

  Suddenly, I saw movement in my peripheral vision. Before I could stop him, Seth lunged forward toward the man and slammed him into the side of the brick building near us. I had never taken Seth for the fighting type, but it was actually pretty impressive. Unfortunately, it was not needed at the moment.

  Vincent and I sprang into the fray, moving at exactly the same time. The guy had been forced to lower his gun while Seth pinned him against the wall, but the attacker was struggling with the ferocity of a bear. Vincent and I tried to add our own strength, mainly hoping to wrest the gun away. It was one of those moments in time that seemed both really long and really short.

  Then, the gun went off.

  My two companions and I stopped moving. The guy used the brief lull to wiggle away from us and ran off into the night. I exhaled a breath of relief, grateful it was all over.

  "Georgina—" said Vincent.

  Seth sank to his knees, and that's when I saw the blood. It was all over his left thigh, dark and slick in the watery light of a flickering streetlight. His face was pale and wide-eyed with shock.

  "Oh, God." I fell down beside him, trying to get a look at the leg. "Call 911!" I screamed at Vincent. Having anticipated me, he already had his cell out.

  Some part of my brain listened to him speaking frantically into the phone, but the rest of my attention was on Seth.

  "Oh God, oh God," I said, ripping off my coat. Blood was pouring steadily out of the wound. I pressed my coat into it, trying to slow the bleeding. "Hang with me. Oh, please, please, hang with me."

  Seth's eyes looked at me with both tenderness and pain. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. I lifted the coat and looked at the wound. Vincent knelt beside me.

  "It won't stop, it won't stop," I moaned.

  Vincent peered over my shoulder. "Femoral artery."

  After over a millennium, I knew the human body and what could kill it. I would have realized what kind of a shot this was if I hadn't been so hysterical.

  "It'll drain him," I whispered, pressing the coat into his leg again. I had seen it happen before, watched people bleed to death right in front of me. "It'll kill him before they get here. That bullet hit perfectly."

  Beside me, I heard Vincent take a deep, shaking breath. Then, his hands covered mine. "Take it away," he said softly.

  "I have to slow the bleeding."

  But he gently lifted my hands away, taking the coat up as well. There was blood everywhere. I imagined I could see it steaming in the cold air.

  Vincent rested his hands on Seth's thigh, oblivious to the mess. Words formed on the tip of my tongue but never came out. The air around us began burning, and a prickling feeling raced across my skin. For a moment, Seth seemed to be bathed in white light. From Vincent, I suddenly had the sensation of dried lavender and humidity. It was tinged in something else…something I'd never hoped to sense again.

  Then, it all faded away. Vincent removed his hands, and when I looked down, blood no longer oozed from Seth's thigh.

  "I'm sorry," gasped Vincent. "I'm not so good at healing, and if I do any more, the others will sense me. This will keep him alive until the ambulance gets here."

  In the distance, I heard the faint sounds of sirens. In my chest, my heart thudded. The world slowed its pace. How long had Vincent said he'd known Yasmine? Fifteen years. Too, too long. He didn't look any older than thirty. They hadn't met when he was a teen. The timing didn't make sense. Neither did the fact that he had just healed a major injury.

  But none of that was as telling as what else I'd already discovered. For just a moment, he'd let his defenses slip, and I'd felt—an immortal signature. And while immortals have unique features of their own, all types of immortals have certain attributes that identify them by creature as well. Succubi. Vampires. Angels. Demons. Vincent's signature had given him away.

  The others will sense me.

  I stared at Vincent as red flashing lights rounded the corner. My eyes were as wide as Seth's had been.

  "You're a nephilim," I breathed.

  CHAPTER 15

  The doctors at the hospital said Seth's survival was a miracle. Which, of course, it was.

  The police officers who talked to all of us believed Seth's actions had been rash—but also admirable. Defending a fair maiden tends to elicit that reaction, and since Seth hadn't been killed, no one else viewed his gallant defense quite the same as I did. Because honestly?

  I thought it was stupid.

  I thought it was so stupid, and I was furious. Beyond furious. I'd surpassed it and moved into an uncharted area of enragement.

  What had he been thinking?

  "I wasn't thinking," he told me in a low voice, when I questioned him in the ER. The others had stepped out for a moment, busy with other things, and it was just the two of us. Seth lay on the bed, face still pale, but otherwise alive and well. "That guy had a gun. You were in his line of fire."

  I opened my mouth to argue the poor logic there, but one of the doctors stepped back inside. She needed to check Seth, and I backed out of the room before I said something I'd regret. Seth might have acted like an idiot, but he was in the hospital with a major injury. Blowing up right now probably wasn't the most appropriate course of action for the healing process.

  Instead, I sought out Vincent. After his interview with the police, he'd stationed himself down the hall, back against the wall and hands stuffed into his pockets. He tilted his head back, face staring miserably up at the ceiling.

  "Hey," I said, careful to keep a safe space between us.

  He glanced down at me. "Hey. How is he?"

  "Fine—considering everything. The doctors are amazed the bullet ‘missed.'"

  Vincent turned away and gazed blankly down the hall. He stayed silent.

  I didn't know what to say. So…you're a nephilim. How's that working out?

  Frankly, I could guess how that was working out. Horribly. Nephilim were the offspring of angels and humans. Those angels were now demons, of course. You couldn't sleep around with hot humans and still play for heaven's team—as I'd noted with Yasmine. It was why Jerome had fallen. In what had to be the most unfair deal in the world, many nephilim had been hunted and killed by angels and demons—even their own parents. Heaven and Hell viewed nephilim as dangerous abominations. The fact that nephilim tended to have unruly natures and poor impulse control didn't really help their reputation.

  As a result of their persecution, nephilim usually walked the earth disguised, hiding the full brunt of their power—which rivaled their parents'—as well as the immortal signatures that could give them away. And while I felt bad for them, they nonetheless scared the hell out of me. Many of them held grudges against angels, demons, and anyone else immortal. Jerome's son Roman was like that. He had come to Seattle a few months ago and embarked on a revenge killing spree. Looking at Vincent now, I wondered if I was dealing with the same sort of thing.

  "Does…Yasmine know?" I asked after several more awkward moments.

  His eyes flicked back to me. "Of course." He said it with the same matter-of-fact tone he'd used when we'd talked about their relationship. It was a tone that implied how could she not know? Like it was absurd that he would keep anything from the woman he loved.

  "It kills her," he said with a sigh. "It's eating her up inside."

  "Because…of…what you are…?"

  "No." His eyes were so sad that I almost forgot he came from a race of uber-powerful psychopaths. "She doesn't care about that part. What she can't stand is that it's a secret. That she has to hide everything. You know they can't lie…but she's not exactly telling the truth either. It's deceitful, and she hates that. And I hate that she hates it. I've tried to end our…thing a couple of times, but she won't do it because…"

  "Because she loves you," I finished.

  Vincent shrugged and looked away from me again.

  "I'm sorry," I told him at last. And I was. How horrible. Yasmine loving anyone was dangerous enough, but for her to love one of the most despised creatures in our world…well, yeah. That took it to an entirely different level. An angel should have been reporting Vincent's existence, not hiding it.

  Vincent turned his attention back to me. "Who will you tell? Carter? Jerome?"

  I stared into those dark, dark eyes, those eyes filled with so much sorrow and so much love. I stopped being afraid of him. He wasn't Roman.

  "No one," I said quietly. "I'm not going to tell anyone."

  He turned incredulous. "Why? You know what I am. You know you could get in trouble for hiding me. Why wouldn't you tell?"

  I thought about it. "Because the system is fucked up."

  I went back to Seth's room after that, and when I stepped out into the hall later, Vincent was gone. He wasn't at my apartment when I returned home that night.

  Seth was released the following morning, and I stayed home from work with him.

  "I don't need to be coddled, Thetis," he told me gently—though I could swear there was the tiniest hint of annoyance in his voice. "I'm fine. I won't break."

  We were sitting in his living room, side by side on the couch. He had his laptop, and I had a novel. I folded a corner of the page I was on and shut the book.

  I wanted to tell Seth that he would break, that that's what it meant to be mortal. I wanted to tell him a thousand things, just like I'd wanted to in the hospital, but once more I swallowed my feelings.

  "You just need to take it easy," I said. "And I want to make sure you don't do anything too crazy."

  "Right. Because my usual lifestyle is so physically vigorous."

  He had a point. Most of his days were spent sitting and writing. He wasn't too likely to burst another artery that way.

  "I just want you to be careful," I said obstinately. "You were shot last night, remember? That's not the same as falling on the ice."

  "You overreacted to that too."

  "Is it so wrong to care about you?"

  He sighed and returned to his work. I had a feeling I wasn't the only one biting back angry words. We spent most of the day like that, talking little. Whenever he expressed any interest in something—food, drink, etc.—I was quick to jump up and get it for him. I was the perfect nurse/servant. Finally, around dinnertime, he looked like he was nearing a breaking point.

  "Arent your friends doing something tonight?" he asked stiffly.

  "Are you trying to get rid of me?"

  "Just asking."

  "They're having a card game."

  "You aren't going?"

  "No, I'll stay here with you."

  "You should go."

  "I don't want to leave you. In case you need something."

  "Then take me with you."

  "What?" I exclaimed. "But you need to—"

  "—take it easy, rest, not strain myself. I know, I know. But look, I'm kind of getting cabin fever here, and honestly, I think you'd benefit from a little distraction."