I jerked forward, suddenly wary. How did he know my name?

He chuckled, e Bght p h;xplaining, “I’ve seen you around the clubs. You and your pretty friend.”

Of course he meant Brooklynn. Everyone noticed Brooklynn.

It was hard to imagine that I’d never noticed him before. He was hard to miss.

“I’m sorry. It was nice meeting you, Xander, but I really need to find my friend now.” And it was true. With my head clear, I realized the position I was in: that no one knew where I was, or who I was with.

For a moment I thought he might argue, or try to convince me to stay. He was standing between me and the exit, and there was a long, tense pause. I held my breath, trying to calm my heart.

But then the moment passed, and he stepped out of my way. Again I was struck by that sense that there was something predatory about him, in the grace with which he moved and the way his silver eyes remained trained—focused—on me. But I squeezed the container of salve in my palm, reminding myself that he’d done nothing wrong.

“Right this way.”

He led me back into the darkened hallway, and to the club beyond. He stayed with me, keeping his hand on my elbow, whether to steady me or to keep me within arm’s reach, I didn’t know.

We stood there for a moment, silently surveying the crowd. “There she is.” His voice was so low and deep that it very nearly blended into the bass of the music.

There was a sudden burst of activity near the entrance, and everyone seemed to turn at once, straining to see what was happening. Xander’s fingers tightened on my arm. I was certain it was unintentional. I doubted he even realized he’d done it. Beside me, he’d gone completely rigid, anxious and alert within the span of a breath.

As we watched, bodies shifted and the crowds parted. Even without seeing who’d just arrived, their appearance charged the air like static electricity.

And then three men emerged from the mass of people crowding the entryway, and as they came closer, I recognized him—Max—immediately. My breath caught in the back of my throat.

That was when I noticed it, the same thing I had when I’d first met him: Max didn’t belong here.

Not in the way someone like Xander did. Not like I did.

I was scarcely aware of his companions, watching only him as his assessing gaze moved around the club. I couldn’t help wondering if—even hoping that—it was me he searched for.

I remained still as his eyes paused on Xander, flashing darkly. But his hesitation was so slight, so fleeting, that I could have easily convinced myself I’d only imagined it.

Then that same self-assured gaze stopped on me, staking me to the ground as I stared back at him, unblinking, unwavering. I held my breath as I waited for something to happen, as I hoped to see some glimmer of recognition from him. And I thought there was something, an almost imperceptible narrowing of his eyes and the slight lift at the corners of his mouth. But it was over so quickly I could barely process it, and his long stride never faltered.

Disappointment surged through me as Max Bght >Diis moutand his companions continued through the crowds. I felt foolish for coming here to see him, for stitching this dress while dreaming of him, for hoping he might notice me.

“Who are they?” I finally managed to ask Xander, meaning more than just their names.

But when I turned my head, Xander was gone.

I glanced down at the back of my hand, just to make certain I hadn’t been dreaming .

. . that Xander really had been there in the first place.

My skin no longer burned, and the mark—the six-pointed star—had all but disappeared. I opened my fist and touched the container of salve I still held.

Xander was real, all right.

And suddenly I was sure he had the answers I wanted.

XANDER

“So, X? Was it her?”

Eden moved like a living, breathing hurricane, energy brewing just beneath her skin at all times. She sat in the chair across from him, leaning her elbows on his desk, meeting his gaze head-on.

Irritated to be interrupted, Xander shoved the crumbling photograph beneath the papers in front of him, and then traced his thumb along the ragged line of his scar, an old habit. But Eden was one of the few people who could get away with disturbing him. “I don’t know yet. I think she might be.” Then he amended his words. “I’m almost certain of it.”

Overhead, music from the club still pounded a vicious rhythm, hammering the ceiling above them. It would continue like that until dawn.

Eden pondered his statements, running her hand through her spiky hair. Then she asked the other questions, the ones he’d been considering all night. “What about the guards, did they see her? Do they know who she is?”

He didn’t have a good answer for her, so he shrugged. “I don’t know. They definitely saw her, and I think they knew she was with me, even if they didn’t know why. But I have no idea if they’ve guessed who she is.” He waited, wondering if he should even ask his next question. He trusted Eden—with his life—but he could see she was already anxious, and he didn’t want to add to her troubles.

She stood and paced the dark space below the club, one of their latest installations. But they wouldn’t be able to stay there any longer. He didn’t know if he’d been followed, and he couldn’t take the chance. The clubs were a good place to hide, a good place to move information, but they could never get too comfortable in one place for long. If they did, they could be raided, and their secrets would be discovered, their plans exposed.