Rory went back to Cain’s side and found a package of baby wipes in the blue box. She pulled out a wad of them and started scrubbing the drying blood from his skin. It was hard to stay focused on the task at hand with so much naked male flesh on display, but her flashing visions kept cutting into her enjoyment, reminding her to get the damn job done. Finally, she splayed her left hand over his tree tattoo to drive the visions away.

Heat trickled out of her. She actually felt her hand warm and vibrate against his skin. The branches of the tree swayed, tickling her palm.

She ran her finger along the mark, marveling over the magic he housed. Tingling ribbons of heat wove their way up her arm, wrapping tightly around her. Tying her to him.

Rory pulled back. She didn’t want to be tied to him. His job was too dangerous. He took too many risks.

For her.

Cain’s eyes opened. A dark green sliver of color showed between his lids. Yearning filled his gaze, but she couldn’t figure out what it was he wanted.

And she really wasn’t sure it was something she wanted to give.

His hand fumbled toward her, reaching for her. She couldn’t deny him the simple comfort of human contact, so she took his hand in hers.

He pressed her fingers over his heart. Need shimmered through the luceria. Desire, too, but his need went deeper than that. It cried out for beautiful, dangerous things—things that had the power to rip her soul from her body and stomp it into a pulpy slush. Without even trying, she could see the things he wanted. Secret, hidden things that he didn’t dare even admit to himself.

Rory felt herself being pulled into his need—the things he’d denied himself for years. Centuries. They were shiny, filled with hope and purpose, so bright she couldn’t look directly at them for fear of blinding herself.

What she couldn’t see scared her, but not nearly as much as what she felt. Those bright hopes swirled around her, as if she were their center, as if without her, those precious, glimmering things would all fly away into oblivion. He needed her to need him.

She couldn’t be anyone’s center. It was too much to ask.

Rory pried her fingers out from under his and grabbed up another thick pile of baby wipes. She distracted herself by scrubbing away more smears of blood, being careful not to touch his skin. The visions came back with a vengeance, but she was used to those. She could stand those.

She couldn’t stand the desire that had tumbled out of Cain, or how he saw her as the sun around which his hopes revolved. She couldn’t need him like that—it would destroy her to depend on anyone the way he clearly wanted her to do. She couldn’t be the one to provide him with the sense of purpose he needed to keep going.

It would be kinder of her to keep her distance. Cain was a good man. If she couldn’t give him what he needed, the least he deserved was her letting him down gently.

When Cain woke fully, he was in a bed. His clothes were gone, but his sword was propped close at hand, fitted with a new leather belt. He saw no signs of danger, but something was definitely wrong.

He got up and found a robe draped over a chair. It was barely big enough to cover him, but a sense of urgency drove him not to care about his lack of modesty. His body was weak and wobbly. Thirst grated along his throat.

He recognized the feeling as the aftermath of Sanguinar healing, so that didn’t disturb him, but something was off.

Rory.

He reached out through their link only to find a hard wall blocking his path.

Terrified that something had happened to her, he stumbled from the room and down the hall. The sight of her ridiculously pink hair made him sag with relief.

“Rory, are you okay?”

She was at the front window, holding the curtains back as she peered out at the sunrise. At the sound of her name, she spun around. Her dark gaze slid over his body. She took a step toward him as if compelled, but stopped short. Her gaze hit the floor and stayed there. “I’m fine. How are you feeling?”

“Thirsty. What happened?”

She walked into the kitchen and pulled a glass from the cabinet. “A team of Gerai came. They gave Ronan enough blood to heal you, carried you to bed and then cleaned up the mess. The whole thing took only minutes. They’re very efficient.”

“Where’s Ronan?”

She filled the glass and set it on the counter near him, rather than handing it to him, as if she didn’t want to risk any accidental contact. “In the basement, sleeping.”

The water eased the burning in his throat, but did nothing to get rid of the nagging sense that something was wrong. She was acting strange. Cold.

And then it hit him. She’d lost her home. It had gone up in flames, along with all of her grandmother’s handmade things, their family photos—precious, irreplaceable things.

“I’m so sorry about your home, Rory.” He reached to put a comforting hand on her shoulder, but she jerked away.

“Don’t. I’m fine. It was just a house.”

“No, it was your home. Your grandmother’s home. It was a place of happy memories and safety.”

A hollow, bitter bark of laughter erupted from her mouth. “Yeah, well, not last night, it wasn’t.”

Cain ached to ease her grief, but she clearly didn’t want physical contact. Once again, he prodded the connection the luceria offered, hoping for another way to lend her comfort. Instead, he was met with a cold, blank wall keeping him out.

“We can rebuild your home if you like,” he offered. “I realize it will never replace the things you lost, but at least you’ll have a place of your own.”

She turned her back on him, shaking her head so that her pink hair swayed over her shoulders. “That was never my place. It was always Nana’s, and it was the last thing I had of hers that made me feel like she was still with me. I was surrounded by her there—the things she’d made, the way she smelled.” She paused, and when she spoke again, there was a catch of sorrow in her throat. “That house made me feel like she could still hug me. Now it’s gone, and nothing you can do will ever bring that back, so don’t bother.”

Cain could no longer stand to give her space, not when she was suffering such a deep loss. His need to protect her—even from her grief—drove him forward. His bare feet were silent on the floor. He gave her no warning of his intent, but as he approached, she became stiff, as if she knew he was there.

Her visions. Of course.

He slipped his arms around her waist, ready to face whatever fury she wanted to unleash.

She spun around inside his embrace, shoving against his chest. “Let me go.”

“No. If your grandmother can no longer hug you, then I will.”

Now that he was close, he could see the signs of her grief etched under her eyes and around her mouth. She’d been crying, and the remnants of those tears threatened to spill over now. He knew that if he witnessed her weakness, it would only make her more resistant and prickly.

He tucked her head under his chin and let her hide her face against his chest. The barrier she’d shoved between them trembled, though he couldn’t tell if it was from the force of her emotions, or if her resolve to keep him out was weakening.

“You’re not alone, Rory.”

Her voice was small and uncertain. “Everyone is alone. Everyone dies. I’m so tired of being crushed when it happens.”

“Things appear bleak now, but it won’t always be this way. Days will pass. You will heal.”

“Yeah, just in time to get kicked in the gut again when the next person I care about dies. I’m sorry, Cain, but it’s just not worth it. I’m done caring.”

She didn’t mean that. It was her grief talking. But nothing he could say would clear away the pain and give her room to see the truth. Only time could do that.

Cain stroked her hair, reveling in the feel of her pressed against him like this. She was safe, and for a few horrible moments, he had been sure that they were all going to die. He’d been sure that he’d failed her the way he’d failed Sibyl, that he’d broken his vow to keep her safe.

He’d been given a second chance, and it was one he would not squander.

She was no longer resisting his touch. Her body leaned into his, and her hands gripped his robe, rather than pushing him away.

It was a start.

Cain slid his fingers through her hair, massaging the tension along the back of her scalp and neck. “Perhaps you should get some sleep.”

He felt the slight shake of her head at his chest. “I feel like I’ll never sleep again. Those demons were all sorts of fucked up. And seeing you hurt like that, seeing Ronan barely able to get down the steps on his own . . . There’s just way too much shit in my head for me to close my eyes and watch it all play out again.”

Cain pressed against the barrier between them, feeling it bulge and wobble. “I could help you sleep.”

“Yeah. I’m aware. Don’t you dare.”

“Okay.” He found her chin and tipped her head up so she’d look at him. “But I need to do something to help you. How will I know what you need if you keep me out?”

“I don’t want you in my head anymore.”

“That’s not true. I felt how much you liked it before. You can’t lie to me.”

“Before was before. This is now.”

“Nothing has changed,” he said.

“Wrong. Everything is different now. I have a Synestryn locked in my head, ready to spring out like a demonic jack-in-the-box. I’m homeless. I apparently have nowhere to hide from the visions, no matter how far away from others I go. They only go away when you touch me, and we can’t exactly go around holding hands all the time.” She let out a long sigh. “I need some space to figure out how to deal with all of this on my own. Whenever you slip inside my thoughts, it makes it hard to remember that you won’t always be around. That’s why you have to stay out.”

“Who says I won’t always be around?”

“Oh, gee, I don’t know. The universe? How the hell should I know? I don’t make the rules, I just suffer because of them.”

“I’ve lived for centuries. If you were going to take a chance on anyone, I’d say I’m a fairly safe bet.”

“How can you say that when you nearly died only hours ago?”

“That wasn’t as bad as it looked. I’ve been through worse.”

“The night Sibyl was taken. Don’t remind me.” She shuddered before getting a grip on herself. She stepped back, out of his embrace and looked up at him with determination burning in her dark eyes. “The point is, I’m done with the fear and worry. I’m moving on.”

Cain went still, dread pooling in his chest. “What do you mean, moving on?”

“I talked to Ronan. He said that without me, or someone like me, you’ll die. I won’t be the cause of that, but I also won’t hang around, waiting for it to happen. I don’t want to be there when it does. So I’m taking off.”

Anger coalesced in a slow, burning coil that tightened around him with every breath. “You’re leaving me?”