Chapter 76

"Absolutely not."

"But, Kent –"

"Nicole, we had a deal! We need you here, to be available in case anything happens to one of us again. I mean, my god, Brady is still upstairs recovering! Who is going to look after him? And we've had multiple near misses this past week alone - we just talked about this!"

"Kent, I'm sorry, and we can figure something out! Brady could get an in-home nurse –"

"Who will start to ask questions, no doubt?"

"We could find someone who –"

"And even if I wasn't worried about Brady, which I am, what about the rest of us? What if Torsten gets shot and there's no one to help in the middle of the night, because you're off playing house with your new boyfriend?"

"Kent, that's unfair."

Kent takes a deep breath, rubs his face. We're sitting at my kitchen table, our cheerful surroundings contrasting sharply with the seriousness of our conversation. I was too jittery for coffee when I got back home this morning, so steaming mugs of chamomile tea sit in front of us, instead.

"You're right," Kent says. "That was unfair, and I apologize. Truly. And I don't mean to sound like I don't care about your safety - that you're only here as our doctor on demand, or that I think you're a servant or owe us or whatever."

"I do owe you," I say.

"No, you don't," Kent says. "Not anymore, anyway. You've saved two of us already, and you've provided extensive recovery care on top of your job infiltrating the mansion, which you've done much better than any of us could have hoped for.

"If your life was truly in danger, Nick, I'd agree in a heartbeat. We'd work it out. But I just don't see the need. I'm not trying to downplay how much that creep scared you, not at all, but he didn't really threaten you, did he? And no one knows you're here."

"True," I say.

"Even Marcus hasn't been able to figure out where you live," Kent argues. "If he can't, nobody can. The safest place for you at night is here. Surely you can see that, Nick."

"I used to," I say, "but now I'm not so sure. That man insinuated that he knows my real identity, and he mentioned Charles. Plus, he's apparently this super terrifying werewolf criminal who is supposed to be living in exile on, like, the Isle of Orkney or something."

"I get it," Kent says. "But I really think he must have been bluffing. Again, how could he know where you live?"

"He could have had me followed," I point out. "Or have followed me himself. Marcus wouldn't do that, because he respects my privacy, but I doubt that this Amos guy has the same integrity."

"That's true," Kent concedes, chewing on his lower lip. He takes a long drink of his tea and makes a face. "Nick, this stuff tastes like cat's piss. You got anything stronger?"

"How do you know what cat's piss tastes like?" I ask, already standing up to go to the liquor cabinet and find the whiskey.

"It tastes like cat's piss smells, Doc."

"All right, all right." I pour us two doubles of a very nice single malt that Liam gave me a couple weeks ago, and Kent downs half of his in one gulp.

"Look, I'll think on it, okay? See if there's a way to make it work for all of us. But I really think you're safer here than at the mansion. I'm starting to not even like you at that mansion - you're a sitting duck, Nick. They all know where you are there. Here, you're still hidden. For now. Andrea made sure –" he cuts himself off.

I wrinkle my nose in confusion and give Kent a searching look.

"Andrea made sure of what?" I ask.

"Don't ask too many questions," Kent says, "but Andrea has worked hard to make sure that nobody looks twice at this home, or asks any questions about it. It should be impossible for anybody to follow you here. They'd have to have some serious supernatural chops to get past Andrea's protection."

"Can't Andrea come stay with me?" I ask in a small voice, feeling like a little girl afraid of the monsters under her bed. Only maybe the monsters are turning out to be real.

"You know, that's a great idea," Kent says, brightening up. "Nobody is going to touch you when Andrea is around. She can't babysit you 24/7, but she might be able to stay here at night. She's off on assignment right now, but she gets back tomorrow. I'll talk to her then."

"Okay, now that actually makes me feel a lot better," I say, raising my glass and clinking it against Kent's.

"If you can survive one more night on your own, I'll get it all worked out," Kent says.

"I'm sure I'll be fine."

I bolt upright in bed, suddenly wide awake with a racing heart. I glance at the clock - 2:56 a.m. I have no idea what's woken me up, but I'm in a borderline state of panic. A bad dream? I search my brain but come up empty.

I put my head in my hands and take a few deep breaths, forcing myself to calm down. I'm on edge - it was probably just a weird sound outside that twigged my subconscious and made me think –

Wait, no. No, that's definitely the sound of breaking glass, coming from downstairs. The kitchen, I think. Oh, my god.

Someone is in my house.

I scramble for my cell phone, thanking every god I've ever heard of that I have Jack Darlington's number saved and that he already knows where I live. The phone is ringing, ringing, ringing when I hear footsteps coming up the stairs.

Brady.

I need to get to Brady.

"Hello? Nicole? What's wrong?" Jack has answered the phone. I clutch it close to my mouth and whisper as loudly as I dare:

"Jack, someone has broken into my house. I was threatened the other afternoon, and now someone is here. Please, hurry."

"Nick, stay still, hide in a closet, don't move, don't move. I'm on my way."

I throw the phone down on the bed, but I don't hide in a closet, because oh my god, I need to get to Brady. Now. He's injured and can barely stand long enough to get into his wheelchair; he can't fight off some criminal mastermind überwolf like Amos.

I look around wildly, searching for anything that could serve as a weapon. The antique lamp on my bedside table will have to do; I yank the cord from the wall and heft it in both hands, then sidle toward the open bedroom door and slip into the hallway.

There - a shadowy figure is creeping along the hall, angling toward Brady's room. He's got something in his hand that very much looks like a gun, and I try not to think about it as I pelt down the hall in my bare feet.

He whirls just as I come up behind him, lifting his hand, but –

I bring the lamp down on his skull as hard as I can, and a sickening crack thuds dully as the lamp breaks across his face. He crumples, and I bolt into Brady's room.

Brady is sitting upright, looking terrified.

"Doc, what the hell is going on?"

"Break in," I gasp. "Jack is on his way. Stay put. I'm going to barricade the door." I lock the bedroom door and then start dragging the heavy wardrobe in front of it, adrenaline fueling my strength in a way I didn't even know was possible.

When I've got every piece of furniture I can shift piled in front of the door, I crawl into the bed with Brady, who clutches me to him and smooths my hair. He's shaking almost as hard as I am. We sit there in silence, straining to hear any movement from the hallway, waiting for help to arrive.