I grinned as he let me go, then glanced around to find the two separate groups of visitors watching us curiously. “Come on.” I started to grab Nash’s hand and then stopped myself and tugged on his short sleeve instead. I wasn’t sure whether we were allowed to have visitors in our rooms, but I was certain that if we got caught, no one at Holser would ever mistake Nash for my brother again.

Still, a few minutes alone with him would be worth the risk.

From my room, I glanced up and down the hall to make sure no one was looking and then closed the door and turned to face Nash. He was there in an instant, in my arms again for a real greeting this time. “Damn, I missed you. School sucks when you’re gone.”

I grinned and pulled him closer. “School sucks anyway.”

“Well, it’s worse now.” He kissed me like I was the only source of oxygen in the room—like he’d die without me—and something in my chest ached so fiercely I thought my lungs would pop. I hadn’t felt right since I’d last tasted him five days ago, four hours before the cops picked me up outside the mall, drunk and very, very disorderly.

And I wouldn’t feel right again once he left. I never felt right without Nash. He was the only person in the world who wasn’t afraid of me, or repulsed by what he saw in my eyes. He wanted me, even knowing what I was. Even knowing what I had to do to survive. He loved me.

And I loved him more than I had ever, in my entire life, loved a single living soul.

When I finally pulled back—more for lack of air than anything else—Nash smiled at me, but didn’t let go. “So, I guess you think you’re badass now, huh? An ex-con parole violator?”

“Whatever. I probably would have gotten probation again, if I hadn’t broken that girl’s jaw while I was waiting for my court date.”

His brows rose, but he didn’t look truly surprised. “You broke somebody’s jaw?”

I shrugged. “She had it coming.”

“You should join the football team,” he said, and I laughed.

“You just wanna tackle me.”

His gaze smoldered. “We don’t need pads and helmets for that.”

“No, but we might need a door that actually locks. Speaking of security measures, how’d you get in here, brother?

Nash smiled and sank into the only chair in the room. “I have a way with words.”

“The understatement of the millennium...” I straddled him in the chair and stared down into his eyes, trying to convince myself that he was real. That he was actually there, in the flesh, beneath me. If I could have a dream, that would be it. “So, what? You just showed up at the door and Influenced your way in?”

“Nah.” His grin deepened. “I called first and got myself put on your approved visitors list. Then I showed up at the door...”

“Your Influence works over the phone?” Nash was a bean sidhe —or banshee, to the uninitiated—the little known male of the species. The females were more famous in folklore, because of the girlie, nerve-shredding screech they let loose when they sensed someone near death, but the male bean sidhe’ s ability is actually much more powerful. And convenient. With nothing more than the sweet, seductive sound of his voice—his Influence—Nash could convince just about anyone to do just about anything. The best part? They thought they actually wanted to do whatever he talked them into. It was like hypnosis, only better.

Unfortunately, the effect wore off almost as soon as he stopped talking. So if we were caught, he could probably talk us out of serious trouble for the moment, but later, I’d no doubt get written up and lose some privileges.

But Nash was still worth it.

“Apparently. Tod didn’t think it would work over the phone, but I never pass up a chance to prove him wrong.”

“He knows where you are? Is he gonna tell your mom?” It was a good hour’s drive from Nash’s house to Holser, and he’d only had his license for a month.

“Nah, but he’ll probably use it against me next time he wants to get out of mowing the lawn.” He smiled and ran his hands up my sides. “So how happy are you to see me? I’m guessing this place really sucks?”

“Extremely, on both counts.” I kissed him again. His hands roamed upward, but I pushed them back down reluctantly. “We’ll only have a few minutes alone.”

He scowled. “This place does suck. At least the eating’s probably ... plentiful though, right?”

I frowned. “More like pitiful, if today’s any indication.”

“What does that mean?”

I climbed off his lap and sat on the edge of the bed to get comfortable. “Thursday night, I visited the girl next door—who is screwed up beyond belief, FYI—and had a pretty heavy meal. Last night, I abstained. But then today, I was looking for something appetizing outside right before you got here, and I found ... nothing.”

“Nothing good?”

“Nothing at all. No fear, no panic, not even a taste of chronic discomfort. They’re all ... content.”

“Wait. All of them?” Nash scooted the chair forward until his knees hit the mattress between mine.

I shrugged. “The two I tried, anyway.”

“Well, that’s hardly the entire population. Still, what are the chances of two in a row? This is a halfway house, not a birthday party. If the residents were shiny, happy people, they wouldn’t be here.” He caught my frown and amended. “Present company excluded.”

Yet we both knew I was neither shiny nor particularly happy, at least when he wasn’t around. “According to the director, I’m the only hardened criminal—most of the others are here for possession with intent or truancy. But yeah, there should be some major fear in here. Or at least regret or anger. But I’m getting nothing but peace and acceptance. It’s creepy.”

“Are you feeling okay? Getting enough sleep?” Nash asked. I rolled my eyes, and he shrugged. “Okay, any sleep?”

“Nash, I don’t think it’s me. I think it’s them. I think something’s wrong with them.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s just a hunch, but this place doesn’t feel right. I’ve been here for two and a half days now and haven’t heard a single person yell. No one’s arguing over chores or showers or food or the phone. No one’s arguing about anything. They’re all just ... getting along.”

“But isn’t that a good thing? You know, rehabilitation and all?”

“They aren’t rehabilitated. They’re lobotomized. Or at least, neutered.”

“Bina, how do you neuter people? And girls, at that?”

“I don’t know, but that’s what’s happened. They’ve lost their balls. And you can’t tell me they never had any, ’cause if you’ve never caused any trouble, you don’t end up here in the first place.”

“Well, you certainly haven’t been neutered. Or lobotomized.”

“Yeah, I seem to be the exception. And the only other thing I’m the exception to is humanity.”

“You think you’re immune to whatever’s wrong with them because you’re a mara?

I shrugged again. “I’m kinda thinkin’ out loud here. But yeah.”

“Okay, but what if you’re wrong? What if whatever’s wrong here is only affecting you? Throwing off your empathy?”

“I guess that’s possible.” Especially once I thought about it. “They don’t seem very scared of me. At least, not today...”

“We need a test. Try it on me. Read my fears.”

“Nash, that’s not a good idea.” We’d been down that road; it ended on the edge of a very steep cliff, and I wasn’t sure either of us would survive the fall.

“Just try it. I can take it. You know that.”

Yeah, I knew. That was one of the reasons Nash and I were perfect for each other. I could read his fears—

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