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"She's done your stupid trial and passed with flying colors, you old fop. How many times did I have to tell you that this wasn't the way to get this done? Children." She shakes her head at me, and for a second I worry it might fall off. Everything about her is old—white hair, heavily lined face, lipstick feathering at the soft wrinkles of her mouth, yellowed fangs protruding ghoulishly from her upper lip. "You can try to raise them right all you want, but then they stop listening, and God only knows what they're thinking when they do shit like this. Pardon my French," the old woman says.

"Right," I tell her, my voice wispy from the pain boiling over in my head.

"You did that remarkably well. The question is how, exactly, you did that."

Julian starts to open his mouth, and the woman scowls at him.

"I wasn't asking you for feedback, you old fool. Don't test my patience," she says, and her canines lengthen, red smoke curling from her fingertips. Blood magic, I realize. "Leave us be, or better yet, fetch me a little something to drink. Make yourself useful instead of embarrassing."

Julian hisses, an animal sound completely at odds with his refined appearance, one that sets my teeth on edge—or would, if they weren't already ground so tight together I'm afraid I might break a piece of my molar off.

"You don't look like you're feeling too well, sweetheart." She clucks her tongue at me, her fangs disappearing slightly, making her look more like a normal old woman. I have a feeling that's the last mistake some people have made when it comes to this person. "How rude of me not to introduce myself. I'm Elizabeth Anne, former Head of House Sanguine. Now I mostly spook about the shadows. But Midnight House knows all about shadows, don't you?"

I don't say anything, barely able to function past listening to what she's saying, trying to soak up whatever the fuck politics is going on right now between this old-ass vampire and Julian.

"Well, dear, just know that House Sanguine wasn't always an enemy of House Midnight. You've proved your worth in more ways than one, and I strongly suggest you and your blood consort here get the fuck out before they decide to rip into you and do away with what's left of courtesy. But before you go, I thought I'd give you a little welcoming gift. Just try to remember, dear, that House Sanguine wasn't always an enemy of House Midnight."

She holds out her frail, shaking hand, taking my wrist in hers—surprisingly strong, much too strong for a normal old woman—and grabs my hand.

"I don't quite want this to be where everyone can see it, dear. You mind helping an old woman out?"

Lachlan doesn't say anything, but rumbles a growl so low that it sets my headache hurting even worse. I need the tincture, and it's about all I can think of, the pain dulling everything but the need to get the fuck out of this place and take the whole goddamned bottle.

"I can see you're going to make this difficult," the old woman says, forcing my hand open as she deposits something. Made of paper? An envelope, maybe? "MacTavish, you need to get her the hell home. She's not going to last much longer, and these are going to be on her like fleas on a dog. It'd be a real shame for all my hard work to go to waste. Now say the words and get her home."

Her voice is clipped and so low I almost wonder if I'm imagining it. And then I hear the most surprising thing of all—Lachlan gritting out a "Yes, ma'am," pulling me into him, and before I can blink, reciting Latin words I'm too tired to translate.

And the next second, the world turns upside down, shouts erupting all around us as Lachlan teleports us back to Midnight House.

The foyer swims around me, pain and nausea warring with each other for the worst sensation—a contest I'd much rather not be a part of. The black-and-white tile makes a mockery of my state, swimming in my field of vision in the most violent way possible.

"Gonna be sick," I mutter, slumping against Lachlan.

"Stay with me, Viv. What do you need? What do you need? Where's the tincture Doctor Jekyll gave you?"

"I—," I tell him. “I left it on the bathroom counter like an idiot.” I’m struggling to make my mouth make any more words.

"Is it in your purse?"

I'm sinking. I can't think. Everything goes black.

Twenty-Nine

LACHLAN

The bear rips out of me, desperate to protect our mate. And there's nothing I can do, control completely cracked now that we're back in the somewhat safe zone of Midnight House.

As my bear hauls Vivienne over his shoulder, roaring his displeasure so loudly the chandelier overhead trembles, I can feel his panic and I know I need to help, but I'm panicking, too.

"She needs the medicine," I try to tell him, watching the giant paws of my other form tear at the bag Vivienne brought with her. He fumbles a claw across what looks like a gold lipstick tube, and when I tell him that that's not the right thing—he lets out a roar of pure anguish. And I can feel his anger. Not at her, never at her—at me, for allowing this to happen.

Shame fills me, because I did. I did allow this to happen. I should have told her about the cost of using her magic. I should have told her that she was mine, that we didn't have to do this, that we could find a way. And that I made choices to not include her in the knowledge that she's my mate, and may have thus doomed her for it.

From her room, the wooden cat whose name I can't remember in my state of fury and fear meows plaintively, then drops something on the ground, batting it towards me.

"There it is—the tincture!" I scream at the bear, wrestling with him for control of my body. "You need hands, you fucking idiot!" I yell at my bear form.

Promise me you'll tell her. Promise me you'll take care of her, or I'll drive us both insane.