“Oh, I’ll do way more than bite,” he replied, and I rolled my eyes. “My job is to keep you safe, and I’m not about waiting around for questions to become problems.”

“But they’re already asking,” I pointed out. “And Nicolai is right. Eventually they are going to find out. Maybe...maybe we’re wrong? Maybe we need to tell the clan. Take that risk.”

“That’s not the risk we should take right now. Like I said to Nic, we don’t need to be looking over our shoulders. My clan won’t find out. Not if I have anything to do with it.”

I planted my hands on my hips. “And what are you going to do, Zayne?”

“Whatever I have to. I will not allow you to be harmed.” He thumped his fist off his chest and then held it there, above his heart. “That is the vow I made.”

Two halves of me went to all-out war. Part of me boiled over with annoyance. Not only because his warning was unnecessary and could further damage his relationship with his clan, but also because I could damn well take care of myself, thank you very much. I didn’t need him going all He-Man on other Wardens without due cause.

The stupider half of me was all fluttery in my lady bits, because he was willing to put himself between me and a bullet, so to speak, even go up against his clan to do so.

That part was dumb as Hell, because of the reason behind his vow. The bond made him feel that way—willing to step in front of a speeding train for me—when it came to him and his clan. It was not the same thing that had driven him to kiss Layla even though he knew the danger, or that had allowed him to stand back and watch familiars munch down on Alphas because they’d threatened her, or to pursue a relationship with the half demon even when he knew his clan would never support it.

He needed to protect me. He’d wanted to protect Layla. And there was a world of difference between need and want. My chest twisted, even though I wasn’t comparing myself to Layla out of jealousy or bitterness. There was no competition between us. It was just the...the simple difference that, even if Zayne and I shared amazing dinners, and he said kind, sweet things to me, there was a difference between needing to do something and wanting to do it.

Zayne’s head tilted. “What?” His gaze flickered over my face. “What’s wrong?”

I looked at the steel-paneled door we’d stopped in front of. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“You seem to keep forgetting I can feel what you’re feeling.”

“Trust me, I have not forgotten that.” It was time to change the subject. “How are we getting back to your place?” We’d caught a ride to the compound with another Warden who’d showed up shortly after Dez had left with Morgan’s body. “Are we flying again?”

Zayne didn’t respond for a long moment. The silence stretched my nerves, forcing me to look at him again. The moment our eyes connected, I couldn’t look away. Couldn’t get enough air into my lungs with the shallow breath I took. “You’re sad,” he said, his voice low. “It feels like...a heaviness in my chest. I can feel it, Trin.”

I closed my eyes, thinking I really needed to get better control of my emotions.

“Talk to me,” he whispered in the quiet.

“I was... I was thinking about Misha.” That was a lie, yet another I’d told today, and also not something I wanted to talk about, either. But it was better than the truth. “It was just a random memory. Not important.”

His hand touched my shoulder, surprising me. The weight was light, but I could feel the warmth of his hand through the material of my shirt, branding my skin. “But it is important.”

Exhaling roughly, I said nothing.

“I know you miss him.” His fingers curled around my shoulder. “Even with everything he did, you still miss him. I understand.”

Did he really? Things might have been tense between him and his father before his passing, but it wasn’t like his father had wanted him dead or had sought to betray him. Or orchestrated the death of his mother. Then again, his father had gone after Layla.

“I know I’ll never replace him. I’ll never be what he was to you.”

My eyes flew open as my hands curled into fists. “That’s a good thing. I wouldn’t want you to be anything like him. Everything about him was a lie, Zayne. I didn’t really know him.”

His lashes lowered, shielding those extraordinary eyes. “But there are good memories, Trin. What he became doesn’t change that, and they’re not going away because of what he ended up doing.”

“But they did.” I stepped away from his touch. I needed space before everything to do with Misha cracked wide open. “Because what if he’d always been like that, and it was all fake?”

“You don’t know that.”

“That doesn’t matter. He tainted those memories, Zayne. He made them not real.”

His hand fell to his side. “They’re real as long they belong to you.”

I sucked in a breath, his words hitting me hard in the chest. When I looked at him again, I found him watching me, his expression stark.

He took a step toward me, arms rising as if he was about to pull me into his embrace, but he stopped short of doing so. Relief and disappointment flooded me. His stance stiffened and then he turned toward the steel door. “Come on. Let’s head home.”

Home.

Sighing, I waited until he opened the door. The faint scent of exhaust wafted into the kitchen as Zayne turned on a light, revealing a large bay housing several vehicles. He smacked a button on the wall, and the garage door rattled open. A warm, sticky breeze blew into the space.

I closed the door behind me and heard the lock automatically click into place.

Zayne snatched a set of keys off the wall and skirted the grills of two SUVs as he walked toward something covered with a tarp. “You’re not afraid of motorcycles, are you?”

“Uh. I’ve never been on one, but I don’t think so? I mean, I shouldn’t be,” I reasoned as I watched him grab a fistful of the beige cloth and yank it aside, revealing a black motorcycle that looked like it went fast—really fast. “Is that yours?”

Zayne nodded as he reached for the handlebars. “Yeah, haven’t taken it out in a while.”

I was trying to wrap my head around the fact that Zayne owned a motorcycle and that I found that so...hot. It was just a method of transportation, no big deal, but I was feeling a little flushed.

“I keep meaning to ride it back whenever I’m over here,” he said, turning something on the center part of the bike as he lifted a foot and placed it on one of the shifters.

Nudging the kickstand up, he straightened the bar. The security floodlight kicked on, illuminating Zayne and the bike as he wheeled it into the driveway. “Can you grab two helmets? They’re on the shelf to your right. Sorry. No pink ones.”

“I was really hoping for a pink helmet with kitten ears.” I did as he said, grabbing two black full-face helmets. They were heavier than I expected, but I guessed that was a good thing when you wanted something between the pavement and your skull when going sixty miles an hour or faster.

The garage door closed behind me as I joined Zayne in the driveway. Stopping, I looked back at all the dark windows. Most Wardens would be on the streets right now, but they’d be returning home soon. “Do you not miss being here at all?”

Zayne shook his head as he swung a heavy thigh over the bike and sat in a way that said he’d done this hundreds of times. Holding on to one of the handles, he steadied the bike as he reached over and took one of the helmets from me. “These have microphones in them, so if you need to talk to me, I can hear you.”

“Cool.” I stared at the helmet I held and then peeked up at Zayne, thinking of those Wardens out patrolling—of Morgan and Greene and all the others I didn’t know. “I’m really sorry about Morgan. I can’t remember if I said that yet, but just in case I haven’t, I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.” He looked back at the mansion. “What I said before hasn’t changed. Another name on the list to grieve. Just wasn’t thinking another would replace the last one so quickly.”

“Me, either,” I admitted, stomach twisting as my thoughts shifted to the park and the dinner and us in that alley while—

“I think I know what you’re thinking,” He tipped his gaze to the sky, exposing his throat. It was cloudy, so I couldn’t see any stars. “If you are, it’s what I’m thinking.”

My grip on the helmet tightened. I didn’t want to say what I was thinking.

Head still thrown back, he closed his eyes as he palmed the helmet between his large hands, and I thought he didn’t want to give those words life, either. He opened his eyes. “Get the helmet on and hop on, so we can get out of here.”

I slipped on the helmet and then, after a couple of seconds of trying to figure out how to get on the back of the bike without looking like an idiot, I scrambled onto the seat behind Zayne. When I looked up, Zayne had his helmet on.

He tapped something on the side of his helmet, waited a few seconds, and then reached over to my helmet and pressed something on the side. His voice was suddenly inside the helmet. “You’re going to need to hold on to me.”

Biting my lip, I placed my hands on his sides and tried to ignore how hard that area was. I had no idea why it had been so easy to cling to him like a sexed-up octopus in the alley earlier, but now it felt as awkward as trying to navigate a maze in the dark.

There was a pause. “You’re going to have to hold on harder than that.” Amusement lanced his tone, and I rolled my eyes. “And scoot up, or the moment this Ducati moves, you’re going to fly right off the back of it.”

“Sounds like if that happens, it’s your fault,” I retorted, but flattened my hands against his sides. “And if I get any closer, I’m going to be riding your back like a book bag.”

“That’s a sentence I never thought I’d hear.” His voice crackled through the microphone.