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“If I could heal like that and not turn furry, that would be amazing.”

“You still wouldn’t pass blood screenings for some jobs. You’d still hit the radar as a lycanthrope.”

He frowned. “I guess so.” Then he gave me that young face again, that echo of before, and it was a frightened face. “Why won’t you help me decide?”

I leaned closer. “This is what it means to be grown-up, Peter. This is the bitch of it. If you’re playing eighteen, then you have to decide. If you want to fess up to your real age, then everyone will treat you like a kid. They’ll make decisions for you.”

“I’m not a kid,” he said, and he frowned, going sullen on me.

“I know that.”

His frown slipped to puzzlement. “What do you mean?”

“You stood your ground today. You didn’t panic, or lose it. I’ve seen grown men lose it around lycanthropes when the situation wasn’t as desperate. Most people are afraid of them.”

“I was afraid,” he said softly. “I’ve been afraid since I was a kid.”

I had one of those moments of, shit and aha. “The attack on your father,” I said. How could I have forgotten that this wasn’t the first lycanthropy attack he’d survived?

He gave a small nod.

“You were what, eight?”

“Yes.” His voice was soft, his eyes staring into the distance again.

I didn’t know what to say. I cursed Edward for not being here. In that moment I might have traded a talk with Olaf for this talk with Peter. I could always shoot Olaf, but no weapon would help me deal with Peter’s pain.

“Anita,” he said.

I looked at him, met his eyes. His eyes reminded me of Nathaniel’s eyes when I first met him. Eyes that were older than they should have been. Eyes that had seen things that older men would never see.

“I’m here, Peter,” I said, because I couldn’t think what else to say. I met his gaze and fought my face not to show how much it hurt me to see his eyes like that. Maybe they’d been that way years ago, but it took dating Nathaniel to teach me what eyes like that meant in a face that hadn’t seen twenty yet.

“I thought if I trained with Edward that I wouldn’t be so scared, but I was. I was scared just like last time. It was like I was little and watching my dad die again.”

I wanted to touch his shoulder, take his hand, but wasn’t sure it was what he needed me to do, so I kept my hands still. “I lost my mom when I was eight to a car wreck.”

His eyes changed, lost a little of that awful look. “Were you there? Did you see?”

I shook my head. “No. She drove away and just never came back.”

“I saw my dad die. I used to dream about it.”

“Me, too.”

“But you weren’t there; what did you dream about?”

“Some well-meaning relative took me to see the car she died in. I used to dream about touching the bloodstains.” I realized I’d never told anyone that.

“What?” he said. “What’s wrong?”

I could have said so many things, many of them sarcastic, like I’m talking about my mother’s death, why wouldn’t something be wrong? I settled for the truth, which crosses the lips like jagged glass, as if you should bleed when you say it. “Just realizing I’ve never told anyone about that dream.”

“Not even Micah and Nathaniel?”

Apparently, he did know they were my boyfriends. “No, not even them.”

“Mom made me go to therapy afterward. I talked about it a lot.”

“Good for Donna,” I said.

“Why didn’t your dad send you?”

I shrugged. “I don’t think it occurred to him.”

“I thought I could face my fears, and I wouldn’t be so afraid, but I was afraid.” He looked away from me again. “I was so scared.” He whispered the last.

“So was I,” I said.

He gave me a startled look. “You didn’t look it.”

“Neither did you.”

It took him a moment, but he finally smiled and looked down in that pleased way that young men do. They seem to grow out of it, but it was strangely charming. “You really think so?”

“Peter, you saved me today when you jumped on us in the hallway. She was going to kill me as soon as she was out of sight of you guys.”

“Edward told me that if a bad guy wants to remove you from the scene, and is already threatening or has a weapon, that most of the time they mean