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“If you’re busy, I can go—”

“I’m not.” The glymera was like a brick wall, and considering he already had a headache, there was no reason to keep banging his brain up against their stubbornness. Tragically, there was nothing he could do until the next bad thing rolled out and he e-mailed . . .

Although it wouldn’t be him though, would it. He’d been riding the keyboard only because everyone else’s hands were busy doing dagger business.

“How are you?” he asked to shut himself up. And because the answer mattered.

Cormia looked around the office. “I would never have guessed this was down here.”

“Would you like a tour of the place?”

She hesitated and brought forward the perfect lavender rose . . . which was the color of the bracelet John Matthew had given to her. “I think my flower needs a drink.”

“I can fix that.”Wanting to give her something, anything, he reached over to a twenty-four-pack of Poland Spring and pulled a bottle out. Cracking the lid, he took a swig to lower the level and then put it on the desk. “Plenty in here to keep her happy.”

He watched Cormia’s hands as she put the rose in the makeshift vase. They were so lovely and pale and . . . they really needed to be on his skin.

All over him.

Phury untucked his shirt as he stood up and came around the desk, making sure that the tails covered the front of his slacks. He hated sloppy dressing, but better to schlub it than run the risk of her seeing that he was aroused.

And he was. Totally. He had a feeling that it was always going to be like this around her: Something about his coming into her palm the night before had changed everything.

He held open the door into the hall. “Come see our training facility.”

She followed him out of the office and he took her all around, narrating the things that were done in the gym and the equipment room and the PT facility and the shooting range. She was interested but mostly silent, and he had the feeling she had something to say to him.

He could guess what it was.

She was going to go back to the Other Side.

He paused at the locker room. “This is where the boys shower and change. The classrooms are down here.”

Christ, he didn’t want her to go. But what the hell did he expect her to do? He’d left her with no role here.

You have no role here, the wizard pointed out.

“Come on, let me show you a classroom,” he said to draw things out.

He walked her into the one he used, feeling a curious pride at showing her where he worked.

Had worked.

“What’s all that?” she asked, pointing to the blackboard, which was covered with figures.

“Oh . . . yeah . . .” He walked over and picked up a felt eraser, quickly running it over the casualty analysis on a bomb detonating in downtown Caldwell.

She crossed her arms over her chest, but it was more like she was holding herself than a big defensive thing. “Do you think I don’t know what the Brotherhood does?”

“Doesn’t mean I want you reminded of it.”

“Are you going to go back into the Brotherhood?”

He froze and thought, Bella must have told her. “I didn’t know you’d heard I was out of it.”

“I’m sorry, it’s none of my concern—”

“No, it’s fine . . . and, yeah, I think my fighting days are done.” He glanced over his shoulder and was struck by how perfect she looked, with her backside braced against one of the tables the trainees sat at and her arms intertwined. “Hey . . . mind if I draw you?”

She flushed. “I suppose . . . well, if you wish. Do I need to do anything?”

“Just stay where you are.” He put the eraser back on the blackboard’s lip and picked up a piece of chalk. “Actually, would you take your hair down?”

When she didn’t reply, he looked back at her and was surprised to find her hands up at her hair, working at the gold pins. One by one, sections of blond waves came down and framed her face, her neck, her shoulders.

Even under the dulling fluorescent lights of the classroom, she was radiant.

“Sit up on the table,” he said in a hoarse voice. “Please.”

She did as he asked and crossed her legs . . . and, holy hell, didn