Remo stumbled away from me, and as he stepped into the light in front of the bar, a woman approached him. She had short spiky blond hair and huge hooped earrings that brushed the tops of her shoulders. She threw her head back, a perfect invitation to a vampire. He caught her around the waist and picked her up, tossing her over his shoulder to take her with him.

I stared in blank, mute silence as I struggled to understand what had just happened, and more than that, why. Why was it always the blondes who stole the men in my life?

A small hand touched the top of my shoulder, and I closed my eyes. “Ernie, tell me that didn’t just happen.”

“Sorry, kid,” he said softly. “That was . . . not expected. I thought you’d gotten through to him. I thought he saw you for all the amazingness you are.”

I stood there, my heart hurting far more than it should have over a man I’d known for only a few weeks. But there was something I would not admit to anyone out loud. I’d known Remo would be in my life from the first moment I met him. That he would be pivotal—the connection between us had happened within seconds of meeting. But apparently I was wrong about that.

Again, I’d been wrong about a man I loved. I shouldn’t have been surprised, not after Roger. I just thought . . . I thought Remo was different.

Shaking, I pushed myself away from the rough wall of the building. “Ernie, you want to go bake something?”

“Hell yeah!” He flew around so he was in front of me as I made my way out to the street. “What are we going to make?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Anything to take me away from what just happened.”

There was a small crowd waiting to get into the bar as we passed the front entrance, and a hand reached out as I passed by and touched my elbow. “Hey, could I get an autograph?”

I paused and stared into the face of a woman who was obviously a werewolf. She had gorgeous sandy-colored curls that cascaded all around her face, as though they’d been dried by the wind. She was built lean and wiry, and she barely came up to my chin. Her face was heart shaped, but it was her eyes that told me all I needed to know. The eyes of a wild animal lurked in the amber depths.

Or at least it was obvious to me what she was; the people around her, mostly human, didn’t give her so much as a second glance. The smell rolling off her was of wide-open plains, the rush of a winter wind, and the feel of fur ruffling in the cold air, which only confirmed what I saw.

“An autograph?” I blinked stupidly, as if I were trying to understand a new language.

She smiled up at me, the tip of her pink tongue peeking out one side of her mouth. “Yeah, you’re a hero for us, you know that, don’t you? My name is Amy.” She thrust a piece of paper and a pen at me.

I glanced at Ernie, and he shrugged. “Might as well.”

I took the offered pen and paper, hesitant at first, then I stepped to the side of the building again and used the wall to flatten the paper. I stood there and stared at it a minute, thinking about what to say. An autograph seemed weird, but advice . . . I could give her a piece of advice. I put words to the paper after a moment of thought, then handed it back to her. She read it, her amber eyes watered, and she threw her arms around me in a tight hug, the smell of winter enveloping me for a brief moment. “Thank you . . . that was exactly what I needed.”

I patted her back, and she let me go. “You’re welcome.”

Ernie flitted around my head. “What did you write to her?”

“None of your business,” I said. “It was for her, not you.”

“What, you think you can read the future now? That isn’t in your range of talents, you know, girlfriend.” He snapped his fingers at me, saucy as usual.

Another time I would have made a quip, would have said something silly back. But not tonight. Not while feeling as though my heart were cracking. I’d not felt like this even when I realized that Roger was leaving me to die alone in a hospital bed while he played house with his Barbie.

I slid into my new car, a sporty Dodge Charger that I’d gleefully spent a small portion of my inheritance on. It was dark blue with white racing stripes that ran up the middle of the hood, over the roof, and down to the back of the trunk. I loved it, and the smell of new car was lovely, but all of that meant very little in the moment. I reached under the passenger seat and pulled out a tiny first-aid kit. In it were a needle and thread and some butterfly bandages. “Stitches for the snakeskin, bandages for the human,” I said.

I handed them to Ernie, who dutifully placed them over the wound. “Yeah, I got it,” he said while he put me back together. If only my heart could be so easily patched as the wound on my neck.

He finished and tucked the kit back in its place. I put my seat belt on and leaned forward so my head pressed into the steering wheel. I stared down at my legs as the tears fell, plopping onto them. Ernie sat on the middle console, his legs dangling near my right elbow.

“I could always shoot him with an arrow, and he’d come running back,” he offered.

“I don’t want him if he doesn’t want me. Remember Roger? I’ve gone that route, and it sucks donkey balls.”

He grunted. “True. But Remo does care for you. I can see it, and I should know. It’s kinda my job, if you’ll recall.”

“But he doesn’t care enough to stick it out. He’s . . .” I sat up and gripped the leather-wrapped steering wheel. “He’s doing what I did for years. Conforming because it’s easier.” My shoulders slumped as fast as I’d straightened them. I knew all too well the pressure of trying to do what was right, even when it hurt. I scrubbed both hands over my eyes. “Oh no.”