The girl was weeping, clutching Niall's arm, when the dark-haired faery approached. The girl had bared herself when she entered the wood and had innumerable scratches on her flesh.

"She's an affectionate thing," the faery said.

Niall shook her off again. "She's been drinking, I suspect. She wasn't so" — he grabbed her hand as she began unfastening his breeches—"aggressive last week."

"Indeed." The dark-haired faery laughed. "Like animals, aren't they?"

"Mortals?" Niall stepped closer to him, dodging the girl's agile hands. "They seem to hide it well enough at first. … They change, though."

The other faery laughed and caught the girl up in his arms. "Maybe you're just irresistible."

Niall straightened his clothes now that the girl was contained. She stayed motionless in the other faery's grasp, looking from one to the other like she was insensible.

The dark-haired faery watched Niall with a curious grin. "I'm Irial. Perhaps we could take this one somewhere less" — he looked up the path toward the mortals' town—"public." The lascivious look on Irial's face was the most enticing thing Niall had ever seen. He had a brief flash of terror at his tangled mix of feelings. Then Irial licked his lips and laughed. "Come now, Niall. I think you could use a bit of company, couldn't you?"

Later he wondered why he hadn't been suspicious at Irial's knowing his name. At the time all Niall could think of was that the nearer he got to Irial, the more it felt like stumbling upon a feast and realizing he'd never tasted anything until that moment. It was an intensity he'd never felt before— and he loved it.

Over the next six years, Irial stayed with Niall for months at a time. When Irial was at his side, Niall indulged in debauched pleasures with more mortals than he'd known he could lie with at one time. But it wasn't ever enough. No matter how many days Niall lost in a blur of yielding flesh, he was never satisfied for long. There were equally dizzying days when it was just them, dining on exotic foods, drunk on foreign wines, touring new lands, listening to glorious songs, talking about everything. It was perfect—for a while. If I hadn't gone to his bruig and seen the mortals there in Irial's domain … Niall wasn't sure who he'd hated more when he realized what a fool he'd been.

"It's been too long, Gancanagh." Gabriel's voice was an almost-welcome interruption of the unpleasant memories. The Hound stood on the edge of the street, just close enough to traffic to be clipped by careless drivers but far enough to be mostly safe. Ignoring the flow of cars, he looked up and down the sidewalk. "The rowan gone?"

"Yes." Niall glanced at the dark faery's forearm, checking to see if there were words he should know, almost hoping Irial'd ordered Gabriel to do something that would allow Niall to strike out.

Gabriel noticed. With a wicked grin, he turned his arms so Niall could see the undersides. "No messages for you. One of these days, I'll get a chance to give you a matching scar on the other side of your pretty face, but not yet."

"So you keep saying, but he never gives you permission." Niall shrugged. He wasn't sure if it was because he was impervious to the terror of the Hounds' presence or because he'd walked away from Irial, but Gabriel brought up old pains every chance he could—and Niall usually let it go. Tonight, however, Niall didn't feel very tolerant, so he asked, "Do you suppose Iri just likes me more than you, Gabriel?"

For several of Niall's too-fast heartbeats, Gabriel simply stared at him. Then he said, "You're the only one who doesn't seem to know that answer."

Before Niall could reply, Gabriel slammed his fist into Niall's face, turned, and walked away.

Blinking his eyes against the sudden pain, Niall watched the Hound saunter down the street and calmly wrap his hands around the throats of two Dark Court fey who'd apparently been lurking nearby. Gabriel lifted the Ly Ergs and choked them until the faeries went limp. Then he slung them over his shoulders and took off in such a blur of speed that small dust devils swirled to life in his wake.

Gabriel's violence wasn't unusual, but the lack of obvious orders on the Hound's skin was enough to make Niall wary. It was inevitable that the semi-peace that resulted from Beira's death would cause ripples in the other courts. How Irial dealt with that should concern Niall only as far as protecting his true court—the Summer Court—but Niall had a residual moment of concern for the Dark King, a twinge that he had no intention of ever admitting aloud.

Leslie was pleasantly surprised that Aislinn was waiting on the curb outside the restaurant when her shift ended. They used to meet up after work sometimes, but everything had changed over the winter.

"Where's" — Leslie paused, not wanting to say the wrong thing—"everyone?"

"Seth's out at the Crow's Nest. Keenan's working on some stuff. I don't know where Carla or Ri are." Aislinn stood up and wiped her hands on her jeans, as if the brief contact with the ground had dirtied them. For all Aislinn's comfort in grungy places that made most people uncomfortable, she still had tidiness issues.

Aislinn glanced at a few unfamiliar guys across the street. When she looked away, one of them shot a grin at Leslie and licked his lips. Reflexively, Leslie flipped him off—and then tensed as she realized what she'd done. She knew better: caution kept a girl safer than provoking trouble did. She wasn't the sort to flip anyone off or speak up, not now, not anymore.