A Hunger Like No Other (Immortals After Dark 2)

Her aunt Myst called it the EIP, or "Emma's iPod Pacifier," because whenever Emma got irritated or angry, she listened to music in order to "avoid conflict." As if this were a bad thing.

And if the EIP wasn't made for a time like this...

Emma was pissed. Just when she'd decided this Lykae might be okay, that he'd finally begun leaning the right way in the sane-or-not conundrum, he had to go all big bad wolf on her. But this little piggy can compartmentalize, Emma thought, and Lachlain was cruising toward getting squared away in her mind forever.

His personality changed like rapid fire, from the soul-searing embrace in the rain when he'd pressed his naked chest against hers, to the howling attacks, to the gentle would-be lover in the bathtub last night. He kept her wary - an unfortunate and fatiguing state that she already tended to - and that frustrated her.

And now this. He'd left her with this ravaged room and no explanation. She could've looked like that chair.

She blew a curl out of her eyes, and found a wisp of upholstery filler had attached itself to her hair. As she swatted at it, she realized she was as angry at herself as she was with him.

Her first night with him, he'd allowed sun to burn her skin, and now, today, he'd used those claws - which had shredded the side of a car - in a frenzy while she'd slept unaware.

Why had she overprotected herself all her life, put forth the exhausting effort to do so, then thrown caution out the window regarding him? Why had her family taken pains to keep her safe, moving the coven to Lore-rich New Orleans to hide her, cloaking the manor in darkness only to have her die now -

Cloaking the manor...? Why had they done that? She never rose before sunset, never remained awake past sunrise. Her room was shuttered and she slept under the bed. So why did she have memories of running through their darkened home during the day?

Her gaze was drawn to the back of her hand, her trembling immediate. For the first time since she'd been frozen into her immortality, the memory of her "lesson" erupted in her mind with a perfect clarity...

A witch was babysitting. Emma was in the woman's arms when she heard Annika returning to the manor after a week's absence and struggled until she freed herself. Screaming Annika's name, Emma ran for her.

Regin had heard her and tackled her into the shadows right before Emma ran headlong for the sun shining in from the just-opened door.

Regin squeezed her to her chest with shaking arms and whispered, "What'd you do that for?" With another squeeze, she mumbled, "Boneheaded little leech."

By this time everyone had come downstairs. The witch apologized abjectly, saying, "Emma hissed and snapped and scared me till I dropped her."

Annika scolded Emma between her shudders, until Furie's voice sounded from outside the circle. The crowd parted to let her pass. Furie was, just as her name said, part Fury. And she was frightening.

"Put the child's hand in it."

Annika's face had paled even more than natural. "She is not like us. She's delicate - "

"She hissed and fought to get what she wanted," Furie interrupted. "I'd say she's exactly like us. And like us, the pain will teach her."

Furie's twin, Cara, said, "She's right." They always took each other's sides. "This isn't the first time there's been a close call. Her hand now or her face - or, worse, her life - later. It doesn't matter how dark we keep the manor if you can't keep her inside."

"I won't do it," Annika said. "I...can't do it."

Regin dragged Emma along, though she resisted. "Then I will."

As Annika stood by, her face perfectly stoic, like marble but for incongruous tears running down, Regin forced Emma's hand into the shaft of sunlight. She shrieked in pain, screaming for her Annika, crying "why" again and again until her skin caught fire.

When Emma woke, Furie was peering down at her with lavender eyes, tilting her head, as if confused by Emma's reaction. "Child, you must realize that every day the entire earth is saturated in something that will kill you, and only if you're wary will you elude it. Do not forget this lesson, for it will be repeated to bring you much greater pain next time."

Emma fell to her knees, then to her hands as she gasped for breath. The fine scarring on the back of her hand itched. No wonder she was a coward. No wonder...no wonder...no wonder...

Emma believed that they had saved her life, but they'd compromised it at the same time. That lesser evil they'd chosen shaped every day of her life. She stood, then stumbled to the bathroom, splashing water on her face. She clutched the counter. Get it together, Em.

By the time Lachlain returned for her bag, her emotions had fired into roiling anger, and she directed it to the deserving target. She made a show of brushing upholstery stuffing from her luggage with jerky, exaggerated movements, glaring at him. His brows drew together.

She followed him to the car, stifling hisses, wanting to punt the back of his knee. He turned and opened the door for her.

Once they were ensconced inside and she'd started the car, he said, "Did you...hear?"

"Did I hear when you flipped out like a ninja?" she snapped. At his blank look, she answered, "No. I didn't." And she didn't ask him to elaborate. She believed he wanted her to, felt that he was willing her to. When he wouldn't look away, she said, "Not taking that ball back in my court."

"You will no' address this?"

She gripped the steering wheel.

"You are angry? I dinna expect this reaction."

She faced him, her rein on her temper and her innate fear of him no match for such a close call with death. "I'm angry because you only gave me an inch-wide margin of error with your lethal claws. Maybe next time I won't get an inch. When I sleep I am utterly vulnerable - I have no defenses. You forced me into that situation and I resent it."