story’s true?” She plopped back against the sofa, raising an eyebrow in smug triumph as she crossed her arms over her chest.
“That’s just it, your change didn’t wait for you to turn eighteen. Your change completed in the middle of the night. You’re a Chosen now, Grace.”
The slight shake of his head couldn’t have been a good sign. As the furrow of his brow deepened and worry clouded his eyes, she felt a chill rush over her and had to remind herself to take air in and out of her lungs. “How do you know I’ve changed?”
With his right hand, he lifted the left sleeve of his shirt to show the tattoo wrapping around his bicep.
She chuckled awkwardly. “What, a fortune-telling tattoo?”
Quentin sat up and scooted along the couch closer to her, determination in his eyes. “This isn’t a tattoo. It’s a seneschal band and it links me to you.”
Caught up in the fire glinting from the diamond specks in his gray eyes, she heard herself say, “What does that mean?”
Quentin lowered the sleeve of his shirt, fisted his hands, and scooted away again, bringing her out of her stupor. “The band completed its change and that only happens when you’ve completed yours.”
“But I’m not eighteen!” she snapped.
“I know!” Quentin shot back.
“And. What. The. Hell. Are. Shadow. Hounds?” Her temper rising, Grace bit her lip to keep from completely freaking out.
Quentin must have sensed her fear because he reached for her hands. Grace recoiled to the far end of the sofa, leaning dramatically away from him. She could barely deal with what she was feeling. If she was bombarded with his feelings too, it might be enough to push her over the edge. “Don’t touch me!”
With palms up, Quentin moved to the sofa across from her. “I’m sorry, I won’t. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
Grace wasn’t afraid of him. He would never hurt her; she knew that. Quentin completely misunderstood her response. So like a man.
“Shadow Hounds are the shadows cast from Hell Hounds. They were on your trail. Well, they were on a Chosen’s trail, not Grace Morgan’s.”
“How can you be so sure they don’t know who I am?” she asked doubtfully.
“Because the Shadow Hounds didn’t touch you.”
“And how the heck do you know that?” she shrieked. Wound up like a tight coil herself, Grace flinched with surprise as she sensed him relaxing, seconds before he visibly released his tension, easing back into the couch and slouching down into the sofa cushions. What the hell was that, her inner voice shrieked.
“I was watching the whole time. It was close, too close, but they didn’t.”
Over and over she replayed the second she heard the first growl, and how fearful she was. The thought of Quentin watching her while those things stalked her—and doing nothing—was like a swift kick to the gut. Anger spiked her heart rate instantly. The roaring whoosh of beats sounded like a steady drumbeat in her ears before settling to a hammering pain behind her eyes. She resumed rubbing her temples, unwilling to meet his gaze. “You saw what happened today and did nothing?” Her accusation was quiet, almost a whisper. “I thought you were my Guardian?”
Before she could stop it, he was kneeling before her, his hands covering hers. Grace focused on the onslaught of sensation as she dragged air in and out of her lungs. An ethereal heat washed over her skin as their emotions collided. Fear matched fear. Despair with despair. Confusion. Quentin was wound as tightly as she was. Miraculously, he was holding himself together.
“Please understand, Grace. It took everything I had to hold myself back. If I had come anywhere near you, they would have found you instantly.” His eyes pleaded with her.
“Why is this happening? I just want to be like everyone else.”
Quentin softly shook his head. “But you’re not like anyone else, Grace.”
“I don’t want to be the Joan of Arc of the twenty-first century. I’m not even eighteen.” The panic inside picked up in pace with each passing second as she hugged herself and rocked numbly. The calm Quentin managed to channel did nothing to tame it.
“Joan of Arc was only nineteen herself.”
“Yeah, and then she died!” she threw out frantically. “See, another reason not to be like her!”
Quentin lifted her chin with his finger. “Look at me. I am your Guardian, and I swear to you I won’t let anyone or anything hurt you. Ever.”
That’s about when she couldn’t hold it in anymore. Her two-day streak of