Xenia stood frozen as Mason held her waist, his touch gentle. This was the kind of moment a girl might fantasize about–the reformed villain pledging himself at her feet. But something about it soured in her gut. The air shimmered, just slightly, like heat rising off pavement. Mason’s skin was warm, too warm, feverish. And his voice… it wasn’t Mason’s. Not really.

“I’m nothing without you,” he whispered, face pressed to her abdomen. “You saved me, Xenia. Don’t you remember?”

“Mason, I…” Her throat constricted. It was suddenly hard to speak. Hard to think. But she could hear her mother and Micah returning–footsteps, laughter, too far and too close all...