CHAPTER ONE

“I don’t think we should tell my family you’re a vampire,” Lina Jones said as she straddled Brandon Noble in the aftermath lovemaking.

With a curious expression, he signed to her in reply, first curling his fingertips in toward the tip of his thumb, then extending them out again, keeping his middle finger touching his thumb: OK…?

Although he couldn’t speak, there was no mistaking the inquisitive tone of his response. “I think it’s going to be enough of a surprise, your family helping me out and all, without adding that into the mix,” Lina tried to explain, sitting back again, balancing atop him.

Brandon was one of an ancient sect of vampires called the Brethren. Raised in seclusion on a communal estate in Kentucky, he and his family had lived apart from humans, yet hidden among them. A brutal attack in Brandon’s childhood had left him deaf and mute, despite the otherwise extraordinary healing capabilities with which his species was endowed. Lina’s older brother Jackson, who himself had been rendered deaf as the result of illness in his youth, had been hired as a tutor for Brandon during the younger man’s adolescence. She’d first met Brandon then; gangly, shy and hopelessly uncertain about himself, he’d been the epitome of teen-age awkwardness. She’d been five years his senior, charmed by his youthful ingenuity, but otherwise oblivious to his existence.

Had things changed since then. Just weeks past his twenty-second birthday, Brandon was now without question the most strikingly handsome man she’d ever seen, with a body so lean and sculpted, he could have been a portrait study for Michelangelo himself.

“Mom pretty much hates your grandfather because of Jackson getting fired all those years ago,” she told him pointedly. His eyes were fixed on her mouth as he watched her speak, reading her lips. When he nodded once in comprehension, she added, “And that’s not even counting how Jackie feels about the whole thing.”

Augustus can be an asshole, Brandon conceded, signing again. With a pointed look, he added, But he’s changed now. And when she rolled her eyes, he added, I keep telling you. He has.

Splaying her fingers, she touched her thumb to her sternum, then pivoted her hand forward. Fine, the gesture said. Her body language, however, told another story altogether as she shifted her weight, leaning to the side and swinging her left leg around, abruptly dismounting from him.

Lina… With his left forefinger and thumb, he formed the letter L, then tapped it against his heart—his pet-sign for her.

Ignoring him, she climbed out of bed and padded across the shadow-draped room toward the bathroom. Without closing the door, she stood over the sink and splashed water on her face. When she looked up, dripping, she saw him in the mirror, standing in the doorway, his brows lifted unhappily.

We’ve already talked about this, he said.

Talk was putting it mildly. Not even six full months into their fledgling relationship, and in that week alone, Lina and Brandon had two fights. Not disagreements, discussions or differences of opinions, but arguments, full blown and angry.

How can you think that Augustus Noble is going to somehow take your father’s place? she’d demanded hotly of him in sign language. Stricken with grief and deeply depressed, his father, Sebastian Noble, had committed suicide earlier that year. Brandon and Sebastian had always been close, and his death had, in Lina’s opinion, left Brandon emotionally vulnerable to his grandfather’s manipulation. Why the hell would you want that?

That’s not what I think, he’d shot back. How can you even ask me that, Lina? He’d finger-spelled her name, as sure a sign as any that he’d been pissed off. No one can replace my dad. Not ever. Augustus only wants to make up for the past—and maybe I want that, too. Maybe I need that right now.

Need what? she’d asked. To have a monster in your life?

No, he’d snapped. To have a family, Lina, the one thing I never felt like I had outside of Tessa and my dad, the only goddamn thing I’ve ever really wanted. To feel like I belong.

His words had stung her to the quick, although her hands had fallen to her sides at this and she’d offered him no retort. I thought I made you feel that way, she’d thought.

From the doorway of their motel bathroom, Brandon sighed and dragged his fingers through the heavy crown of his dark hair. Look, you have your opinions on my grandfather, and I have mine. We agreed to disagree, or that’s what I thought.

Another understatement. Lina despised Augustus. This was in spite of the fact that he’d pretty much single-handedly exonerated her of any charges or culpability not only in the deaths of her ex-boyfriend, Jude Hannam, and his girlfriend, Ashlee Ferris, but in that of Brandon’s older brother, Caine. She’d been the primary suspect in all three murders, and if left to her own devices and defense, would have undoubtedly been looking at life imprisonment, guilty or not. With little more than a phone call—on his cell phone from the back seat of his goddamn Bentley, no less, as if the matter of clearing her name was little more than trivial to him, a dalliance he could handle on the commute from his office—Augustus had seen the matter settled.

He’d done these things for no other reason than Brandon was in love with her, but that hadn’t softened Lina’s outlook toward the older man. As far as she was concerned, Augustus was now, and forever would be, a son of a bitch—no better than your average, run-of-the-mill serial rapist or corporate tax attorney. Clearly, the feeling was mutual.

“Do you really think this is what’s best for Brandon?” Augustus had caught her in private for a few, brief moments before they’d left California. “That you’re what’s best?” Before she’d been able to do more than furrow her brows and open her mouth to snap back a furious retort, he’d added, “He’s going to outlive you by centuries, child. Centuries. You can satisfy him now, but what about as time goes by, taking its unerring toll? You’ll grow old before his eyes, your beauty withering until at last, it’s gone, while his own will remain, youthful and unblemished.”

He’d looked at her, solemn, stoic and stern, and she’d hated him. “He needs to be with one of his own kind,” he’d told her.

Brandon stepped into the bathroom, coming to stand directly behind her. Looking over her shoulder at their reflections in the mirror, he slipped her tumble of curls aside with his hand and let his lips graze the side of her neck.

Please, Lina, he thought, as a shiver of pleasure stole through her. I don’t want to fight anymore.

Ever since he’d acknowledged his true Brethren nature and tasted Lina’s blood, his desire for her seemed to have grown, by far surpassing any other lover she’d ever known. His stamina had become inexhaustible and relentless. In a heartbeat, he could be aroused—or rather, in one of her heartbeats, because he’d told her he could smell the rush of blood each pulsation sent through her body. And it turned him on.

He drew the tip of his tongue lightly against the pulse point in her throat, making her tremble. Through the mirror, she could see the hint of his fangs as they slowly, reflexively began to descend from his gums.

He’d only ever fed from her a handful of times, because she’d needed almost two months in full between each occasion for her body to recover, her blood to replenish. Which was a goddamn shame, in Lina’s estimation, because if it had been up to her, Brandon could feed from her in daily binges. Never in her wildest dreams would she have imagined the appeal of the experience, but it was sensual, mesmerizing, leaving her in a blissful, fugue-like state in the aftermath. And while he was feeding, even if no other part of his body touched hers save his mouth, his fangs, she’d still experienced the most powerful orgasms she’d ever enjoyed.

“Brandon,” she murmured as his hand dropped slowly, deliberately down the flat plain of her belly to settle between her thighs. His fingers slipped through the dark curls at her groin, then between her slick, tremulous folds.

With a breathless moan, she tilted her head back into his shoulder when he began to move, his fingers stroking against her, finding the deliciously sensitive nub at her apex. Lina undulated against his hand, matching his pace eagerly, her breath hiccupping, her heart racing.

From behind her, she could hear his own breathing grow sharper, more heavy and urgent. She could feel him hardening again against the cleft of her buttocks, the head of his arousal slipping down to brush against her threshold.

She opened her eyes, watched him in the mirror, the corneas of his eyes succumbing to black as the bloodlust rushed over him, his pupils dilating widely. His fangs had dropped fully, gleaming in the fluorescent light, forcing his mouth open, and God, the sight of him like that should have terrified her, but it didn’t. Instead, she wanted him with a ferocity that bordered on maddening—not just to take her, but to bite her, too, to deliver her to that exquisite brink and beyond again. Reaching up with her hand, she tangled her fingers in his hair, pulled his head toward her throat again, an unspoken invitation; a desperate plea.

He pressed her forward, and she leaned against the sink vanity. As the full, hard length of him speared into her, Lina hooked her fingertips into the laminate countertop.

“Feed from me,” she gasped, locking eyes with him through the mirror.

His glossy black eyes flew wide with surprise and he shook his head: No.

You want it, she begged, speaking to him directly through her mind, knowing he was open to her, that could he could sense her thoughts. I want it, too. Take it, Brandon. Take my blood.

Catching her hips between his hands to brace himself, he thrust into her deeply, powerfully. Within seconds, he struck a place deep inside of her that he could invariably find—that no other man ever had and that she herself had been wholly unaware of—one that brought her to almost instantaneous climax. She loved and hated it all at the same time, because although amazing, the pleasure couldn’t compare to the rush that came with him feeding.

As she came, so did he, arching his back, shoving deeply, and in the aftermath, he crumpled forward, leaning against her. His arms drew lightly around her waist, and when she looked up into the mirror, he met her gaze, the blackness already retreating from his eyes. Sexual release brought him a reprieve from the bloodlust, albeit temporarily. Not for the first time, she found herself feeling strangely cheated.

“You did that on purpose,” she said.

He laughed, soundlessly, and nodded once.

“It’s been enough time,” she protested, and he shook his head, his brows lifting.

It’s only been three weeks, he thought, stepping back from her, leaving a sudden, unpleasant chill against her spine and buttocks.

“I’m fine,” she said, but he shook his head again, retreating through the doorway, back into the bedroom. “Brandon, wait.”

But he’d averted his gaze. She followed him, hooking him by the hand, staying him in mid-stride and drawing his attention back to her mouth.

I don’t want to hurt you, he said, drawing his hand away so he could sign. I’d die if I did, Lina. I’d never forgive myself.

She’d meant to argue further with him, but at this simple plea, the earnest sincerity she saw in his dark eyes, Lina found she no longer had the heart.

Do you really think this is what’s best for Brandon? Augustus’s words echoed cruelly in her mind and she struggled to force them away. That you’re what’s best?

I love you, Brandon signed, then extended his hand, brushing against her cheek. His fingers unfurled to cradle her face and he leaned toward her. I love you, he thought, kissing her mouth gently, sweetly.

Lina wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him close, tucking her cheek to his shoulder. I love you, too, she thought with a soft smile and a sigh.

****

They’d stopped for the night just outside of Valdosta, Georgia, on the last leg of a three-day road trip from South Lake Tahoe, California to Bayshore, Florida. Usually Brandon woke Lina with the dawn for lovemaking, but the next morning, he decided not to.

He told himself that it was because he’d enjoyed the opportunity to watch her sleep. Propped up on his elbow, lying beside her in the bed, he studied her for a long time, watching the play of light and shadows across her skin, as beyond the bedroom blinds, the sun rose.

God, she’s beautiful, he marveled, all the while knowing this wasn’t the real reason he hesitated to disturb her.

You want it, she’d told him the night before. I want it, too. Take it, Brandon. Take my blood.

He had wanted to feed from her, a desperate sort of urgency that, if left unfulfilled—either by sexual release or the taste of her blood—would overwhelm him, strip him of his senses, leave him utterly at the mercy of the bloodlust. Sometimes not even making love to her could slake that incessant thirst; no matter how hard, how long or how often he would take her, it wouldn’t be enough. He’d be left wanting more in the aftermath, desperate for it.

Do you ever feel that way? he’d asked Rene Morin before leaving California. Rene and Brandon’s twin sister, Tessa, had decided to leave Tahoe and return to Kentucky so that Tessa could comfort her mother in the wake of Sebastian’s suicide. Brandon had longed to confide in someone the truth of his struggle, and figured Rene would be the only one who might understand. You don’t kill when you feed, he’d said to the older man, speaking telepathically because Rene didn’t understand sign language. Does that make it different somehow?

I don’t know, petit, Rene had replied. I’ve never felt that way, no. But then again, I’ve never been close to any of the human women I’ve fed from, not like how you are with Lina.

A sadness had passed, shadow-like, across Rene’s face as he’d mentioned Lina’s name. They’d once been police partners. More than this, however, Brandon suspected that Lina was one of few people Rene had ever trusted enough to befriend—and the same could be said for how Lina had felt about him.

But that was ancient history now, as Lina might have pointed out. Rene and Brandon’s sister, Tessa, had fallen in love. In an attempt to protect Tessa and her unborn child, Rene had brokered a deal with Augustus and the Brethren Elders—deliver Brandon to them in exchange for Tessa’s freedom. He’d held up his end of the bargain, shooting Brandon in the process, but in the end, Brandon had forgiven him, finding sympathy, if not understanding, in his reasons.

I did what I did for Tessa and the bébé, he’d told Brandon, his eyes filled with desperate pleading. I couldn’t see any other way. And I thought you could handle them. In my heart, petit, I felt it—that you were stronger than the Elders. That you could fight them—and win.

Brandon might have forgiven Rene, but Lina had staunchly refused. “I hate him,” she’d told Brandon before they’d left California.

You don’t mean that, he told her.

“Yes, I do,” she’d replied.

They’d argued over Rene before leaving for Florida, one of two fights they’d gotten into over topics that had grown to be troublesome sore spots between them. As Brandon reached out in the motel bed, stroking Lina’s hair back from her face, he wished that he could heal those places, make things better between her and Rene.

Because I think she wants that, too, he thought sadly. No matter what she says.

Touching her even that lightly and fleetingly was enough to cause the first stirrings of the bloodlust in him. Suddenly, he found himself acutely aware of Lina’s scent, the musky fragrance of her blood coursing just beneath the surface of her skin. If he looked long enough, hard enough, he could see the rhythmic pulsations of her heartbeat resonating through the carotid artery in her throat, and the awareness of this—from the one place he longed to sink his teeth more than any other—suddenly left his gums tingling, his mouth salivating.

Goddamn it. He jerked his hand away, then raked his fingers through his hair in frustration. Swinging his legs around, he stumbled out of bed, noticing as he did that the front of his sweat pants had tented out in a considerable swell. The bloodlust wasn’t the only thing Lina’s scent had aroused, then.

Goddamn it.

Even though what he wanted to do in that moment was rip the covers back, shove her legs apart, then bury himself inside her warmth, he forced himself instead head into the bathroom.

Because it’s getting to the point where I don’t know how much long just making love to her is going to satisfy, he thought. Closing the door behind him, he reached for his leather shaving bag, which he’d stowed for the night on the back of the toilet. He unzipped it and pulled out an orange plastic medicine bottle, unscrewed and dropped a small blue tablet into his palm.

He’d fought the bloodlust for years now with the help of the medication. Wellbutrin, the label read. Bupropion, 150 milligrams. Take one tablet by mouth twice daily.

It was an antidepressant, one typically prescribed to humans for use in smoking cessation. Quite by luck, Brandon had discovered the pills also curbed another incessant need—that of a Brethren for blood. Since his late adolescence, he’d relied on the Wellbutrin to keep himself under control, but ever since he’d fed from Lina, he’d found even with the pills, the bloodlust grew harder and harder to repress. At least, as far as a lust for her blood was concerned.

When asking Rene about it had proven futile, Brandon had next turned to his grandfather.

“She’s human—your natural prey,” Augustus had replied, one brow arched slightly higher than the other, as if to say: What did you think was going to happen?

Good old Augustus, Brandon thought. To his credit, his grandfather hadn’t discouraged or disparaged Brandon’s relationship with Lina, even though he was clearly at a loss to understand it. You can take the Alpha male out of the wolf pack, but you can’t as easily take the wolf out of the Alpha.

For a long moment, he stared at the pill in his hand, damning the fact that his gums still ached, that he could still feel the tips of his canine teeth; they’d dropped ever so slightly from recessed grooves in his upper palate. The further in the throes of the bloodlust he became, the more they’d descend until they’d dropped to their full striking lengths. He wanted to take the medicine. More than anything, he wanted to shove a handful of the tablets down his throat to quell that insatiable desire in him. But instead, with a heavy sigh, he turned and dropped it into the toilet, then upended the entire plastic bottle—thirty days’ worth of Wellbutrin down the drain with a single flush.

Stop taking those pills. His grandfather had sent him a text message yesterday. Since the death of Brandon’s father, things between Brandon and Augustus had changed, if not becoming more affectionate, then at least more mutually respectful. But in that moment, as he’d read that text, Brandon’s skin had crawled, a shiver racing through him, the way it always had when he’d lived at the great house under his grandfather’s icy, stony, seeming disapproval.

What’s going on? Brandon had texted back, as casual as possible, because by all rights Augustus shouldn’t have known about the Wellbutrin at all. No one did, except for Lina, Rene and Rene’s younger brother, Tristan Morin, who was a physician and had prescribed for Brandon the supply he’d just sent spiraling down the commode. That Augustus knew about the medication—and undoubtedly Brandon’s reasons for taking it—had left him with a twisted, anxious knot in his gut.

The knot had remained upon Augustus’s reply, although not for the same reasons it had formed. One of the Davenants attacked Tristan, he’d replied. They must have followed us from Kentucky. They’ve learned to feed from other Brethren and use the powers they gain from it.

Shit, Brandon had thought. Lina had been driving at the time, and he’d struggled not to let his sudden, bright alarm show in his face. She’d have noticed it for sure, and he hadn’t wanted to frighten her. He hadn’t told her about the message since then, either, for exactly the same reason.

Is Tristan okay? he asked Augustus. Tristan was a skilled and powerful telepath. If one of the Davenants had been able to get the jump on him, by all rights, he should have been able to defend himself easily.

I don’t know, Augustus had replied, sending a fresh new chill through him. It’s too early yet to tell. His injuries were severe. Then, after a moment of dead air between them, came the message: He’d been taking Wellbutrin. It dampened his powers, made him vulnerable. Helpless against them.

Shit, Brandon had thought again, stricken. There was only one reason Tristan would have been taking Wellbutrin—to dampen the bloodlust. Tristan worked in close, regular contact with a human woman named Karen Pierce, and Brandon suspected that he might have found an attraction to her—both physical and from the bloodlust—to be a distraction. And there was only one reason Tristan would have tried taking medicine to repress his Brethren nature—because Brandon had suggested it to him.

I told him why I wanted them, he’d realized. He must have decided to try it, too. Oh, Jesus, it’s my fault.

If you’re taking those pills, stop, Augustus had texted. I don’t know how many other Davenants might have followed. I would like you to be alert and ready just in case.

It had been a surprising admittance, the closest to fondness Brandon had ever received from his grandfather. With a smile, he’d texted back: Thank you. I will.

Because his teeth were still dropping, his dick still throbbing, his nose still all-too keenly aware of the smell of Lina’s blood, even through the closed bathroom door—and he no longer had the Wellbutrin to depend on for controlling it—Brandon turned to the shower and cranked the cold water faucet open full blast. Shoving his sweat pants down, kicking them aside, he stepped beneath the frigid spray. It shocked the breath from him, but more importantly, it shocked both his erection and the bloodlust away, too. For a long, excruciating moment, he forced himself to stand there and endure it, until the last inklings of that nagging, incessant need had abandoned him. Only then did he regulate the water to a more tolerable temperature, closing his eyes and heaving a long, shuddering sigh as it pelted against the cap of his head.

****

From the recesses of sleep, Lina heard the shower running. It wasn’t until it cut off, the white, static-like sound of water that had nearly lulled her from a light doze back into deeper sleep abruptly ending, that she opened her eyes, blinking sleepily.

Disorientation lasted little more than a few seconds, long enough for her to frown before getting her bearings. The motel room, she remembered, glancing at the bedside clock. Her frowned deepened as she realized the time. We should’ve been back on the road, on the way to Mom’s, hours ago.

After the Great Augustus Debate in California with Brandon, as she’d come to consider it, he’d suggested the trip.

I know you miss your mom, he’d signed, and God, hadn’t that been the truth. It had been months since Lina had last seen either her mother, Latisha, or older brother Jackson, and the realization that she’d see them again very soon—before the end of that very day, in fact—was motivation enough to shove the blankets away and sit up in bed.

Her hair drooped in her face in a messy tangle, and she mopped it back with her hands as she stumbled to her feet. The bathroom door was closed, thin tendrils of steam leaking out from beneath its bottom edge. From the other side, she could hear Brandon moving, quiet rustles as he snapped a towel, drying himself; subtle sounds it still made her somewhat sad to realize he was utterly unaware of.

Six months earlier, Latisha had been diagnosed with stage two, ER-positive infiltrative ductal carcinoma—breast cancer that had spread to nearby lymph nodes. She’d undergone a modified radical mastectomy, followed by adjuvant chemotherapy treatments that had lasted until just recently. Although Lina had been able to be with Latisha for the surgery, her duties as a police officer had demanded she return home sooner than she would have liked. Because she’d met Brandon shortly thereafter, and thus, gotten herself involved in the clusterfuck that was his family, she’d been on the run ever since, unable to risk doing more than speak with her mother on fleeting, all-too-infrequent occasions by phone.

Let’s go to Florida, Brandon had suggested. We leave this week, if you want—tomorrow, even.

She’d thought he was playing, but after a moment, had felt a glimmer of hope, had dared to hesitantly smile. “Really?” she’d asked, and when he’d nodded, she’d uttered a happy little cry and darted into his arms, hugging him fiercely.

They’d first planned on flying to Florida, but when their flight had been postponed due to mechanical issues with the plane, Brandon had proposed they rent a car and make a driving trip out of it. That way I’ll at least get a couple of extra days to have you to myself, he’d remarked, kissing her lightly as they’d stood at the airport terminal. Come on…what do you say?

The bathroom door opened, letting out a sudden cloud of steam. Brandon, a towel wrapped around his waist while he used another to mop at his wet hair, blinked at her in surprise.

Good morning, he signed, extending his right hand, then drawing it up to his shoulder.

“Good morning.” She wanted to let the previous night’s bygones between them be bygones, and sidled up to him, draping her arms around his neck and kissing him softly, leisurely. “Why’d you let me stay in bed so late? We need to get going.”

You’re on vacation, he reminded her with a smile. You get to sleep in.

“Vacation doesn’t start until we’re officially over the Florida state line,” she said, grabbing the front of his towel, where he’d tucked one end loosely beneath the fold of another to secure it around his hips. As she gave a little tug, making him stagger toward her, the towel came undone, falling away. She felt herself instantly respond to the sight of him, naked and exposed. She hadn’t worn panties to bed, and was all at once grateful for this, as dim warmth stoked pleasantly between her thighs. To judge by Brandon’s reaction—undoubtedly in response to the sudden hammering pace of her heartbeat—he was grateful for it, too.

“Of course, maybe we could start it early, just this once,” Lina murmured, as his eyes began to darken with need, the length of him swelling out in growing arousal. She smiled as she spoke, mischievous, and he laughed silently.

Just this once, he agreed, hooking her by the waist and pulling her into him.

****

After Lina showered and dressed, they walked across the motel parking lot to the neighboring truck stop café. Inside, they found a booth in the far corner, its vinyl bench seats well-worn in places, cracked or torn in others. The aroma of brewing coffee had greeted them from the moment of their arrival, and Lina sat, nearly drooling, as their waitress filled a white ceramic mug to near overflowing for her.

“Y’all need a few minutes?” the waitress asked, her drawl so thick, the words seemed to drape lazily like Spanish moss from her tongue.

“Yes, please,” Lina replied, while Brandon, who’d struggled to read her lips—judging by the slight cleft between his brows indicating concentration as she’d spoken—nodded.

As the waitress walked away, Lina noticed a young kid, maybe eighteen years old, tops, bussing dirty dishes from a nearby table. He kept shooting glances in their direction, cutting his eyes between Lina and Brandon. It wasn’t the first time this had happened along their trip, and undoubtedly wouldn’t be the last. After all, they were in the deep South, not only the one-time heart of the Confederacy, but the birthplace of the Ku Klux Klan. Never mind that desegregation had occurred more than two decades earlier—longer than Brandon had even been alive. A black woman traveling with a white man still raised the occasional disapproving eyebrow.

All at once, the bus boy’s plastic bin of dishes flipped up, as if slapped from underneath by an invisible hand. With a squawk, he danced backwards as plates crashed to the floor, shattering, and silverware went skittering in all directions.

He’s an asshole, Brandon said, and when she looked back, she realized he’d followed her gaze. His brows were furrowed now, not in concentration, but anger.

Did you do that? she whispered in her mind, even though no one could possibly overhear. Did you knock over that bin?

He shrugged once, then pretended to be absorbed in the menu.

All Brethren were born with inherent telepathic abilities, such as the ones they were using at the moment to communicate. But a select few—those who had fed not from humans, but from each other—had developed heightened mental abilities along these lines, including telekinesis, the ability to move objects with their minds. Some of them, Rene’s distant family, the Morins, could wield this ability with formidable and remarkable ease. To Brandon, it was still something newly discovered, and relatively unpracticed. Although, in that moment, Lina had to admit, she was pretty impressed with it.

After they’d placed their orders for breakfast, Lina sipped carefully on her coffee while Brandon checked the map he’d spread on the table between them, marking their progress and gauging how much further they had to go.

Looks like it’s about another three hundred miles, give or take, he signed, first holding up his forefingers and thumb—three—and then cupping his hand into the shape of the letter C—hundred. He checked his watch, then signed again. It’s almost nine o’clock. That means we can probably be at your mom’s house sometime midafternoon.

“Great,” she said, grateful that he couldn’t hear the feigned enthusiasm in her voice. “I’ll send Jackie a text to let him know.”

Squirming in her seat, she set her coffee mug down, tapping at it with her fingernails. Now’s just as good a time as any, she told herself, because there’d been something she wanted to bring up ever since they’d left California.

“Brandon,” she began, but because he’d looked back down, folding the map again, he didn’t respond. She reached out, touching his hand lightly, drawing his gaze. “Hey. Speaking of Jackson…can I ask you a favor?”

He raised his brow, quizzical, then shrugged and nodded simultaneously: Sure. What’s up?

“It’s just…” Her voice faltered. How the hell to do this? she wondered, then raised her hands to sign. Not for the first time in her life, she was grateful and glad for the privacy it brought to their conversation.

Can we wait to tell Jackie and Mom about this? she signed, pointing between the two of them. About us, I mean?

He blinked, visibly caught off guard and she winced inwardly.

You know how Jackie gets, she signed quickly. You know he’s going to freak out when he finds out. You’re like a little brother to him. He feels like he practically raised you for those years he was at the farm. And when he found out you’d left Kentucky, he asked me to take care of you.

His brow arched again, the corner of his mouth hooking wryly and she pretended to frown.

Shut up, she signed, making him laugh. I’m serious, Brandon. He’s going to be pissed at me.

You didn’t do anything wrong, he signed, his expression growing solemn again, nearly mournful. Neither of us did.

Yeah, but that’s not how Jackie’s going to look at it, she replied. Not at first, anyway. Reaching out, she caught his hand again. “I want him to know,” she said aloud. “I’m going to tell him, Brandon, I promise—him and Mom both. But I just…” With a sigh, she let her shoulders sag, then stared at him, pleading. “I need to tell them in my own time, okay? Please.”

She was afraid he’d be hurt, that her request would make him think she was ashamed of him somehow, or their relationship—which she wasn’t—and glanced up, hopeful, when he squeezed her fingers gently. He smiled at her, then drew her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles lightly.

Of course, Lina, he thought to her. I understand. It’s okay.

In that moment, she could have scrambled across the table between them and taken him right there in the diner, not because she’d been seized with lust, but because in that moment, she remembered exactly why she’d fallen in love with Brandon in the first place.

He held up his free hand to her, his third and fourth fingers folded down so that only his pinkie, index and thumb remained extended. It was an abbreviated sign, a simple gesture that meant I love you.