Chaotic by Kelley Armstrong

had been a struggle—not academically, but personally, coming at the worst time in my life, when I’d been dealing with my demon powers. I think the brownstone was Mom’s graduation gift . . . and a hoped source of stability for a daughter sorely in need of it.
    I love the townhouse, love the area, love my beautiful riverfront “backyard” with its winding forest trails—an escape route whenever I needed it, which seemed often. So I’d agreed to keep living there, as a property manager of sorts, maintaining the building and protecting Mom’s investment. But I refused to take the deed, and insisted on paying all expenses and upkeep—though the property taxes alone were nearly enough to bankrupt me. Thank God I had two jobs—
    Two jobs? As the taxi disgorged us on the front lawn, I stared up at my beloved brownstone and realized I no longer had two jobs, and probably not even one.
    Of course my mother could—and would—step in and pay the bills. I so desperately didn’t want that.
    I’d given my mother enough sleepless nights to last a lifetime. I often wondered whether, at some level, she knew my problems were rooted in something she’d done, that brief post-separation encounter that no one could blame her for. Even if she didn’t know the true nature of my trouble, I think she blamed herself, and I didn’t want that. I wanted to be strong and independent and stable, and to be able to take her for lunches on my dime and say, “See Mom, I’m doing fine.” And I had reached that point, stuffed with the newfound confidence my council job had given me—
    “We’d better get inside,” Marsten whispered as the cab pulled away.
    He looked around, nostrils flaring, body tense, as if we’d just stepped into a trap . . . which we probably had. Definitely not the time to worry about my life’s recent crash and burn. When this was over, I should just be thankful I still had a life to repair.
    “Good security,” Marsten whispered as I undid the dual deadbolt. “Are the other doors and windows—?”
    “All armed. Motion detectors in every room, too. My mom worries.”
    I hurried in to disarm the system. It was still active. If Tristan had beat us here, he’d backed off when he’d seen the security. This wasn’t the kind of neighborhood that ignored screaming sirens. Better to wait for us to disarm the system.
    “What now?” I said as Marsten relocked the front door.
    “Turn on a couple of lights, and stay away from the windows. Is that open land out back?”
    “A park,” I said. “Mostly forest.”
    “Good. That’s where I’ll try to get him then. Away from the houses. We’ll stay here for a bit, give him time to arrive and stake out the house. Then I’ll change and lead him into the forest.”
    “Change?” The words “but I don’t have anything for you to wear” were on my lips when I realized what he meant. “Into a wolf.”
    He nodded. “By far the preferred way for dealing with these things. Easier to track, easier to fight and”—a quick smile—“a built-in disguise if anyone sees me.”
    I flipped on the living room and hall lights.
    “What about the television?” I said. “Should I turn that on, too?”
    A brow arch. “We escape death, flee to the safety of your townhouse . . . and watch television?”
    “So what would Tristan expect?—” I followed his gaze to the stairs leading to the second level. “Ah, of course. You’d want a good night’s rest.”
    “And that’s probably all I’d get,” he muttered. “Unless I set the place on fire first. From Tristan’s point of view, though, we just had a harrowing evening, I saved your life—”
    “You did?”
    “Play along. You take me upstairs—”
    “Oh, reward sex.” I paused. “But for proper reward sex I wouldn’t take you upstairs. We probably wouldn’t even make it past the front door. I just push you against the wall, get down on my knees—”
    He cut me off with a growl. “I’d suggest you