Tempted

fledging left and Rephaim curled back up in the nest he’d made of Stevie Rae’s bed. Before he fell into another healing sleep his single thought was that he wished the Red One had let him die under that tree.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Zoey

    When we landed at the Venice airport I’d only been awake about a nanosecond. I swear I slept the entire way, and the only dream I’d had had been about me and that giant beaver from the weird sleep medicine commercials playing Scrabble (which I don’t play) and me winning like a bazillion pairs of designer shoes from him (and he doesn’t really have feet). The dream had been odd, but harmless, and I’d slept like a kid on summer vacation.
    Most of the rest of my gang were wiping tears from their eyes and blowing their noses.
    “What the heck is wrong with everyone?” I asked Stark as we taxied to our gate. Sometime during the flight he’d moved to the seat right across the aisle from me.
    He jerked his chin over his shoulder at everyone behind us, including Heath, who was even looking kinda misty-eyed. “They just got done watching
Milk.
It made them all bawl like babies.”
    “Hey, that’s a good movie. And it’s super-sad, too,” I said.
    “Yeah, I saw it when it came out, but I wanted to keep my manly calm, so I decided to move up here and read.” He lifted the book in his lap, which I noticed was called
My Losing Season
by a guy named Pat Conroy.
    “You really do read, don’t you?”
    “Yep. I really do.”
    “A losing season? How come he wrote about that?”
    “You really want to know?”
    “Yeah, of course I do,” I said.
    “He wrote the book to show that suffering can be a source of strength.”
    “Huh,” I said, not so brilliantly and book-smartish.
    “He’s my favorite author,” Stark said, a little shyly.
    “I’ll have to check him out.”
    “He doesn’t write chick books,” Stark said.
    “That’s a terrible ste reo type!” I began, and was getting ready to launch into my lecture about the misogynistic (a word I learned from Damien while we read
The Scarlet Letter
in lit class) idea that manly books are for guys and frilly, pointless, fluffy books are for girls when the plane gave a little lurch and came to a halt.
    We all kinda gawked around at each other, not sure what to do, but in just a second or so the door to the cockpit opened and the vampyre copilot stepped out with a smile.
    “Welcome to Venetia,” she said. “I know at least one of you has special needs, so we’ve pulled directly into our private hangar.” I could hear the Twins snickering about Stark being “special needs/special services,” but we ignored them. “Erce is meeting you here. She will be your escort to San Clemente Island. Be sure you take all your carry-ons off with you, and blessed be.” Then she moved to the front door and, with a few flips of some levers, opened the plane. There was some noise, and then she said, “You may deplane.”
    “Let me go first,” I told Stark, who was already on his feet, his book zipped into his backpack and slung over his shoulder. “I want to be sure there really isn’t any sun out there to fry you.”
    Stark was going to argue with me, but Darius brushed past both of us with a quick, “Stay here. I’ll let you know if all is safe.”
    “He’s being Warrior-like,” Aphrodite said, walking down the aisle ahead of everyone else who had to stay back behind her rolling Betsey Johnson luggage. “I like it when he gets all testosteroney, but I wish he’d remember to carry my bag.”
    “He needs his hands free in case he has to defend you,” Stark told her, with the “you moron” part of the sentence left out but implied.
    She narrowed her eyes at him, but Darius popped back into the plane. “All is well here.” So we turned, sheeplike, and filed down the aisle to the door.
    The vampyre standing at the bottom of the stairs leading from the plane was tall and regal-looking, and as dark as Lenobia was fair, but she still definitely reminded me of our Horse Mistress. Erce had that calm way about her that Lenobia had, too. I decided it must have something to do with their affinity for horses. They’re calm and wise because horses, who are the coolest animals in the world besides cats, choose people who are soothing and smart.
    “I am Erce. Merry meet, Zoey.” Her dark eyes found me instantly, even though I was coming down the stairs behind Stark and Darius.
    “Merry meet,” I said to her.
    Then her gaze