Whispers at Moonrise

gone bad. I zapped a guy here for a couple of seconds.” Normally, she’d be blushing, but her emotional dilemma with him chased away the embarrassment.
    She stood. She felt antsy just sitting there. Her chest swelled with both joy at seeing him, and angst over her unresolved anger toward him. She wanted to kiss him, but she also wanted to let it all out and cry.
    “Oh.” He looked pointedly at Della and Miranda. Before he put the question into words, they got up—Miranda moved nonchalantly, Della’s stance exuded a bad attitude.
    “We’ll be on the porch.” The vamp’s tone matched her body language.
    “Thanks.” While Kylie hadn’t confided her most recent misgivings about Lucas to them, she knew they suspected. Just like she knew what went on in their lives. She watched as her two best friends left to give her privacy.
    Kylie’s gaze stayed fixed on Lucas and his deep blue eyes stayed on her until the door closed. She turned and faced the refrigerator and tried to decide how she felt … besides hurt. Just to give herself something to do, she opened the appliance.
    “You want something to drink?” she asked, not that there was anything but pickle juice in an otherwise empty jar of pickles and a bottle of Della’s blood.
    “I texted you three times and e-mailed and you haven’t responded.” He sounded hurt.
    Closing her eyes, she tried to push away the wiggle of guilt tightening her stomach. “I haven’t checked my e-mail.” She shut the fridge and moved over to the computer desk.
    “What are you doing?” he asked.
    “Checking my e-mail. You said you e-mailed me.” It sounded stupid. Okay, it didn’t just sound stupid, it was stupid, but she needed a few minutes to think.
    Was she wrong to be angry?
    Or right?
    She dropped into the chair. With the computer on, it took one mouse click to land on her e-mail. One downward scan of her eyes to see Lucas’s name.
    The subject on all three of his e-mails was the same: miss you.
    A knot formed in her throat.
    “Are you mad at me for something?” he asked.
    “Yes.” Her gaze moved back to the screen and it felt as if her heart started swelling—big, then bigger—until it felt as if it was outgrowing her chest. The ache was real and made it hard to breathe.
    She swallowed. “No.”
    “Is it yes or no? Are you mad or not?” He sounded hurt. Or angry. Maybe both.
    She closed her eyes and while she didn’t hear him, she sensed he’d moved closer. His scent, a wonderfully earthy smell, seemed to take up residence in her cabin.
    She inhaled. “Maybe.”
    “Hmm.” He did indeed sound closer. Too close. Right behind her close. Touchable close.
    As tempting as it was to turn around, she didn’t. She stared at the screen and held her breath.
    “Is this what they mean by a woman having the prerogative to change her mind?” A slight sound of humor rang in his voice.
    “It could be,” she muttered.
    “Is this about me not showing up last night? I left a note. You were asleep.”
    “It’s not about that.” Her gaze stayed fixed on the computer screen. She spotted three e-mails from her dad. Another emotionally hard thing she needed to deal with. Knowing her mom was dating, knowing that her stepdad and mom probably would never get back together, would make seeing him even harder.
    She blinked.
    “Then what’s it about?” His hand pressed down softly on her shoulder. Warm sensations flowed from his palm. “Because right now, I’d really like to kiss you and I don’t know if that’s possible. If you really are mad at me, I mean.”
    Inhaling, her heart raced at the thought of him kissing her. Of feeling his chest against hers.
    “It’s about you avoiding me,” she said. “You’re pulling away.”
    His other hand breezed across her shoulder. “Just until my father gives his approval for me to join the Council. I know it’s hard, and yes, being together is going to be even harder with Clara here, but … I need his approval. I don’t think it will be much longer.”
    She blinked again, and that’s when she saw it. Four … no, five e-mails all with the word fog in the subject line. Could it be…?
    “Oh, shit!” She saw another e-mail from the same address with a subject line that read talk .
    “Oh, shit what?” he asked.
    She opened her mouth to tell him, but shut it at the same time she shut off her e-mail. She hadn’t told him her grandfather had been what chased his sister—hadn’t told him because it didn’t