"How about this?" I ask, holding up a barely-there piece of silk. It is emerald green, my favourite colour on her.

Jude comes out of the changeroom with no fear, and my eyes slant over her body. The lean, hard muscle of her, and the softness of her curves.

"You are so beautiful," I breathe.

"You've mentioned that," she says, but she blushes, anyway. "Once or twice."

"Then it's not nearly enough."

Her eyes drift back to the bit of silk in my hand. "I am not wearing that," she sputters.

"Why not?"

"It's—it's—"

"I like blue," she says, and there is a dream-like quality to her voice. For a moment, my breath catches in my chest. She can't possibly be talking about . . .

You're her. You're the blue-eyed girl.

I still wonder what that meant. Now, I shake myself.

"Blue?" I say, arching a brow. "Why blue?"

"No reason," she says, taking my selection anyway.

As she walks away, I admire the curve of her ass in the pale orange lace. It will be fun fucking her in that—I'll have to try my best not to ruin it.

Orange—soft, sunset orange—has been my favourite colour since Jude left. For years, I collected anything that reminded me of it. Picture frames. Pens. Plastic flowers. But now that I have met Jude again, now that I know her, my favourite colour is green.

But not any green—emerald, the shade of her eyes.

When Jude comes back, there is a fiery glint in her eyes.

"Goddamn," is all I can manage.

"One question," she says. "Hunter . . . you said you made a deal with Elijah Napier. A deal to stop the trafficking ring. But what was the deal? What did you exchange?"

"An exchange," I say, still flustered. I can't peel my eyes away from her. "A deal. Right."

She smirks, showing me she knows how powerful she is in this moment.

The deal.

Instantly, I sober. "I asked him for help to free the girls in the Underground. Two weeks ago, the night you . . . ran, do you remember the evacuation? The Saints didn't hurt anyone, but they smuggled as many girls out as they could."

"What do you owe them?"

"What—are you worried about me?" I tease.

I think she'll deny it, or cross her arms, or blush again.

"Yes," she says quietly. "I am worried about you."

My eyes flicker down. "I promised them they could have the city. That the Wolves would be theirs, if they succeeded."

"And how is that possible, with Anise as the Alpha?"

"It would mean . . . killing Anise." I hadn't planned on ever letting it get that far, but now . . . now, I wonder. Is she evil? Does she deserve it? And the answer isn't no.

"Oh, Hunter," she whispers.

"Whatever happens, by the time we're done, neither of them will be in power," I say.

"But once the Saints have realized—once Elijah has realized you've backed out of the deal, what will happen?"

This time, I don't answer. Both of us already know.

But this time, a question nags at me. If I take down both gangs, then the Yakuza are free to sweep in, like vultures, and claim the city.

That can't happen.

But that would mean . . .

Don't think about it right now, I tell myself.

I hold up an armful of velvet and satin. "What do we think? Are you ready to go?"

Jude's eyes glitter wickedly. "Not quite."

Then she closes the distance between us and leans up to kiss me. I cradle the back of her neck with one hand, smudging my thumb over her jaw.

"Breathtaking," I whisper against her mouth.

"Are they all staring?"

I don't look away. I know the entire store of saleswomen and flustered old women are staring.

"Might as well give them a show," I say, and I push her against the floorlength mirror.

She lets out a laugh, and it is worth it—just to hear her laugh like that, reckless and uncaring. Happy.

"You're going to break the mirror," she scolds, but my mouth is against hers, and then she has no more complaints about the mirror.

Despite the day I spent with Jude, it is not enough to take my mind off the danger she is in with Pierce.

I know there is something wrong. I know something is off.

Carefully, I prod Jude as we walk in the winter snow, our breaths crystallizing in the chill air. "How did Pierce find you after you ran?"

She glances away. Her cheeks burn with the cold, but our hands are laced together. Even as the wind whips my knuckles with cold, I keep my fingers entwined with hers. I wouldn't let go unless her life depended on it.

"She offered me a place to stay, so I accepted," she says. "She's really sweet, actually."

I open my mouth, but Jude cuts me off.

"No, I don't want to hear it. If she was going to hurt me, or kill me, wouldn't she have already?"

Or maybe she just wants to gain your trust, I think. Maybe she's waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.

How do I tell my girlfriend that I think she is going to be used against me? How do I tell her that her life is at stake because I care about her?

Care. Care isn't even the right word for what's between us.

But even though I'm ready to say it, I don't think she's ready to hear it.

I remember Anise's thinly-veiled threat from before. Her promise, that she was looking for Jude, too. And I suddenly feel unsafe here, walking out in the open, just outside of the mall.

With both the Saints, the Wolves, and the Yakuza after Jude, I suddenly feel incredibly, ridiculously careless for bringing Jude here.

A sense of warning prickles my spine. I should know better.

Just before the first bullet hits the snow in front of us, I have turned to Jude.

"We need to go."

Then the gunshots spray against the sidewalk, a chorus of metal against damp concrete, and I shove Jude into the snow as a sharp, burning sensation spreads through my side.

I was shot.

Disbelief explodes through me. I've been shot multiple times, all throughout my years as a teenager, but I have never been this shocked before. The wound is a dull echo of agony as I look at Jude, her round eyes and white face.

"Are you hurt?" I demand. "Are you okay?"

"You just took a bullet for me," she breathes.

No, I—but my thoughts cut off as I think about it. In the instant I saw the bullet, I shoved Jude aside. It was immediate, an instinct.

"We have to go," I say. "Right now."

I pull her to her feet, snow soaking into our clothes, and we begin to run across the concrete of the parking lot, splashing through cold winter puddles. My black Audi is waiting, and I unlock the car doors the moment a bullet dents the side of the black metal.

"They're going to pay for that," I growl as I slide into the driver's seat.

"You seem more concerned about the car than about yourself," Jude remarks.

I start the engine and back out of the mall parking lot, accelerating past the snow-slick roads. Bullets clatter against the side of the car.

"I have to tell you something," Jude says.

"Is now really the best time?" My eyes flick to the rearview mirror.

They put a tail on us. Motherfucker.

The black sedan behind growls, surging closer towards the bumper of my black Audi.

Oh, no, you don't.

"I made a deal with Anise," she says, holding on to her seatbelt for dear life.

I slam the brakes. The car jerks forward, throwing us towards the front.

"You made a deal with Anise?" I growl.

I already suspected as much, but . . .

"I wanted—want—revenge on the Saints for what they did to my mom," she says fiercely. "Anise promised me if that if I killed the Campus Killer, I could infiltrate the Saints."

The car lurches forward when I put pressure on the brakes.

With a reverberating snarl, the engine kicks in. Pitching us onto the highway.

"Do you know incredibly dangerous that was?"

Jude says, "Not any more dangerous than you making a deal with Elijah Napier."

Damn it. My mouth opens. Closes.

"Is that why you were talking about the Campus Killer? The Holy Murderer?" I ask suddenly. "Is that what Anise wanted you to do?"

"She wanted the Campus Killer brought back to her."

"I killed him, though," I say. "A month ago. I killed him."

"Are you sure? There are still murderers."

"Of course I'm sure I killed him!" My voice has risen to a shout. Jude winces, and I soften fractionally as I cut through lanes. "Sorry, it's just that I . . . there was blood on my hands. I know it was him—I caught him in the act."

"Then who's still killing people?"

I have no idea.

"Hunter, look out!"

The glass in the back of the car shatters, spraying us with a thousand miniature shards of frost.

"Get down!" I roar, blocking Jude from the stream of bullets with my arm.

Instead of listening to me, she pulls out her gun. Of course my girlfriend is armed on a trip to the lingerie store.

But can I blame her? So am I.

She twists over the passenger seat and aims at the black sedan behind us. Her first bullet hits, but I know Jude is trained in martial arts—not sharpshooting.

My target practice at the shooting range comes back to me.

"Can you drive?" I say calmly.

Jude's head whips towards me. "Can I drive? What do you—"

I climb out of the driver's seat, and she shouts, "Are you crazy?"

In this moment, quite possibly.

Jude only lets a millisecond crawl by before she ducks into the driver's seat. Then my rifle is unstrapped, and I am aiming with a clear shot at the tail on us.

Who is driving the car? If only I could figure out who is after us . . .

My rifle is steady. Cool.

My concentration doesn't falter as I shoot. Three times.

I do not miss.

The first bullet sends a spiderweb of white lines skittering across the windshield.

The second bullet lodges itself in the forehead of the driver.

The third bullet cracks the glass.

With a burst of smoke, the car spirals towards the side of the road. I have no idea who I just killed. The black sedan could belong to anybody.

But then I see it, a glimpse.

Coppery hair. Green-grey eyes.

No, it can't be.

"Who was it?" Jude asks, her face pale, her hands unsteady on the steering wheel as she veers through the traffic.

The colour drains from my face.

She is dead. She is supposed to be dead.

The car pitches forward, right into a 4x4 Ford Ram. Jude's eyes are locked on me, waiting for my response. Those same eyes . . .

"I just saw your mother."

>>>

I'm so excited for Christmas.

From the moon and back,
Sarai