"Georgina... what can I do?"

 I shook my head, feeling helpless and defeated. "Nothing. I'm just glad you're here."

 "I..." He hesitated. "I hate to tell you this, but I've got to leave in a little while. I'm meeting someone."

 I looked up sharply. Another of those mysterious meetings. Curiosity temporarily replaced my fear, but I couldn't question him. Couldn't ask if he was meeting some woman. At least he said he was meeting someone. He wouldn't be alone.

 "You'll be with... them... for a while then?"

 He nodded. "I could come back late tonight, if you wanted. Or... maybe I could cancel."

 "No, no, don't worry about it." By then, it would all be over.

 He stayed awhile longer, again attempting conversation I couldn't participate in. When he finally stood up to leave, I could see anxiety written all over him and felt terrible I'd involved him in this.

 "This will all be resolved tomorrow," I told him. "So don't worry. I'll be back to normal then. I promise."

 "Okay. If you need anything, let me know. Call me, no matter what. Otherwise... well, I'll see you at work."

 "No. I have tomorrow off."

 "Oh. Well. Do you mind if I stop by?"

 "Sure. Go ahead." I would have agreed to anything. I was too tired to hold to my earlier notion of distancing. I'd worry about that later. Honestly. One thing at a time.

 He left reluctantly, no doubt baffled when I told him to spend a lot of time with whoever he was meeting. As for me, I paced all over my apartment, not knowing what to do. Maybe I couldn't get ahold of Roman because the nephilim had already found him. That would hardly be fair since I'd never even had a chance to genuinely warn him, but this nephilim didn't really seem like the type to care about right or wrong.

 Struck by inspiration, I called Information, realizing I'd missed the obvious way to find him. It didn't matter. Unlisted.

 Two hours before my shift would have ended, I left Roman another message. "Please, please, please call me," I begged. "Even if you're really mad at me for what happened. Just tell me you're out there and okay."

 No return call came. Eight o'clock rolled around. With one hour remaining, I left him another message. I could feel hysteria creeping in. God, what was I going to do? All I did do was continue pacing, pondering how soon would be too soon to call Roman one more time.

 Five minutes before nine, utterly frantic, I grabbed my purse, desperate to leave my apartment and do something. Anything. Time was almost up.

 What would happen? How would I know if I'd successfully jumped through the nephilim's hoops? When I saw Roman's murder plastered across the paper tomorrow? Would there be another note? Or maybe some gruesome token? What if the nephilim hadn't even meant any of the people I'd considered? What if it was someone completely out of the realm of—

 I opened my door to leave and gasped.

 "Roman!"

 He stood there, mid-knock, as surprised to see me as I was him.

 I dropped my purse and ran to him, flinging myself at him in a fierce embrace that nearly toppled him. "Oh God," I breathed into his shoulder, "I'm so glad to see you."

 "I guess," he replied, pulling slightly away to look down at me, his turquoise eyes concerned. "Lord, Georgina, what's wrong? I've got like eighty messages from you—"

 "I know, I know," I told him, still not letting go. Seeing him stirred up all the old, queasy feelings I had thought were buried. He looked so good. He smelled so good. "I'm sorry— it's just, I thought something had happened to you..."

 I hugged him again, catching sight of my watch as I did so. Nine o'clock. My shift was over, as was the nephilim's ridiculous game.

 "Okay, it's all right." He patted me awkwardly on the back. "What's going on?"

 "I can't tell you." My voice shook.

 His mouth opened to protest, but he reconsidered. "Okay. Let's take this slow. You're pale. Let's go get something to eat. You can explain all this then."

 Yeah, that would be a fun conversation. "No. We can't do that..."

 "Come on. There's no way you can leave me all those desperate messages and then start playing the 'we need space' game. Seriously, Georgina. You're a wreck. You're shaking. I wouldn't want you to be by yourself anyway if I'd found you like this, let alone after those calls."

 "No. No. No going out." I sat down on the couch, needing to let him go, reluctant to do so. "Let's stay here."

 Still looking distressed, Roman fetched me a glass of water, then sat down by me, holding my hand. As time passed, I calmed down, listening as Roman talked about inconsequential things in an effort to make me feel better.

 For his part, he was quite nice about my psycho phone calls. He continued trying to tease out an explanation, but when I remained evasive, only saying I had cause to worry about him, he stopped pushing—for now. He continued cheering me up, telling me funny things as well as his usual political soliloquies, complaining about the irrational rules and hypocrisy of the powers that be.

 By late in the evening, I was relaxed again, left only with embarrassment for the way I'd behaved. Damn, I hated that nephilim.

 "It's getting late. You going to be okay if I go?" he asked, standing with me near my living room window, overlooking Queen Anne Avenue.

 "Probably better than if you stay."

 "Well, that's a matter of opinion," he chuckled, running a hand over my hair.

 "Thanks for coming by. I know... I know... it seems crazy, but you've just got to trust me on this one."

 He shrugged. "I don't really have a choice. Besides... it's kind of nice to know you were worried about me."

 "Of course I was. How could I not be?"

 "I don't know. You aren't easy to read. I couldn't figure out if you really liked me... or if I was just something to pass the time. A diversion."

 Something in his words rang a bell in my head, something I should have paid attention to. Instead I was more caught up in how close he suddenly stood to me, how his hand ran down my cheek to my neck and to my shoulder. He had long, sensuous fingers. Fingers that could do a lot of good in a lot of good places.

 "I do like you, Roman. If you don't believe anything else I tell you, believe that."

 He smiled then, a smile so full and beautiful, it made my heart melt. God, I had missed that smile and his funny, breezy charm. Moving his hand back up to my neck, he pulled me toward him, and I realized he was going to kiss me again.

 "No... no... don't," I murmured, squirming out of his grasp.

 He backed off from the kiss, still holding on to me as he exhaled, disappointment all over his face. "Still worried about that?"

 "You can't understand. I'm sorry. I just can't..."

 "Georgina, nothing traumatic happened the last time we kissed. Short of your reaction, I mean."

 "I know, but it's not that simple."

 "Nothing happened," he repeated, an unfamiliar hardness in his voice.

 "I know, but—"

 My mouth hung there mid-sentence as I replayed his words. Nothing happened. No, something had happened that night at the concert, kissing in the back hallway. I'd seen Roman stagger from the kiss. But me... what had happened to me? What had I felt? Nothing. A kiss that intense, a kiss with someone strong, a kiss with someone I wanted so badly should have triggered something. Even with a low energy yield like Warren, a deep kiss would wake up my succubus instinct, start to connect us, even if no significant transfer took place. Kissing Roman like that—especially when he ostensibly had a reaction—should have resulted in some kind of feeling on my end. Some sensation. Yet, there had been nothing. Nothing at all.

 I had written it off to too much alcohol at the time. But that was ridiculous. I drank all the time before getting a fix. Alcohol could muddle my senses—as it obviously had that night—but no amount of intoxication could completely negate the sensation of anima transfer. Nothing could. I had been too trashed to realize the truth. Alcohol or no, I would always feel something from sexual or intimate physical contact unless...