Far better to live a mortal lifespan and die naturally than to transform into a monster.

Chloe paused and stamped her foot. “Evvie! Come now. Your grandmother isn’t feeling patient tonight.”

“Is she ever?”

Chloe scowled. “She’s far more patient with you than I would be.”

“Yes, Mother Chloe. I do realize that.” Eavan followed her mother into the sitting room where the rest of the family would be waiting. Of course, calling it a sitting room was a bit of a kindness. It was something between a bawdy house and the results of a Victorian decorator on acid. Aunt NeNe had her foot propped on an honest-to-goddess stuffed elephant foot that was fashioned into an ottoman. Gold tassels dangled from the cushion atop the atrocity. All around the room, floral patterns clashed with one another; gilt-framed art cluttered walls and shelves. Dressing tables that had no place in a front room were scattered about, like the desks in an untidy classroom. On each table, Eavan could see a jumble of silver hand mirrors, ivory combs, feathered hair barrettes, and crystal bottles of perfume with elaborate atomizers.

And her family sat—in dishabille—on overly plush divans. In the center, like a queen holding court, was Nyx, Eavan’s grandmother and matriarch, her judge and torturer. Nyx held herself regally, watching with serpent-cold eyes. “Eavan.”

It wasn’t a warm welcome, but no one there thought Eavan deserved Nyx’s warmth.

Even me.

Ever since Eavan had told Nyx she wasn’t moving home after college, things had been more strained. Glaistigs didn’t live away from the clan. It simply wasn’t done. Of course, no other glaistig clan would be foolish enough to challenge Nyx’s decision to violate tradition by allowing Eavan a touch of freedom. The same cruelty that had left scars on Eavan’s back allowed Nyx to defy tradition now: crossing Nyx was painful more often than not.

Beautiful monsters. My family.

The three of them looked like sisters, like her sisters. They appeared to be only a couple of years older than Eavan—wrinkle-free, lustrous hair, bodies as sculpted as professional dancers. In high school, her “guardians” had incited equal parts envy and curiosity when they attended school events. In college, people assumed they were her sorority sisters or asked if she was part of a modeling agency. Luckily, they hadn’t visited her en masse at the office yet. Their unchanging nature would eventually elicit too many questions. As will my own. Eavan wasn’t sure when it’d started bothering her, but it irritated her more and more—their immutable nature, her own now-unchanging body.

For now. Choosing mortality meant Eavan would eventually age and die. She’d age more slowly than mortals, but it would still happen. Glaistigs didn’t. They brought death, but didn’t suffer from it.

“What are you wearing? It’s so”—NeNe fluttered her hands around as she took in Eavan’s skirt, which reached just below the knee—“opaque.”

“It’s wool.” Eavan leaned down and kissed her aunt’s cheek. They might be monsters, but they were still her family. “Just like I’ve worn to every other meeting.”

“I must’ve repressed it.” NeNe sniffed. Like the rest of the women, with her gauzy camisole and thick tumble of hair, NeNe looked as if she were awaiting clientele, not expecting a visit from the girl they’d collectively raised as their daughter.

“You know, what this place needs is a stripper pole.” The words were out before Eavan could stop herself, but no one flinched. Eavan could say whatever came to mind here. Home wasn’t where Eavan wanted to be, but she couldn’t deny how right it still felt to be there. Glaistigs were clan creatures, and although Eavan was clinging fiercely to her humanity, she was still part of the clan. “A pole would fit right in,” she added. “Just like at your clubs.”

Grandmother Nyx nodded. “I was just saying that, wasn’t I?”

Chloe handed Eavan a brush before answering, “She’s joking, Mama.”

Nyx shrugged, lifting one delicate shoulder in a graceful move that belied her centuries. “It matters little. She’s right for a change.”

Eavan smothered a laugh; Nyx knew that Eavan had been only partially joking. It would fit in, and they’d enjoy having it here. Sometimes when all the rest was set aside, Eavan suspected that Nyx was the only one who truly understood her. The older glaistig didn’t approve of Eavan’s urge to live as a mortal, but she understood the impulse to forge new rules. Following a path simply because it had always been done that way wouldn’t make sense to Nyx. Of course, neither would chastity.

Eavan sat on the back of the sofa, perched behind her grandmother, and began unplaiting the woman’s thick rope of hair. The tendrils were like living things in Eavan’s hands, as if night had taken solid form. “You look lovely, Grandmama.”

“Of course.” Nyx stretched; muscles that shouldn’t exist rippled under her wrinkleless skin. The strength in those muscles would make it a simple thing to crush Eavan’s throat—and no one would stop her. Eavan learned that lesson years ago when she stood up to Nyx the first time.

And a dozen times since.

Nyx wasn’t callous, no more so than anyone else in the house, but she was in charge. Forgetting that was unwise.

“Bring him in,” Nyx said.

The tension in Eavan’s body rose. She paused a heartbeat longer. “Him? Grandmama, what have you—”

“You’ve stopped brushing, Eavan. I don’t like that.”

Dutifully, Eavan resumed the measured strokes, gripping the olivewood handle, pulling the tufts of boar bristles through the thick tresses, keeping her eyes on her task—and not looking at the man who’d entered the room.

Like a lamb to slaughter.

“I’ve checked all the windows,” he said by way of greeting.

“Lovely.” Nyx rolled her shoulders. “Keeping brushing, Eavan.”

“Yes, Nyx.” Eavan stayed in her increasingly uncomfortable position on the back of the sofa where Nyx was seated. She didn’t look up at him. If Nyx had brought him here, had insisted Eavan meet him, he was dangerous. His voice alone, a deep growling bass, was proof of that.

Temptation. Eavan knew her family wasn’t above underhanded tricks; treachery was their first instinct. Perhaps it’s not that. She knew better though. Nyx didn’t rule one of the strongest clans of glaistigs by accepting defeat. Ever.

“The windows aren’t secure at all,” the man added. “A screwdriver and—”

“Right, so we’ll replace those. NeNe?” Nyx made an imperious motion.

“Here.” NeNe held out a blank check. “Fix whatever needs fixing.”

“Our home’s security is very important, Mr. Owens,” Chloe said.

“It’s Cillian, ma’am,” he corrected.

Eavan paused at the change in timber of his voice; he also sounded almost as assertive as Nyx. When Eavan looked up, her fears were confirmed: he was perfect, a visual feast, lean, confident, and seemingly unintimidated by the nest of vipers he was in. His instincts should be telling him to flee or to bow before Nyx. He did neither. He stood there as if oblivious to her charm, to all of their allure.

Eavan couldn’t help but stare, just as Nyx undoubtedly expected. He was fit without being bulky, muscular and toned. If not for his almost pouty lips, his face would be too stern. As it was, he looked just this side of fierce—not easily daunted or foolishly aggressive. It made her want to see what it took to provoke him.

I am above this. I am stronger than instinct.

The older glaistig looked back and caught Eavan’s gaze. A guilty blush burned on Eavan’s face.

Nyx’s posture hadn’t changed, but she had her confirmation: Eavan was intrigued.

Too much so.

The man made a note as he said, “I’ll have one of my associates drop by to go over the literature on the different options for replacing the windows.”