He sensed the changes every day in Selene. He'd been with her for only ten days, but he could feel her mood darkening and her sensitivity to his needs callousing. She'd told him exactly what it was – the moon was about to reach its apex and begin waning. Somehow that tied to her, Alyn guessed in ways that he, as a human, could not understand. Their friendship stagnated in the meantime, and Alyn thought it was probably better that way.

His wife's monthly cycles had been similar – not tied to the moon as directly as Selene's, but regular and deeply intertwined with her moods and behavior. He'd learned ways not only to preserve the delicate peace in his household, but also to comfort her. Alyn wasn't sure he was ready to try those on Selene.

The eleventh evening, Alyn wakes up to find Selene standing over his bed, her eyebrows drawn down. He stretches his arm back, feeling the pull as his bicep elongates. Selene still prefers to be nocturnal, although her abilities now stretch to the day as well. His schedule has evolved to become like hers, and he sleeps heavily during the day to wake up at twilight, ready for whatever journey is next.

"Get up," she says coldly. He swings his legs over the edge of the bed, resting for a moment while his head adjusts to uprightness. He'd quit worrying quite so much about modesty, and slept in a pair of boxers. Albeit under the sheets. He stands up slowly, reaching his full height about six inches above Selene's head. Even with her boots on, he's considerably taller than she.

"Dress yourself and be in the car in ten minutes," she mutters, then stalks out of the room. He sighs, grabbing a pair of jeans off the bed behind him and shrugging into a shirt. He grabs a number of items of clothing and stuffs them into a duffel bag lying a few feet away. He walks to the bathroom, glances inside for any forgotten objects, and zips up the duffel.

Alyn walks to the door, bag in hand, and slings his messenger bag over his shoulder. He hears a sudden clank behind him and jumps back. Behind him, rocking back and forth, lays a giant throwing star like none he's seen before. He bends down slowly, hearing his knees creak a little, and picks it up. He knows immediately that there are undoubtedly pressure points that have caused it to pop open, and that there are certainly more with equally disastrous results.

He holds it delicately, maneuvering around the blades edging the circumference. He draws the blinds back, and moonlight falls on the silver filigreed top. It lights suddenly, throwing color and brightness like a prism across his shirt and the room behind him. He follows a particular train of light and stares intently up at the ceiling for a moment. On the browned and dirty "popcorn," an image is displayed in light – a half moon. He smiles for a second, remembering the myths from his school days.

Selene – goddess of the moon. He feels a sharp wave of annoyance from outside and guesses that his ten minutes are up. He glances to the ceiling again, studying the simple half moon pattern somehow reflected or thrown by the moonlight. He wonders briefly if it would show in sunlight, but guesses it would not.

He strides out to the car without a backward glance, hearing the door slam behind him. The messenger bag cuts into his shoulder a little, and he shrugs one shoulder while twitching the strap across his chest. It settles into a more comfortable position as he opens the door to her Maserati and sinks into the ergonomic seat. Before he even closes the door, she throttles into first gear and jolts into motion.

Alyn pulls the seat harness across his chest – another layer of constraint on him. He feels a little uncomfortable with all the straps and harnesses. But his hand still encompasses the throwing star, a modified shuriken, and he tries to decide whether to hold it out to her or keep it for himself. She's in a bad enough mood already, and he's not sure whether his pointing out her organization flaws is going to fly.

After a moment, he switches the shuriken to his left hand and holds it out, his arm hovering a few inches over the middle console of the car. "It was laying on top of my bag," he says softly. She studies it, her eyes moving rapidly from road to weapon. A soft white hand reaches out and takes it from him.

"Who was your Endymion?" he asks, recalling the myth. "Who did you beg eternal life for?"

She sighs, having sensed that this conversation would come up eventually.

"His name was Michael," confirming his earlier thought. "Michael Corvin. Do you know anything about the Corvins? No? Both the vampire and the lycan races are descended from the original Corvin, Alexander. He gave me the power I possess now when I drank his willing blood. Michael was one of two hybrids – a perfect cross between lycan and vampire, that should have ended the war. The war of vampires and lycans, the reason those beasts in Orghodaz tried to kill us.

"I'd half-created him, do you see? He'd been bitten by Lucian, but he survived my bite as well and turned into a strange creature. He was my Endymion. I think I loved him, although it could have been nothing more than animal attraction." This bitterly, as she recalled some intimate moment when she must have wondered whether "it" was love or lust. "He died at the hands of the other hybrid, an even more freakish beast. I was left to combat the hybrid, his lycan brother, and tens of lycan offspring." Here she shakes her head angrily – "after I'd defeated all of them, I suppose I fell unconscious. And then . . . then I woke up here."

He senses tension, and reaches over to place his hand on hers, resting on the gear shift. Her skin is cool to the touch, but smooth like silk. He senses that she is unsure of how to react, and a full moment passes where they sit in cool limbo. After that moment, her arm relaxes slowly, her shoulders sink, and she exhales.

At a rare stoplight, she tenses again – turns, lightning-fast, and grabs him with her right hand. She draws him in and presses her lips against his hungrily. His shock only lasts a second, and he returns the kiss as intensely as she'd begun it. Electricity shatters his nervous system and the skin in his lips tingles pleasantly. She pulls away slowly, her eyes aglow with a weird blue light.

Alyn sits back against his seat, breathing heavier than before. He's never felt anything like this before, even with his wife. It was a different sensation with his wife, not better or worse. She was warmer, more peaceful than Selene. Selene's passion is intense and otherworldly, but he can't say he doesn't enjoy it. But he glances to his left, and finds her still studying him. The hunger is gone, the light in her eyes nearly faded to their normal glow, but two of her teeth clamp down on the right side of her lip, holding it half-folded in. He smiles a little at the thoughtful gesture.

"Do you care for me?" she asks, with all the vulnerability and fragility of a schoolgirl.

Immediately, "yes." His knee-jerk reaction. He hadn't admitted it or even known it himself before, but now he knew it without a doubt. At first it had only been attraction, but it had evolved. Conflicting emotions rage in him – fear, sadness, and passion. He guesses the same is true of her, the way she sits quietly.

She'd turned away, but he studies her now. Her long, lean legs are placed lightly on the brake and the clutch, the black leather stretched tautly across her muscled thighs. Her abdomen is lean and flat, curved slightly against the seat. Right arm at a gentle bend to the hand, still rested on the knob of the shifter. At a stop, her left hand is held between her knees, awkwardly, as if she's self-conscious. He traces the profile of her face against the twilight with his eyes, her dark hair covering her aristocratic cheekbone.

"You'll come with me?" she asks.

"Of course I will. Wherever you go."