“My shirt got torn in a fight. Yours evidently has a fast-release tab.”

“Her dark-eyed glare narrowed on me. "You could have least given him a shirt, Kaylee.""Like you're an expert on when it's appropriate to wear a shirt." Sabine bristled."This seems headed into girl-fight territory," Tod said. "Should I make popcorn?”

“Can I see it?" He blinked, still scowling, "See what?" "Your scar." His expression darkened like a sudden eclipse and I let my gaze grow cold. "You want to hear me scream? Give it your best shot. But until then, every time you take off your shirt, you may as well be handing out my business card. I shoved my blade deep inside you and loved every single inch of it. When I can't sleep at night, the memory of you screaming like a little bitch is my lullaby. And everybody knows exactly what that scar means- that you got your ass handed to you by a little girl. Again.”

“Was I wearing my 'I'm done with my virginity, please get rid of it for me' T-shirt?”

“The three of you are enough to drive a mara mad.'She can wear my shirt," she growled in an imitation of Nash."No,she can wear my shirt,"she said switching to Tod's smoother tone.Then Sabine took off down the hall without a glance at any of us."I have a spare.Come on, Kaylee,before I choke on testosterone and melodrama.”

“I sobbed again, and this time my father chuckled. "What's so funny?" I demanded, tilting my head when my cheek got his coat wet. "You didn't cry when Kevin Mitchell broke your arm, or when you got stabbed in the hip the last time we were here. But boy troubles are still enough to reduce you to tears.”

“Why is this so hard?” I whispered.His pulse leaped crazily at my admission. “Everything worth fighting for is hard.”