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  This time she meets me in the kiss as an equal. It's a little like sparring with her. One moment I'm in control of the kiss and considering deepening it, then she's got me pinned to the mats when she gently nips my bottom lip with her teeth.

  My shock at the move jolts me out of the kiss. I back up, panting like an idiot, looking down on her. A light flicks on, illuminating her face in the darkness.

  She looks up to the second story window.

  "Mom," she mouths, and pulls me by the hand again.

  We aren't exactly sneaking inside, but I don't want an audience for what I've got to say. She seems to be on the same wavelength, leading me further across the downstairs than I’d seen the other day.

  We're in a dark hallway somewhere in the maze of the first floor, and I'm contemplating stopping for another kiss when she pulls me through a doorway and closes the door behind us.

  Before I can get any ideas, she flips on the light.

  I freeze in surprise.

  It's got to be the biggest training room I've ever been in. I step forward onto padded floors, like the dojo. In the middle of the room, I turn a circle, taking it all in.

  There are racks of weapons on the walls. Swords, throwing stars, wicked-looking knives, staffs, spears, even some weapons I don't know the names for. They seem pretty deadly.

  "This is incredible," I tell her.

  "It was my dad's. We trained together here."

  When I look back at her, she's got both arms wrapped around her waist like she's holding onto herself.

  I can't stop myself from going to her, but I don't try to embrace her. Instead, I touch her elbow with one hand.

  "You still miss him like crazy."

  She nods.

  "Have you ever thought about speaking out against drunk driving? I mean, the person who hit him—"

  "It wasn't a car accident." She meets my gaze, eyes widening. "I mean—"

  Her eyes dart around the room like a cornered animal. She opens her mouth, like she wants to explain what she just said, and then closes it again. It’s too late—she’s told me the truth. She can’t back out of it now.

  I just wait, watching her. I remember those guys who attacked her in that parking garage, and suddenly, I’m a little afraid for her.

  "It was... the same kind of people who attacked us Sunday."

  It’s too unreal to believe. But how can I not believe it? The ramifications send me reeling. Is she in danger right now?

  "My dad had been fighting his whole life. But he was attacked by a...gang..." She stumbles over the word. "And they killed him."

  I can't stop myself. I pull her to me. She rests her cheek against my shoulder.

  She isn't tearing up or anything—I wouldn't expect her to—but the emotion is in her voice when she speaks. "I really want to honor his memory. By fighting—" She cuts herself off, and there's that sense of secrecy again. "You know, the competitions, and other...things."

  Things like fighting the monsters that attacked us.

  "But my mom..."

  "She doesn't get it." I can see that. If Emily's mom knew what killed her husband, I'm guessing she's worried Emily might try to take revenge or something. And having her daughter put herself in danger... The very thought of it makes the pizza in my stomach start to revolt. Even if she is a kick-butt fighter.

  "That's why it bothered me so much that you threw the fight," she says into my shoulder. "I have to fight for everything, and you just gave up."

  I've still got my arms around her, but I can feel the distance she's trying to put between us. I hold on.

  "I didn't throw the match."

  "I know you did." She wriggles, pinches me in the side trying to get me to let go of her. I hold on tight, and she gives up fighting. With a sigh, she says, "I felt it during that last sixty seconds. You let me win."

  I swear, she is the only girl I know who would consider that an insult.

  I'm humbled that Emily has shared what she has with me. It's not everything, because she hasn’t come clean about those guys who attacked us. And there as something…not right about them. But I'm guessing it's more than she's told anyone else.

  And now it's my turn.

  I rest my chin on the crown of her head. "I have juvenile arthritis. Actually, they only call it juvenile before you're sixteen. I guess it's just arthritis now."

  She's not exactly snuggling into my chest, but she doesn’t seem to want to get away, either. She’s standing very close and very still. My arms remain around her back.

  "Really?"

  "Yeah." Part of me wishes I could see her face, see what she's feeling about my revelation, but I keep her right where she is.

  "It's not exactly something to tell a girl you're trying to impress,” I say. “I was diagnosed when I was fifteen, and when we had that big match, the doctors were still adjusting my pain meds to keep it manageable."

  Her head moves slightly. She presses her chin into my shoulder. "Is it... chronic? Like, are you in pain right now?"

  "Most of the time, I'm a level two. If I have a flare up, the pain can go to an eight or nine. And it's never going to go away."

  "That's why you were limping around on Monday."

  "Yeah. You weren't supposed to notice." I squeeze her waist to show I'm joking.

  "Why do you do martial arts? Doesn't it make it worse?"

  I shake my head. "It’s actually part of my management plan. Practice helps with the pain, improves my flexibility. It was the adrenaline spike and crash that did me in Sunday night, and I was still recovering Monday."

  “Hmm,” she says, and the noise vibrates through my chest cavity.

  I gather up all my courage and drop my arms from around her waist. I step back slightly and meet her gaze. "So you don't...think I'm a wimp now?"

  Her eyes narrow as she considers me.

  "Or a grandpa? Most of the people who visit my same doctors are in their seventies and eighties."

  Her eyes spark with humor. She advances on me, but I block her with my hands in front of me.

  She grabs both and laces our fingers together, all ten of them. "Brett, there is nothing grandpa-like about you."

  I wrinkle my nose.

  She pulls my hands around behind her lower back again. Because her hands are trapped in mine, the movement pulls her shoulders back and makes her lean slightly backwards. Open to me. Vulnerable to me.

  But unlike when I dipped her in that silly dance move, this time she doesn't move away.

  "And there is nothing wimpy about you either,” she says. “I can't believe I didn't notice before, but you have to be one of the strongest guys I know."

  Sweet talker.

  I lean forward and kiss her, and she meets me, untangling our hands. Her hands come to rest on my biceps, and I flex for her, making her smile in the kiss, an interesting sensation.

  The newfound intimacy between us is amazing. We've both opened up and shared secrets.

  But...

  She still has a major one, because she hasn’t explained about those guys who attacked her, who killed her father.

  And I still have a major one, too.

  I'm more in love with Emily Santos than ever.

  13 - Emily

  U coming to watch if I make the finals?

  My text to Erick goes into cyberspace, and I flop back onto my bed, eyes overlaying the afterimage from the lit screen onto the darkness of my bedroom.

  I can't keep the goofy smile off my face.

  Me and Brett.

  Brett and me.

  A couple.

  “A couple of what?” my dad would joke, if he were still alive.

  We haven't even made anything official, other than he wants to take me out again. Nothing has been resolved with my mom and the fact that I’m going to Chase, or with Erick's situation with the cops.

  But I know Brett and I are solid.

  I can't believe he's been dealing with this condition for three years, and no one has noticed. He's popular,
has a ton of friends. But no one knows about his arthritis.

  I feel like such a jerk that I've treated him so badly, but he doesn't hold a grudge.

  Still grounded, comes Erick's return text.

  Will u be @ party?

  I don't think I can face my mom's torture session without my best friend.

  Probably. Dad doesn't want to face Aunt Bea's wrath.

  I snicker, because he's joking about my mom, but it's true.

  What's going to happen? I text back.

  ?

  What does that mean? He doesn't understand my question, or doesn't know the answer?

  But his next text comes quickly. If Lou can't make the case disappear, I might have to go away.

  What? Erick can't be sent away.

  We’ve only seen each other twice since the attack on Sunday. He’s been under house-arrest. During one of those times, he told me that Uncle Felix thought the vamps must have seen us at the mall and taken the opportunity to attack. Uncle F doesn’t think it was pre-meditated.

  When Chasers hunt, we’re super-careful not to get caught. Human investigations just get in the way, and normal people don’t know about vampires—don’t want to know.

  The vamps attacked first, and we had no choice but to dispatch them. And no chance for Erick to get away.

  If my cousin is charged, he could end up in prison. I don’t think my uncle will let that happen. He’d send Erick off to another Chaser family instead. We need every sword we can get in this war.

  But I can’t imagine life without my best friend.

  On the other hand, bringing the family under scrutiny is a big no-no. If the vamp population figures out where we live, the danger to someone like my mom, who has no training and would be an easy target, is extreme.

  There's a knock on my bedroom door, and I shove the phone under my pillow. The last thing I need is my mom discovering how close I came to biting it in that vamp fight.

  "Honey? You asleep?"

  "Not yet. Come in."

  Light from the hall spills in with her. She sits on the end of my bed. "I saw you come in with that boy. Did you have fun on your date?"

  “Yeah.”

  She probably thinks if I get caught up in a relationship, I'll forget about fighting. But she doesn't get that Brett knows me better than she does.

  "Are you ready for your party tomorrow?"

  "I guess." Ready for it to be over.

  "I picked up your dress," she says, and I cringe, waiting for a criticism.

  "It wasn't floor-length, like I asked."

  My hand clenches beneath the covers.

  "But the color is perfect for your complexion. And I think it will suit just fine."

  Really? "Oh. Good."

  She brushes my hair back from my temple. Starts to say something. Holds back. There's an awkward silence.

  I wish again that my dad were here. He made things easier between us. Helped us understand each other.

  "I know you don't want to do this, but having a cotillion for the daughter's eighteenth birthday is one of our important family traditions."

  "What about our other family traditions?" I ask.

  Her expression darkens. Why did I open my stupid mouth? Why can't I ever make her happy?

  "Will you at least come to my match? I have the semi-final in the morning, and then, if I win, the final."

  "I don't know, honey."

  That's a no.

  The disappointment tastes bitter in my throat.

  "You haven't seen me fight in years," I say. Not since before dad died.

  "And I don't want to," she whispers.

  She stands up. I turn my face away so she won't see the hurt.

  "I wish you could understand that I just want to protect you," she says.

  I can understand that. But when dad died, he left a void. If everyone gets scared, and no one Chases, who will protect normal humans? They don't deserve to be slaughtered by vampires.

  "Good night, dear," she says.

  I mumble a goodnight, but I stay awake way later than I should. All the warm fuzzies from my time with Brett, gone.

  I wish my mom loved me. If she did, she would understand why I have to fight. I can't stand by and let innocent people be killed. It's not in me.

  But she doesn't want to see the real me.

  And that's what hurts.

  14 - Brett

  The next morning, I do all right in the semi-final round, beating the six-six dude I nicknamed The Hammer after seeing the size of his fists yesterday. It takes me nearly twenty minutes of intense fighting.

  Emily kills in hers, taking out the slender-but-quick guy in the first round with a knockout punch.

  We'll have about an hour before we face each other in the final. We have to suffer through the finals for the lower-colored belts first.

  She joins me in the competitor area, sits next to me on one of the wide platforms. That she sought me out has me flying high.

  "Happy birthday." I bump her gently on the shoulder. "Looking good out there."

  "Thanks. You too." She flips her braid over her shoulder.

  I take the opportunity to grab her hand. "You came early to watch?"

  Her cheeks pink and that’s answer enough. Wow, she's adorable.

  "You gonna invite me to your party?" I ask.

  "You don't want to come to my party."

  "Yes, I do."

  We both watch a red-belted kid pummel his opponent. Nice.

  "I don't even wanna be at my party," she continues when the match is over.

  "Why not?"

  She hesitates. I squeeze her hand. After clearing the air last night, she can't be afraid to tell me, can she?

  Another moment passes, and I shift on the block where we sit, stretching one leg out across it while the other is off the side toward the floor. She follows my movement and turns to face me, one leg bent at the knee and tucked beneath her, while the bare toe on her other foot brushes the hem of my pant leg.

  "Too much family, too many expectations," she finally says.

  "Ah. Your mom?" I clasp both of her hands in mine, lace our fingers together.

  "Among others."

  I shake her hands in mine, jog her head upward so I can wink at her. "If you let me come, we could always sneak away and spend the evening making out. Your house is huge enough, I'm sure we could find a good hiding place. And if we get caught, you can blame me."

  I waggle my eyebrows and smile wickedly at her, but all I get is a soft, "ha!" and a half a smile.

  Tough case.

  "Do you not... want me to meet them?"

  I let my eyes slide away when she looks up this time, unable to bear it if she is ashamed of me. Because of the arthritis? Or just the newness of our relationship?

  She squeezes my hands. "No, you dummy, that's not it."

  When I look back at her, she's sincere. So then it has to be about the secrets she and Erick have between them.

  I let it go. For the moment.

  I nod toward the arena floor. "I saw this brown-belt fight yesterday. She looks pretty good. Here." I tug her slightly closer, so she can see the match better, and so I can slide one arm around her waist.

  I'm gratified when she doesn't look around to see who's watching, because I don't care.

  The girl on the floor gets beat in the first round but comes out swinging in the second. This could be a longer fight.

  "If I win today, will you let me come to the party?" I ask, low in Emily's ear.

  "Need incentive?" she returns.

  "Ouch." I cover my heart with my free hand, playing it up.

  She thumps my knee.

  Then covers the spot with her palm, rubbing softly. "How's your pain?"

  "Nothing like before," I say, and it's true. Today is about a normal day for me, and I intend to give our match my best shot.

  "You're not going to take it easy on me? Now that you know?" I ask.

  She scoffs. "You planning to take it easy on me bec
ause I'm a girl?"

  "'Course not."

  She smiles at me. We're so close. I really want to kiss her again, but I refrain. There are a lot of other participants, senseis, and parents around. I don't want anyone to think we've got funny business going on before the final match.

  "You know, most girls would be worried about their boyfriend's ego. Maybe thinking they need to throw the match so he would think he's the stronger partner."

  I meant it as a joke, but there's a minute hesitation before she comes back with a softly-spoken, "I'm not like most girls."

  I squeeze her waist. "I know. That's why I lov…—like you so much."

  I rush to cover my blunder. If Emily has reservations about dating me, I don't want to declare that I love her. It's been me pushing for this relationship the whole time, but if she's not sure... And the fact that she's not inviting me to this party is pretty conclusive.

  I don’t think I can take a rejection if I tell her how I really feel.

  15 - Emily

  Brett goes silent and even though we're sitting close together, we’re suddenly disconnected.

  But I'm not sure how to fix it.

  What I said is true. I'm not like most girls.

  I'm a Chaser.

  And after seeing how my mom shut down after my dad died, am I crazy to even consider a relationship with Brett?

  The usher waves to Brett and me, and we stand. There is one more match before our final.

  He is silent as we move to the warm-up area and start stretching. I'm still warm from the match earlier, limber and ready.

  Only I don't know if I'm ready.

  What if Brett and I go forward with this relationship, but me being a Chaser drives a wedge between us—just like it has with my mom? After tonight, she won't be able to stop me. I'm determined to talk to Uncle Felix tonight and get him to agree to let me fight. Especially with the recent vamp attack, we need more Chasers than ever to combat their numbers.

  It's life or death.

  Do I dare have a boyfriend while I'm trying to Chase?

  I don't have a good answer. I feel just like I did last night, riding on the back of his bike. I don't know what I'm doing.

  Finally, it’s time. We walk side-by-side to the arena floor, then square off. The referee reminds us of the match rules, and we knock fists.