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He cut me a look. “Are you going to check on the Prius situation?”

“Maybe.”

“You’re not keeping her,” he said flatly.

I made a low sound in my throat, something that wasn’t exactly agreement. “Hmm.”

Jett let out a snort and shook his head. He adjusted his reins, his jaw ticking once. “You know better,” he said. “Monsters like us don’t get happy endings.”

I didn’t answer…because he was right.

He blew out a breath. “Don’t do anything we can’t clean up,” he said before cuing his horse and riding off.

I watched him for a moment, the dust settling in his wake, then turned Steinbeck toward the inn.

Because whether Jett liked it or not, I was going to see Sienna. And the cycle or the hunger or whatever the hell else was waking in Blackwood wasn’t going to stop me.

Steinbeck flicked an ear back, unimpressed.

Good thing I wasn’t asking for permission.

The Blackwood Inn sat on the corner like the town institution it was, complete with peeling paint, a crooked sign, and hanging baskets of flowers doing their best to thrive despite everything. The parking lot was a patchwork of gravel and oil stains, Big Hank’s wounded outline visible just down the block like he was keeping watch.

I tied Steinbeck to the hitching post by the porch and stepped inside.

The lobby smelled like lemon polish and old carpet. A faded couch sagged beneath a crocheted blanket and an army of lace doilies, each one perched in strict defense of the upholstery. A stack of tourist brochures completed the tableau, proudly showcasing Blackwood’s Greatest Hits: mining history, hiking trails…serial killers.

Hattie stood behind the front desk, flipping through a binder. Her face lit up as soon as she saw me. “Well, well. Sterling Hayes,” she said. “Back so soon. At this rate, I’m gonna start charging you the nightly rate for how often I see your face.”

“Blame the new girl,” I said. “She keeps dragging me into town.”

Hattie’s eyebrows lifted, a slow smile tugging at her mouth. “Mmm. Thought it might be her. She went out job hunting today. That seems like a good sign.”

“How’d that go?” I asked, keeping my tone easy. Casual. Like this was a polite conversation and I didn’t already have a front-row seat for Sienna’s entire morning.

I knew far more than I should. Ryder had been shadowing her around town on my orders, and the listening device I’d tucked behind the molding in her room filled in the rest. I’d originally justified planting it because the cycle was waking and she was alone, concussed, and vulnerable.

That excuse wouldn’t survive five seconds in court, but if it helped me sleep, fine.

I’d heard her this morning, the sheets rustling softly. Her breathing had changed, and she’d whispered my name in a way that had gone straight to my dick.

I was pretty sure she’d been having a wet dream about me.

I was already considering upgrading the device to a camera.

Next time she whispered my name like that, I wanted to see the way her body moved when she did—at least until I could see it in person.

Hattie’s eyes sparkled. “Well, she came back smelling like mortuary chic, so I’d say her job hunt was…complicated.”

“Mortuary chic,” I repeated.

“Morton at Bloom and Gloom let her test drive the spray bottles,” she said. “Apparently she slipped on some water and knocked over multiple bottles of embalming fluid instead.”

A low huff of laughter escaped me before I could stop it. That explained Ryder’s text.

“She looked so horrified I wanted to hug her when she walked through the lobby,” Hattie went on. “She didn’t notice me, but she was holding that head of hers high. Like a very determined, slightly decaying debutante.”

“Has she been dizzy?” I asked.