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“But that’s when I knew it was time. I swore to your dad that I’d make sure you survived.”
    â€œWhy would he care?” she snapped. “He didn’t while he was alive. What hold did he have on you anyway, to make you do this?”
    â€œHe saved my life.”

FOUR
    Mason strode to the fireplace. He stacked the wood he’d tossed aside but didn’t light it. Only for emergencies. Not comfort. The woodstove would do for now.
    â€œLet’s make a deal,” he said. “Eat dinner with me, and I’ll tell you how I met your father.”
    â€œLook, just call him Mitch. I did. He sired me, but that’s about it.”
    â€œFrom the way he talked about you, I thought you were close.”
    That seemed to take her by surprise. She matched his frown, twirling the end of her ponytail around her forefinger. “Now I know you’re shitting me.”
    He grinned despite everything. Something about Jenna Barclay tempted him. If—no, when —she became aware of her effect on him, he’d lose part of himself. She’d hold his attraction over his head like an anvil.
    The ridiculous mental image reminded him of Saturday morning cartoons. He’d been four years old and oblivious to anything beyond the TV screen. But nothing so normal as vegging on a Saturday morning would ever happen again. No more homes and towns, no more modern life. None of it. The last bastion of western resistance was falling.
    That meant he needed to keep control.
    Besides, at that moment, another of his body’s needs had to be satisfied: his stomach growled. He hadn’t eaten in two days, not since before that thing tried to devour his leg. He’d chopped off its head. Mason had barely escaped the motel parking lot. While cleaning up, he’d seen the footage of the prison riot and knew their time was done. Promises to keep. Which was the reason he’d been hanging around a one-horse town like Culver.
    He returned to the kitchen and retrieved the casserole. Like he’d learned in the military, he approached his chores in linear fashion. One thing at a time until the area is secure. So food first. Preferably with Jenna. Next, he’d find a way to keep her in the cabin without tying her down.
    The noodles sticking out from the tuna goo were overcooked, all brown and crispy from the woodstove’s uneven heat. They would have been better off eating the ingredients straight from the can.
    He gestured to the dish. “So, are you going to have any of this?”
    â€œI’m not eating with you,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m not talking to you. I’m not going to be your friend or your confidante or your shrink. I want to go home.”
    Mason swallowed his temper and set the table, as if she’d agreed. But he didn’t wait for her to get off her ass and join him. Even the charred casserole was enough to turn his stomach ferocious. He ate in silence, needing the fuel.
    Even after twenty minutes, she hadn’t budged. He knew because he kept his eye on the clock—not that time would mean much anymore. Not like the trains and buses would be running, or folks waiting to punch out after a hard shift. Nothing left but daytime and nighttime. Safe times and times to hide. That was all.
    He almost smiled. There was freedom in letting certain aspects of the modern world go.
    Then, just when he was beginning to lose hope—not that she would eat, but that she might be too mulish to see sense—Jenna stood. She didn’t meet his eyes as she sat before her plate. But she served up the food. And she ate.
    â€œNow talk,” she said simply.
    And Mason had his answer.
    However long it took, he’d have a partner. Mitch had said as much when describing his clever and practical daughter—the daughter who felt none of the same affection in return.
    Mason had made his promise with a worst-case scenario in mind. He’d try. And if