Well, goddamn, he apologized. Miracles do happen. Though you didn’t exactly hurt me. You just shoved me up against the wall and kissed me. As a matter of fact, you kissed me so hard I can still feel it in my toes. “You need to stop pushing me around,” she managed. Come to think about it, he hadn’t ever hurt her, unless you counted when he’d shoved her out of the way in the alley, throwing her up against the Dumpster. “I don’t like it.”
“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “Look, I’m Drakulein, I’m part demon. That means I . . . I have a set of very strong instincts, most of which help to keep me alive.” His eyes were fixed on his upturned palms, held loose and cupped in his lap.
“Protective instincts,” she supplied. Her mouth tasted like morning and her eyes were sandy, and she felt muzzy as she always did after sleeping too long. But hell, she’d needed it.
“We’re segregated from women with sorcerous ability because we can . . . we can become attached. Very attached. The longer we spend with them, the more . . . cemented the instincts can become. They’re triggered by scent, mostly; and if I go off I need your help. If you scream, or struggle, or become afraid, I might drown. There are a couple things you can do—”
Wait just one goddamn cotton-pickin’ second. “Hold on just one second. I don’t even know you, I’m not even—”
His fingers twitched. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, cutting her off. “The Golden usually have one or two Drakul bodyguards. It’s not as bad as it seems. I’ll be careful, I just need you to understand a few things.”
She opened her mouth to protest and stopped, a curious thought occurring to her. She’d asked him to help her get rid of Robert. He’d screamed her name in the dark when the awful cold had spilled through her body. And let’s not forget the thing he got away from my window. Just tore it—and the fire escape—away. He carried me up here and took care of calling work and the police. And he was here in the dark last night, all bloody and beaten-up. Waiting.
And all she’d been able to think of in the troll-tunnels was, what’s happened to Ryan?
It was official. She was about to do something really stupid and girly. Oh, God, I’m going to regret this. “Like what?” Her tone, flat and ironic, surprised even her. I have the worst taste in men. What is it about this guy? I like him, even if I don’t understand half of what he talks about. This is so goddamn crazy.
“Like when I ask you to stay still, it’s because it helps me stay calm. If you’re frightened or hurt, it may make me unmanageable. If you stay calm, move slowly, it will calm me down. If I hold you still, it’s because I want to make sure I don’t hurt you. It . . . reassures me.”
“Stay calm.” I sound like an idiot. “Calm you down. Reassure you.” What if I’m half out of my mind with fear because I’m being chased by a fucking demon, huh? What about that?
“Just imagine I’m a big wild animal. You don’t want to give it a reason to get nervous, do you?” His fingers tightened again, curling into fists. “I’m sorry. Really, I am. I shouldn’t have allowed it to happen.”
“You’re not an animal.” For a moment she wondered why she said it so fiercely; then she realized that it bothered her, the way he seemed to consider himself such a second-class citizen. What he’d told her about this Order pissed her off. And the way this Paul had treated her hadn’t impressed her either. “You’re not an animal,” she repeated, a little more softly. “You’re a human being, dammit. So you have these instincts. Are you saying you’re going to . . . do what? Hurt me? Try to . . . um, eat me?”
“No.” His eyes squeezed closed, but the tension left his shoulders bit by bit. “It means you have your own Drakul. I have something else to tell you, too.”
He looks like he’s expecting me to start screaming. Chess reached out, her hand very pale and visibly shaking. She touched his left hand. His back was to the window, and the sun brought out blue highlights in his hair and the shadow of charcoal stubble on his jaw. He was a very nice-looking man, now that she looked at him.
Her fingers touched his knotted fist. She curled her hand around his much larger one, as far as she could, that was. He was pale as she was, but his skin was a different texture. Rougher. If you’re part demon do you have the same equipment men have? She bit back a ludicrous giggle. Shut up, Chess. Quit it. Sure, your hormones are all in a stew, he’s a nice guy and he smells good, but for God’s sake. He’s part demon. And you don’t know a damn thing about him. “In a minute. First of all, are you going to try to take my books?”
“What?” Now his eyes opened, he turned his head and looked at her as if she’d just made an embarrassing bodily noise. “Of course not. I’m telling you I’ve thrown away my entire fucking life and tied myself to you. If the Order finds me before I can explain to them you’re a potential Golden, they’ll put me down like a rabid dog. They can’t have Drakul getting territorial, we’re the muscle of their war. We start protecting only our homes and families and pretty soon the Inkani will pick us off one by one, and the skins won’t be able to play at having their nice safe little world—”
That’s the biggest load of crap I’ve ever heard. “Nonsense.” Her fingers tightened, she would have driven her nails into his hand but didn’t dare. “That’s bullshit. I think you’d fight even harder and find ways to cooperate, especially if the women had anything to say about it. My mom wouldn’t stand for any territorial crap, you can be sure of that.”
“It doesn’t matter if you see it that way. That’s the way the Malik see it.” His shoulders slumped.
“And I can’t say I’m too impressed with them.” She heard the sarcasm in her own voice, sighed. “All right. So what do you have to tell these guys to make them leave you alone?” And not so incidentally, leave me alone?
“That you’re a Golden, Chess. You’re damn close to a full Phoenicis already, unless I miss my guess.” He kept his eyes closed. “I should have recognized it, Paul should have recognized it, but we didn’t. There hasn’t been a potential for five hundred years; Melwyn Halston was the last one to achieve full power. When he broke with the Order he retreated here from Vienna and his squad of Drakul kept the Inkani out for a good half-century—”
Halston? Like the Halston who built my library? “Century? Melwyn Halston was borne in 1826 in London, he moved here in 1851 and—”
“Paper. Paper to mislead people. Melwyn Evrard Halston was the last Phoenicis. When he was finally killed by a Viperi Inkanus he was nine hundred fifty three human years old—”
“You’re crazy.” She let go of his hand and pushed the comforter back, struggled free of the sheets. She must have thrashed during the night. “I need a shower and some coffee before I can deal with this. Just . . . try not to hold anyone up against the wall while I’m in the bathroom, okay?” Chess stalked around the bed, patting at her hair and feeling the tangles in it, wincing each time her fingers found a fresh one. I’ll have to douse it in conditioner and spend some time working everything out, dammit. And he’s not done yet, he’ll probably have some new and stunning news to give me. Perfect. Wonderful. Lovely.
His hand shot out as she paced toward her dresser, closing around her wrist with warm, hard fingers. Chess stopped, looking down at him. His eyes were open, his face shadowed by the sun coming through the window on the other side of the bed. “I’m Drakulein,” he said quietly, but with a harsh edge she’d never heard in his voice. His dark gaze never left her face. “Are you afraid of me now?”
She tugged against his hold, gave up. “Of course not,” she snapped. “You got that thing away from my window, you nursed me through a concussion and dragged me to the weirdest bar I’ve ever seen in my life, then held me up against the wall and kissed me. Not to mention you got rid of Robert. All in all, if you can stop calling me little nicknames and shoving me around, I think we’ll get along just fine.” Her breath caught in her throat as his thumb drifted across the underside of her wrist, a gentle touch, his calluses scraping. “Let go of me.”
He sta
red at her for a long moment, his eyes turning even darker. “You treat me like I’m...” He sounded like he had something caught in his throat too. “Like I’m not . . . tainted.”
Oh, God. “You don’t have any control over who your parents were,” she managed in a curious husky voice that sounded nothing like her usual brisk self. “And you’re . . . I mean, you’re not very polite, but you’re on the right side. Aren’t you?”
A single brief nod, his chin dipping. He needs a shave. Why the hell am I thinking of that?
“From now on, it’s your side I’m on. Trust me.” He looked absolutely serious. “Please?”
His fingers loosened, and Chess pulled away. “We’re partners, remember? I’ll get ready and down some coffee, and then we’ll go collect your dude. You’re probably wanting to bring him back here, right?”
“Maybe. Depends on what shape he’s in when we find him.” There was no levity in his tone.
“You know, you have a really comforting way of putting these things.” It’s the funniest thing. I don’t sound amused either. She took a deep breath. Okay, first things first. Shower. And coffee.
Ten
He called the number on the scrap of paper she’d left in her bed, but nobody answered. He recognized the number, of course; it was the cheap room Paul had gotten for them, the rendezvous. It simply rang endlessly. The sound of water running in the shower—and her occasional breaking into tuneless singing—mocked him.
You’re a human being. We’re partners, remember? And she’d said it so lightly, as if it didn’t matter at all.
Sunlight came weak and weary through the windows, clouds massing in the north. He could smell more cold rain on the way, and her entire apartment had started to smell like him, too. Like a lair, his scent mixed with hers, a powerful calming weight in the air. He’d just told her the worst thing most Malik women could think of—a Drakul’s possessive instincts tied to her, him shadowing her footsteps and tainting the air—and she acted like it was no big deal.
And she was a skin, for all her potential. Just a skin. And yet she’d trained herself, going out to hunt a skornac and dealing with his presence and the Inkani attack with far more presence of mind than he’d seen in plenty of Malik trainees. And now, she treated him just like anyone else.
Just like one of her skin friends, maybe. But that’s good enough for me. Better than I deserve.
She would need food, and he still had things to tell her before they set out. It was already past noon, they might be out past dark if Paul was out chasing tail instead of staying in his bolthole and waiting for Ryan to find him.
But I’ve already wasted time following her around. Only I can’t really call it a waste of time, I was here to protect her and that’s what matters. Paul will be impossible, but once he understands he’ll do his best. He might even try to charm her.
He had to breathe deeply through the red flare of rage that called up. If he was even thinking of attacking his Malik, it was further along than he’d thought.
Why had Paul not answered the phone any other time he’d called in? Why hadn’t Paul been at the rendezvous? Was it just coincidence, them missing each other, or had the Malik been holed up somewhere else, waiting, unable to go back to the rendezvous?
By the time she was out of the shower and halfway through breakfast, pouring herself more coffee and humming to herself as she checked her demon-hunting bag, he was in a fine stew of controlled impatience. She had several powders and different items sealed in Ziploc bags, an idea so practical and simple it approached genius. Her Fang lay set-aside on the table as she buttered more toast and poured some apple juice, cheerful and unconcerned. Her hair, drawn back in a sleek braid, was even darker with water, and he smelled her shampoo. She’d changed into a long-sleeved gray T-shirt and another pair of well-worn jeans. He wondered when she wore the slacks and conservative skirts he saw in her closet.
Christ, I’ve gone poking through her closet like some weirdo. But her clothes smell like her. I smell like her, now. The thought sent a bolt of something hot and gold through him, the demon turning over uneasily at the bottom of his mind. Night was coming, and with it, his full strength. All he had to do was wait.
She muttered to herself as she pulled a small plastic tub out of the bag and shook it. “Salt,” she said. “Blessed salt. Very useful. You have no idea how many little jars I have of this stuff, some with wormwood, some with angelica, some with charcoal—”
“With charcoal?” He raised an eyebrow, folding his hands around his coffee cup. The warmth sank into his hands and added to the funny light sensation in his chest. He could imagine sitting here across this table with her, as night pressed against the windows; could imagine her cooking dinner and singing along with the music while he watched. He could imagine watching television with her, watching the light play over her face as she laughed.
I’m turning into a fucking Leave It To Beaver rerun. Control yourself, Ryan. For God’s sake control yourself.
“For consecrating a fire,” she replied, in her don’t you know that? tone. “Repels mnyar and skornac, but those tentacled fuckers like to stay underground in damp places, the books say. Hard to light a fire down there.”
“A Drakul could,” he heard himself say. “There’s a simple spell; flame’s easy for a part-demon. Wonder if it’d work.”
Her eyes grew round. He saw that the gold flecks were becoming more pronounced, giving her gaze an eerie bright quality. “You think? Where can we test that?” She sounded, actually, excited at the prospect. He even heard her pulse speed up, could smell the lightening of her scent. And damned if he didn’t feel a blurring pleasant glow at the thought of making her happy.
Easy, Ryan. Steady down. Don’t get her all upset. “Not anyplace around here. Maybe later. Right now we’ve got other problems.”
“Right.” The excitement left her face, and he cursed himself for reminding her. “All right. What’s this golden thingie you keep talking about?”
Dammit, where do I start? “They’re special.” He looked down at his coffee cup, wishing there was an answer in the thick black brew. She seemed to like his coffee, at least. “We call them the Golden because that’s what they are, gold. The stonekin call them vakr, which is their word for sunlight. In the old days, before Christianity, they were usually sacred to the sun gods because of the way they worked their sorcery: they deal with light and they’re pretty damn inimical to the Inkani. I’ve heard that it makes sense, the demons would naturally call out a counterbalancing response in the human race, like any prey taking on aspects to defend itself from a predator. Anyway, the Golden, they’re Phoenicis.” He took a deep breath, smelling her. She kept fiddling with her bag between bites of toast. “Certain people are born with a . . . potential to become Phoenicis, a kind of avatar, I guess. The potentials are triggered by self-defense during a demon attack, by being around other Golden, or by working sorcery. You’re powerful, and when you reach your full potential there will probably be a fair number of demons you can get rid of just by taking on your mantle. But before then, you’re vulnerable, and you need training. I’ll teach you what I can, and the Order will send a full division if necessary—”
He knew it was going too smoothly, but her interruption still surprised him. “Wait a second. I don’t want anything to do with your Order. I told you that.” She pushed the Fang into the bag and closed the flap. It was a relief. Even the thing’s presence made him uneasy, the demon in him recognizing something hostile to it. “They’ll try to take my books.”
He heard the possessiveness in her tone and winced slightly. Phoenicis did get territorial over their Nests, and she probably unconsciously felt the library—built by another Golden and used as a home of knowledge ever since—to be hers. He didn’t blame her. “They’ll just guard your library, and probably help you with funding and things like that. You don’t understand, with a Phoenicis to wake up other Golden, we can begin fighting back instead of just defending the cities we’ve
taken. We can begin to push back the Inkani, we can—”
“No.” Her chin jutted out stubbornly. “I don’t care, I don’t want anything to do with this Order. I have to deal with enough supercilious assholes at work.” Her eyes swung up, met his as her fork paused in midair. “But . . . they’ll try to hurt you if I don’t play along with them, right?”
Christ, she’s too quick. Dammit. “I’m a danger to them,” he said slowly. “If they let me go without punishing me, it will set a bad example for the other Drakulein.”
Her eyes glittered. “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.” She jabbed at her eggs with her fork. “Those bastards.”
“They’re not all bad. They’re fighting the Inkani. It’s serious business, Chess.” Holy Christ, I’m sticking up for the Malik. Damn. Who ever would have thought? “All things considered, they’re the lesser of two evils.”
“So was Hitler, in the beginning,” she mumbled. He pretended not to hear. Her profile was beautiful, severe and classic like an old statue; her eyelashes swept down, veiling that disquieting gold-flecked gaze. “So you think I’m one of these Goldie thingies.”
“The stonekin told me you were. Last night, in the Shelaugh.”
“The sheloff . . . oh, yeah. The bar.” She nodded sagely, took another bite of toast. “Any chance he could be wrong?”
Not bloody fucking likely, since he took you underground. They don’t take humans underground; even the Malik are there only sometimes as allies on sufferance. “No chance, sweetheart.”
She didn’t protest the nickname, for once, staring at her plate. That managed to disturb him. She was taking the news a little too calmly, after all. He didn’t trust this sudden docility, just like he didn’t trust an Inkani treaty.
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