“You didn’t seriously think we’d let you wander out on the streets alone?” Paul didn’t sound conciliatory in the least. “We saw hunting teams last night, out looking for you. You’re in danger, girl.”
She shook her head, as if he was too dense for words. Dug in her purse for her knife, jammed it back into her demon-hunting bag. Ryan hoped she wasn’t planning on going out again tonight. Spending the night on a rooftop with a complaining Malik was never fun. He had no desire to crouch outside in the rain again, even if it was to protect his Golden.
“You followed me. For how long? To Charlie’s? All night?” Chess’s tone could have broken glass.
“We spent all night on a goddamn roof, and we’ve spent all day in alleys, freezing our asses off and waiting for you. And when you come out, you prance right up to an Inkani dog—”
“That’s enough, Paul.” The flat tone of finality in his own voice startled Ryan. It startled Chess, too. She gave him another, longer glance before capping the ointment jar and setting it with a precise click back on the table. Was that gratefulness in her eyes? If it was, he’d bottle Paul’s mouth physically, if he had to. “Leave her alone.”
“I told you guys to wait here,” she muttered darkly, swiping her tangled hair back out of her eyes. “I distinctly remember telling you to wait here!”
“Would you have preferred to face the Inkani on your own?” He had the small nasty satisfaction of seeing her shudder, her cheeks white as paper. “The nice thing to do would be to thank me.” I am, after all, fucking covered in blood. Not to mention with half my clothes shredded. But that’s okay. I don’t mind fighting, if you’re safe.
Her hands curled into fists. “You know, I was actually feeling charitable toward you when I left the library.”
Well, that’s something. “Thank you.” If I sounded any more sarcastic I’d probably choke on my own words.
She stared at him as if she couldn’t decide whether to scream or throw something, and finally settled for stalking toward her bedroom. “Get cleaned up, get bandaged up. Then we’re going to have a little talk about what stay here means.”
His mouth threatened to curl into a smile. “I sit and heel like a good boy. But I don’t play dead very well.” Oh, Christ. Did I just say that?
Chess stopped so quickly she almost overbalanced, staring at her bedroom door. Her tangled dark hair fell down on either side of her face. Her eyes glittered, and her hands were clenched so tightly he was almost afraid she would hurt herself.
She was so goddamn beautiful his heart threatened to stop.
“I don’t want to do this anymore.”
He doubted Paul heard her. She merely whispered, as if she thought she was speaking but couldn’t get together the air to do so. Ryan’s mouth had gone dry. She smelled of paper and dust, and the night outside drenched with rain. She smelled of the adrenaline of recent danger and of the clean gold that was her, the same woman who sat at her kitchen table and sobbed into her hands, quiet and alone.
The woman he had fallen in love with.
And over that smell, the sharp spike of fear and anger, taunting his control. He was vulnerable to her fear. Be gentle, Drakul. Be as gentle as you can, she’s not used to this. She should never have had to see any of this.
“Don’t want to do what anymore? Hunt demons?” His voice sounded strange even to himself. Paul glanced up from the table and just as quickly looked down, his cheeks flaming with embarrassment Ryan could smell, as well as the persistent tang of fear. I could have lost you. “That’s a profound relief to me, really. Because you’re going to get yourself killed, Chess.”
She all but vibrated with tension, and it teased at his control. The demon in his head stirred, tested the air, and subsided, secure in its strength. Soothed by her presence, even though she was strung tighter than a tripwire. But if she became much more upset, the demon would wake. This time, he wouldn’t be able to put it to sleep without her body, without the oldest tranquilizer known to man.
If she pushed him too far over the edge he wouldn’t be able to stop when she said no. And there was only one word for that, not a pretty word either.
“I don’t mind the demons.” She swallowed, her throat moving. Stared at her bedroom door. “It’s the dead bodies I can’t handle. You killed people, Ryan. People are dead. I don’t want to do this anymore.”
Paul spoke up. “Then come with us. We’ve got to get you out of town. It’s too dangerous. In a week or so, when the Malik have arrived in force, we can—”
“No.” She shook her head.
Goddammit, Paul, rabbit-talking again. We’re staying here where it’s safe. “Chess—”
“No.”
Ryan was fast losing the battle with himself. “Goddammit, Chess—”
“No!” She all but screamed, rounding on him, her eyes burning with gold and a faint golden glimmer crackling in the air around her. Ryan’s jaw threatened to drop. A mantle. She’s producing a mantle.
Holy Christ. He’d been told about mantles, the etheric force of the Golden taking on the shape of a full Phoenicis, golden wings and golden proportions, the beauty of a bird made of sunfire. But he had never dreamed he’d ever see it. The wings trembled, furled close to her body, not yet ready to spread. Few demons could stand even a weak mantle. And not even a High One could stand a full-grown Phoenicis with a full mantle. That’s why they killed potentials. If he could just keep her alive long enough to train her, she still would be be fragile—but not nearly as easy to kill. She would have a chance.
For a few moments it glimmered, and a hot wind seemed to slide through the room, touching every surface with a golden flush. The smell was unutterably sweet, as if Chess had been distilled down to her bare essence and tinted with amber. He took a deep breath, even as the golden light threatened to spear through his eyes and strike pain into the cold darkness of his demon-bred bones.
He took another deep breath. Held her eyes, squinting to see through the shield of golden light that drained away, swirling as it dissipated. We’ll be lucky if nobody notices that, she’s pulling on all the etheric strings around here, making a big disturbance. Christ. “Chess.” His voice was flat, level. “I’m on your side, remember? Nobody’s side but yours. You’re upset. You’ve had to deal with something no rational person should have been forced into dealing with. Just relax a little.”
“Relax? Relax? People are dead. Grady’s dead. They’re dead!”
Who the hell is Grady? “If you’re talking about the Inkani spiders, they were dead the second they signed their souls over to the demons. If you’re talking about the civilians . . . yeah, they’re dead.” No reason to sugarcoat the truth. “My job is to make sure you don’t join them. And, if I can, to keep any more people from dying. I didn’t kill them. The Inkani did.” Come on, sweetheart. See reason. Help me out here. Use that fantastic wonderful brain of yours and figure this out.
Her fingers loosened, her shoulders slumped under the now-dry T-shirt. Had he gotten through to her?
“Get cleaned up.” Her voice was toneless. “Then get out of my goddamn house.”
I don’t think so, sweetheart. Nobody in this apartment is going anywhere until I decide it’s safe. “I am not going to let the Inkani kill you.” Just as toneless. “You’re not getting rid of me. That’s final.”
“It’s my house.”
That doesn’t mean shit to a demon, sweetheart. “And I’m your Drakul. Have the sense to listen to me. Go change. Paul will cook you dinner.”
“I could call the cops. I could call Charlie. I can have you evicted. You can’t—”
He met her glare with one of his own, peeling his shoulders away from the wall and drawing himself up to his full height. “Try me.” He heard the growl rattling in his chest. “Just try me, sweetheart. Give me an excuse.” If you don’t stop this I’m going to drag you into your bedroom and undress you. After we get a few things straight about who’s in charge when there’s a city full of Inkani and no g
oddamn help in sight.
She whirled away, stamped toward her bedroom, and slammed the door. The bathroom light came on, and the shower started. It was no use. He could still hear the sound of her sobbing.
“Good one,” Paul muttered.
“Shut up.” Ryan unfolded his arms. If you weren’t a Malik I’d kick your ass for pissing her off. “Don’t you start too. I’m going to go up to the roof, take a look around. If she leaves this apartment I’m going to be very upset.”
“Hurry up, then.” Paul’s tawny head bent over the tabletop, but his shoulders were shaking. Whether it was from tension or repressed mirth, Ryan didn’t want to know.
Seventeen
Chess didn’t bother to leave her bedroom, simply took a long, hot shower and collapsed in bed, unwilling to let the day get any more complicated. If the world wanted to go on, that was fine—but it would have to go on without her. Besides, she was bone-deep exhausted. Pulling a pillow over her head to shut out her problems sounded like a damn good idea, better even than eating.
She woke out of a sound sleep when Ryan’s hand closed over her mouth; his other hand touched her shoulder, shook her. Gently, but she wasn’t fooled. He could dislocate her arm in a hot second if he felt like it. He smelled like a winter night, cold and full of rain, with smoky anger boiling off him in waves. Chess instinctively tried to squirm away, her pulse skyrocketing; he didn’t let her move. “Quiet.” A mere breath of sound, somehow menacing anyway. “Or I’ll tie you up.”
He sounded serious, and Chess’s eyes suddenly seemed far too big for their sockets. She yanked the blanket and tried to wriggle away again. He didn’t even seem to notice. “Don’t be ridiculous, I wouldn’t,” he whispered. “Just making sure you’re awake, you slept all day. Get up, get dressed.”
His hand left her mouth slowly, his fingertips brushing her cheek. “What’s going on?” I slept all day? The room suddenly didn’t seem to have any air left.
“Get dressed, Chess. There’s something going on, and I’m nervous.” His eyes glittered in the near-dark, dusky light fading in her window. She had slept all day. “Want to be ready to move.” He loomed over the bed, and Chess suddenly felt like an idiot. Now that she’d had a chance to catch up on sleep in her own bed, she felt a lot less unsteady—but hungry. She wanted an omelet, dripping with melted cheese. Bacon. Pancakes with maple syrup. It was nighttime again, and all she was craving was breakfast food. Her body clock was all screwed up. It didn’t look like she’d be able to sleep in Monday morning either.
He let go of her arm, too, and straightened. Buster Keaton looked mournfully over his shoulder, his eyes infinitely sad.
“What’s happening?” Don’t let it be any more dead bodies. Please, God, don’t let it be any more dead bodies.
“It’s too quiet out there. I’ve got a bad feeling about this. Come on, get dressed.”
“I suppose you’re going to watch.” Why am I whispering? “A little bit of privacy would be nice.”
“Maybe I like watching you.” She saw the gleam of teeth in a smile, before he ghosted across to her window, peered out. “I promise I won’t look. Unless you want me to.”
She stretched, yawning. It was cold, so cold she wondered if the heaters had stopped working. Slid her feet out of bed, shivering. “I can’t figure out whether I like you or want to heave you out the window.”
“You don’t have to like me. I’m just here to keep you alive.” The way he said it almost hurt.
“I spent the day reading Melwyn Halston’s last diary. Did you know he was involved with a Drakul? Guy was named Samuel. They were apparently really tight—”
“Chess, get dressed.” His shoulders were rigid. “Please.”
“I am getting dressed.” She was already in a T-shirt and boxers, and she grabbed jeans, underwear, and socks, retreating to the bathroom. The light stung her eyes, and she shivered as she used the toilet and dressed quickly, tying her hair back in a sloppy ponytail. You idiot, I’m trying to be nice to you. Her teeth almost chattered as she opened the door and stepped out, was temporarily blinded when Ryan reached around the corner and flipped off the bathroom light.
“There’s a scout in the alley.” His tone was so calm, he sounded like he was ordering a pizza. “You’ll need a coat.”
A demon? Outside? “Did you turn the heat off?” She edged for her closet, found a sweater by touch, and pulled it over her head.
“No. Are you cold?”
She nodded, forgetting it was dark. “My coat’s in the hall clos—”
He seemed to blur through space, ending up with his arm around her, spinning as the window shattered and the warding laid across it fluoresced into the visible spectrum, popping and hissing as threads of energy snapped. Chess let out a short, sharp yell, found herself shoved toward the door as Ryan cursed, a sharp vehement sound. Her fingers closed around the doorknob as something snarling and smelling horribly fetid landed with a thump inside her bedroom window. Chess yanked on the door and found she was breathless. The high, thin screaming sound was her, and she tore the bedroom door open and spilled out into her living room.
Growls and thumps shook the building. She heard Ryan’s voice, cursing again, and the shivering sound of breaking glass. That was probably my Keaton print! Goddammit!
Her demon-hunting bag was on the kitchen table. Chess bolted for it, running behind the couch and hooking around the wall into the dining room. There was another confused flurry of motion, more glass breaking, and Paul appeared out of the darkness near her living-room window, a gun roaring. She actually saw the muzzle flash and ran into her table, almost tripping over a teetering stack of physics and English textbooks. Her bag was over her head in a trice, thank God she’d put her knife back in it.
All right. I think I can handle this. She plunged her right hand in her bag, whirling back toward the window, her hip banging the table a good one. Her fingers closed around the hilt and she yanked the knife out just as her bedroom door shattered, something dark and human-sized flung through it with incredible force, demolishing the flimsy wood.
I am never going to get my damage deposit back. She took a deep breath, and blue light burst out as she dragged the knife free of her bag. “In nominae Eumenidae, coniurat vax!”
It was bastardized Latin, meant to show any demon hidden in the vicinity, but it worked. She heard a chilling scream of demonic pain as Ryan hauled himself up from the floor. He’d just been tossed through her bedroom door.
“Ryan!” Paul backed up, two guns in his hands, both leveled at a patch of snarling, rabid darkness cringing in the corner near the entertainment center. The TV screen glowed with blue phosphorescence, the smell of ozone crackling through her apartment. Her teeth chattered. She expected to see her breath plume on the air. Why is it so cold?
“I’m on it.” Ryan sounded calm. “Chess?”
“What the fuck is it?” Well, for once I sound capable of kicking ass.
“Get her out of here, Paul. There’s a High One close.”
“Holy shit.” Paul kept backing up, skirting her couch gracefully without looking. His guns were steady, but his hair stuck up anyhow. He looked as if he’d been awakened a little less gently than she had. Chess stared at the cringing thing. High One? What does he mean, High One? I don’t like the sound of that.
“What do you mean, High—” The smell of burning charcoal and dried blood tainted the cool night wind pouring in through the broken window. Chess ducked reflexively, Paul let out a shapeless yell, and Ryan was suddenly there, colliding with the thing a scant two feet from Chess, driving it down next to her kitchen table with a cracking sound. He’d broken the floor, he’d hit it so hard.
Even the skornac wasn’t that fast. It’s a kibbik. Oh my God, a kibbik in my living room! She finally placed the smell, charcoal and copper, according to the books it was all teeth and hair and appetite.
And they usually roamed in packs.
It squealed in a falsetto that sawed right through C
hess’s head. She might have stabbed herself with her own knife while trying to clap her hands over her ears to shut it out, if the cry hadn’t been cut short with a gurgle.
Ryan rose, spinning his knife around his fingers, black demon blood exploding free of the shining metal. “Put that thing away, Chess!” he barked. “Paul, get the fuck back here!”
“No need to shout.” Paul had Chess’s arm, hauled her up. He tried to wrestle the glowing-blue knife free of her numb fingers. Chess ripped away from him. “Let’s go. Put the Fang away, girl, it might cripple him!”
What the— Understanding flashed. The knife affected anything demonic, it glowed whenever Ryan was around. It was either put the knife away and trust the Drakul, or keep the knife out and risk affecting him, maybe to the point he couldn’t fight. “My knife,” she said, numbly. “It’s my knife, I’m not going to—”
“Please, Chess.” Ryan had her arm. He squinted, his black eyes suddenly alive and alight with a feral intensity that made his face not only sharp but handsome. He dragged her into the kitchen, Paul moving behind them with his guns trained on the windows. “Just stick the knife in your bag or something. It hurts.”
Nope, definitely not going to get the damage deposit back, she thought inanely as she heard more scrabbling little sounds from her bedroom. God, if you’re listening, I’d really like to take all this back. Okay?
“Christ, there’s a whole tribe of them.” Paul’s voice was a little higher than usual. Ryan paused at Chess’s front door just long enough to flip the locks. “The trouble with fucking Tribbles.”
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