Candy Houses
Author: Shiloh Walker
Date: 2009-10-06 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Paranormal; Paranormal Romance; Romance; Fantasy; Urban Fantasy; Erotica; Fairy Tales; Adult; Novella; Fiction
Description: Think you know fairy tales? Guess again. It’s been hundreds of years since Greta’s so-called story came to an end and it didn’t end with a happily ever after then. Why should she expect it to be any different now? She’s a Grimm—a special kind of guardian angel and official ass-kicker in the paranormal world. Between trying to stay alive, training new Grimm and dealing with demons, romance is hard to come by. Then there’s the fact that there’s only been one man ever who really made her heart race. And he’s been out of her life for a long, long time… But now he’s back and just in time. Greta nee
Publisher: Shiloh Walker, Inc.

THINK YOU KNOW FAIRY TALES? GUESS AGAIN.

It’s been hundreds of years since Greta’s so-called story came to an end and it didn’t end with a happily ever after then. Why should she expect it to be any different now?

She’s a Grimm—a special kind of guardian angel and official ass-kicker in the paranormal world. Between trying to stay alive, training new Grimm and dealing with demons, romance is hard to come by. Then there’s the fact that there’s only been one man ever who really made her heart race.

And he’s been out of her life for a long, long time…

But now he’s back and just in time.

Greta needs Rip’s help.

There’s an unexpected threat to their world, a betrayal none of them saw coming.

Working together is the last thing they want, but it just might be their only chance.

A fairy tale best suited for grown-ups…don’t say you weren’t warned.

COPYRIGHT

Initial Copyright © 2009, Shiloh Walker

Reissued © 2016

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people.

Please note that if you purchased this from an auction site or blog, it’s stolen property. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. Your support is what makes it possible for authors to continue to provide the stories you enjoy.

DEDICATION

For the editor who first took a chance on this story, Heidi. She loved how I bastardized fairy tales.

For every reader who took a chance on the Grimm

And for my family. Always for my family. I thank God for you. Every day.

A TIME FOR ALL THINGS

“Is this a trick?”

His question went unanswered. Frustrated, he pinched the bridge of his nose and wished for the millionth time that being immortal meant he didn’t suffer such mortal maladies as headaches.

“May I beg to know why?”

This time he was answered. Not in words. The knowledge was just there.

It was time.

There was a time for everything under heaven and this was their time.

“I can handle the problem. I do not need to send Rip out.” But even as he made the offer, the response echoed through him.

This is what is meant to be done.

“I don’t entirely understand why it has to be so complicated. Why not just… Fine. Fine. Let’s make it complicated.”

Everything was complicated, really. And at the same time, it was abysmally simple.

In moments, he was alone in his thoughts—or as alone as he could ever expect to be. Reaching up, he closed his hand around the medallion that hung on a silver chain around his neck.

CHAPTER ONE

You may have heard of me. My name is Greta. It’s short for Gretel.

As in…Hansel and Gretel.

Yes, as in Hansel, Gretel, breadcrumbs, wicked witches, gingerbread houses with sugar candy for the windows…except there weren’t any breadcrumbs. No gingerbread houses or sugar candy windows.

I never did get what you’d call a happy ending.

Although, the woman who lived in the house was…different. Not particularly all that wicked, really. Wasn’t even a witch, for that matter. She was unusual, definitely, but not a witch.

Hans was real, though. And if you want to talk wicked, we could talk about him. I was seven when he first started molesting me. They didn’t call it molesting, though. Not then. And he wasn’t the one doing anything wrong.

I was.

I was making up stories. I had a devil inside me. I was trying to cause trouble.

My stepmother came up with all sorts of reasons why I was the bad one. Me, when it was her son doing that to me. It didn’t start until after my father died. Hans knew better. My father would have believed me, and he would have killed the sorry little shit.

I’m getting off topic, though. That story is already done, already over with. It was another life ago, and I mean that literally. That life ended when I was twenty—it ended the night I died.

The night I made my choice.

I don’t like thinking about that night, not even what little I remember. It was painful. In order to receive the power of the Grimm, a human has to die. For a few minutes, at least. When we wake up it’s like we’d gone to sleep and, while we slept, somebody played around with our DNA—we’re stronger, we’re faster, we’re nearly indestructible…and we see demons. It’s not anything you can be prepared for. Trust me, I know. Mary had warned me when she told me what she was…what I could be. She prepared me as best as she could, but some things you just have to experience.

So are you confused yet?

I guess I could explain.

Like a lot of fairy tales, this one happened a long time ago…

Then

A poor woodcutter lived with his wife and his daughter on the edge of a large forest.

The girl was called Gretel. The woodcutter did not have much food around the house, and they were poor.

But they were happy.

Then his wife fell ill and, as she lay on deathbed, she asked a favor of her beloved husband. “Do not mourn me for long. Find yourself a new wife, a woman who will love you and my daughter. Be happy.”

After the loss of his beloved wife, the woodcutter fought the despair that threatened to overwhelm him. He couldn’t lie down beside his wife and quietly grieve himself to death, no matter how much he wished, for his precious daughter Gretel needed him.

The summer after his wife’s passing, he met a woman with a son just a few years older than his Gretel. The lady was lovely with a winsome smile, long blonde hair and laughing blue eyes. Her son, Hans, shared her smile, her blonde hair and her laughing blue eyes. Thinking it would do both him and his daughter good to have laughter in the house again, he courted her.

Their wedding was a quiet, simple affair. After all, they were poor.

For a time, he was happy. For a time.

But then he realized sweet Gretel wasn’t as happy as he would have hoped. She remained somber eyed and unsmiling, and when he returned home each night from a hard day’s work in the forest, she clung to him as though something had filled her with fear. She slept poorly and only when he remained at her side would she calm enough to drift away.

She was unhappy. He loved his precious Gretel. How could he possibly hope for happiness when she was so miserable? He had made her mother a promise—he’d see to Gretel’s happiness. It was a promise he meant to keep, but he couldn’t do so until he knew what had saddened her so.

Tragedy fell before he ever learned what grieved her.

One day while he was out chopping wood, there was a horrific accident.

Now Gretel was left to the not-so-kind mercies of her stepmother and her stepbrother. While her father had lived, Hans had been content with petty cruelties and her new stepmother had sat by and watched. But no true harm had been brought upon her.

After her father’s death her sad life turned into a nightmare. Two nights after her father was buried, she awoke to find Hans standing by her little bed under the stairs. She cried and pleaded, but her cries and pleas went unanswered.

A great famine fell across the land.

By day, Gretel worked like a servant girl, hired out by her stepmother for pennies. If not for the kindness of some of those strangers, Gretel might have starved, for although Hans and her stepmother always had a bit to eat, there was nothing to be found for her.

By night, she cringed and cowered in her bed, fearing the times when Hans would creep into her room.

Every night she prayed.

Every morning she prayed.

“Dear Father in Heaven, I pray you would send one of your angels to save me.”

“Dear Father in Heaven, I pray you would send one of your angels to feed me.”

“Dear Father in Heaven, I pray you would send one of your angels to make Hans stop hurting me.”

It seemed that her prayers would go unanswered. Then came the day when her stepmother told her that she wouldn’t be going into town to clean homes, scrub floors or fetch water. Instead, she was to go deeper into the woods. An old woman who lived in the deep woods had need of her and had offered to pay handsomely.

Hans would escort her.

“But when will I return, stepmother?” She was unhappy in the home, but it had been her father’s home. It had been the only home she’d ever known.

“I pray you do not return, Gretel. Ungrateful, lying wretch of a child. Now leave me.”

With tears in her eyes, Gretel left, following along after Hans. For a time, she dared not take her eyes from him, terrified he would touch her again. But he did not. They walked all through the morning and then stopped so Hans could eat. His mother had sent along with him a small lunch, bread and meat and an apple. There was nothing for Gretel and Hans did not share, but Gretel was used to being hungry and she sat quietly while he ate.

After he finished eating, they once more started to walk. Gretel’s small legs ached and her feet were sore and raw by the time they reached a small clearing in the woods. In that clearing sat a lovely house with windows that glittered under the sunshine that filtered through the leaves overhead. There was a small barn with chickens and a gurgling creek ran through the yard. Gretel’s throat was painfully dry, but she did not dare pause for a drink. Still, she walked too slowly and Hans reached out, grabbing her arm and hauling her along with him as he headed for the door.

It opened before they reached it and in the doorway there stood a woman with kind eyes and a kind smile on her face. “Hello, Gretel.”

She said nothing to Hans.

Gretel blinked and stared at the lovely lady. She wasn’t old, not at all. Her black hair had not even a strand of white and her face was smooth and unlined.

“My stepmother told me that I was to go work for an old woman,” she said without thinking. “You are not old.”

“Appearances are deceiving,” the lady replied. Stepping aside, she gestured to them. “Come inside.”

Inside the house was the wonderful aroma of cooking meat, stewed vegetables and warm bread. Gretel’s empty stomach rumbled and the lady sighed as she passed by. Stroking a hand down Gretel’s hair, she asked, “Child, how long has it been since you had a good meal?”

Hans spoke up before Gretel could reply. “Just this past lunchtime. Mother packed both of us a wonderful lunch.”

The lady turned her head and studied Hans. It was the first time she had looked upon him, and as she did so, she frowned. “You are a dishonest boy, Hans. Dishonest and cruel. You ate at lunchtime while your stepsister sat and watched. You shared nothing with her.”

Hans went pale, then red. “That is an ugly lie.”

“If anybody should understand ugliness and lies, it would be you, would it not?” She held out a hand for Gretel and said, “Come, young one. Let’s get you cleaned up and fed.”

But Hans did not let go of Gretel’s arm. “You’re to give me the money first. You told my mother you would pay for Gretel.”

“Indeed.” She slipped a hand inside her skirt and drew out her hand, offering Hans the silver coins she held. “There is your money. Take it.”

He grabbed it and stuffed it in his pocket. With a sly smile, he continued to hold tight to Gretel’s arm. “It is a long walk back home and I’m terribly hungry myself.”

The lady lifted a black brow and then gestured to a basket on the table. “You will find yourself a meal inside there. Take it and go. Do not return here, Hans. Never again.”

Hans left, leaving Gretel alone with the strange lady. With fear knotting her belly and her body weak from hunger, Gretel followed along behind her new mistress. They entered the kitchen and Gretel asked, “Should I get to work now…?”

What did she call this lady? Gretel did not know.

“My name is Mary. You may call me Mary and I will call you Gretel. And no, you shouldn’t get to work.” She swept her skirts aside and settled on the bench by the table. “Let me see your hands.”

“My hands?”

Mary nodded. “Yes, Gretel. Your hands.”

Gretel held out her hands, cracked and thin. They were rough from hours spent cleaning and chapped from hours spent washing dishes and doing laundry.

“Oh, dear one. You’ve the hands of a scullery maid.”

“I am not afraid of hard work,” Gretel mumbled, looking away. She felt ashamed, standing there in her threadbare dress, with her thin legs and calloused hands.

Mary wore a fine gown, finer than any Gretel had ever seen. It was a lovely shade of blue. Her long black hair was worn swept away from her face and her cheeks glowed with health. Her hands were soft. There was a chain around her neck and from it there was something shiny, round and silver as the coins she’d given to Hans.

“I’m pleased to hear it, Gretel. You will work hard here. But there is a difference between hard work and slaving away.” Then she squeezed Gretel’s hands gently and said, “That is something we may discuss later. For now, let’s get you fed and cleaned up.”

For the first time since her father died, Gretel sat a table and ate her fill.

For the first time since her father died, Gretel went to bed and didn’t fear the dark.

For the first time since her father died, Gretel didn’t weep herself to sleep.

Yeah, yeah, I know.

It’s not exactly the version you’re familiar with.

But what’s more believable? That Gretel was an unhappy, orphaned girl, or that Hansel and Gretel skipped merrily through the woods, leaving a trail of breadcrumbs as they walked in hopes that it would lead them back home?

Come on. Even back then children weren’t idiots. Throwing bread on the ground usually results in something trying to eat the bread.

Hans might have been stupid enough to try a trick like that, but I certainly wasn’t. Besides, if my parents had been deliberately trying to get rid of me, there’s no way I would have kept trying to find my way back.

The Brothers Grimm never asked me, though. It was the popular version that got recorded for the ages, not the real one.

The real one involved things even uglier than a woman sending her children off to starve in the woods. I guess the real one had a happy enough ending, though, now that I think about it. Hans died, my stepmother left me alone, and I didn’t have to live my life in fear.

Yes, Hans died. That’s probably what led to the story ending up in a Grimm fairy tale.

It wasn’t long after his death that my stepmother went a teensy bit crazy. Okay. A lot crazy. People would hear her rambling, like the madwoman she was. Back then, people didn’t really get insanity, if you know what I mean. They thought she was possessed, or that she was a witch, communing with the devil and demons and that was what led to her ruin.

Maybe that’s where the idea of a witch came from. It certainly didn’t have anything to do with Mary.

Mary had been…different.

She saved me. When she took me in, bought my “services” from my stepmother for a few pieces of silver, she saved my life.

But it came with a price. Nothing is free in this world. Not now. Not then.

Not ever, I’d guess.

So you want to know the price? Well, think of Buffy. Yes, as in Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Think of her, more or less. I say more or less because I’m both more and less. Less because I don’t come with the super strength. I’m a little stronger than the typical person, but I can’t send a man flying through the air when I punch him.

That’s okay, because I can knock a man to the ground and that’s perfectly sufficient. I also don’t come with visions or prophecies. Much to my disgust, there’s probably no Angel or Spike in my future, either. I’m not petite. I’m not blonde. I’m not beautiful.

I’m just me.

So definitely less on some front.

But more on others…because…well, there’s more. Nobody looking at me would ever realize just how much lies below the surface. They’d never believe the things I’ve seen, the things I’ve done. The lives I’ve taken. The lives I’ve saved.

I guess you could say I’m hard to kill. And man, oh man, have people tried.

Old age won’t kill me, because I don’t age.

Injuries won’t do it, because my body has been blessed with the ability to heal from even the most mortal of wounds, a bit like the vamps from Buffy in that aspect. If you cut out my heart or take off my head, I’ll die. Maybe drop me inside a vat of acid, but that sounds really painful.

Kind of gross too. Actually, it all sounds kind of gross. It’s even worse in reality. I’ve had to cut out hearts, and I’ve had to take heads. Never had to resort to acid…

Sorry. My thoughts to tend wander and often they get really morbid when I’m bored. And right now, I’m really, really bored.

I’ve been bored ever since I stepped foot inside Ann Arbor, Michigan, a week ago. This is a college town and it’s Friday night. There should be something going on.

Plenty of parties. I can feel them, the rush of energy, the laughter, the jealousy and anger.

But nothing I can act on.

Nobody who needs me.

It really sucks, because my entire life is centered on being needed.

CHAPTER TWO

You must be joking.

Rip stood across the street in the shadows, watching as the brunette made her way down the sidewalk, staring into the bars and restaurants, like she was searching for somebody.

She was.

That what their kind did. They searched for those who needed them. That’s why the Circle existed, after all. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t mind seeing pretty little Greta. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t mind teasing her and seeing if he could get those blue eyes to blaze fire at him. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t mind trying to figure out how to convince her to get naked with him again.

It was a task he’d been working for close to a hundred years, ever since that first—and last—time.

She ignored him, though. All too easily. If he didn’t know women as well as he did, he might have even believed that feigned disinterest. She was good at hiding it, but she wasn’t as oblivious of him as she liked to pretend. On the odd occasion their paths crossed, he would see the heat in her eyes. Heat…hunger…and need. A need that just might match his own.

It was a hope that kept him going through many a night and yes, under normal circumstances he’d be more than happy to see her sauntering down a city street, taking in everything with those big blue eyes. More than happy to approach her and see what it would take to get those blue eyes to focus him.

But right now he wasn’t functioning under normal circumstances.

He was on a hunt and he wasn’t about to get distracted, not even by the very distractible Greta.

He was actually much rather be distracted by Greta. It just wasn’t an option.

As he stared at her, brooding, she stopped on the sidewalk and cocked her head to the side. Her eyes narrowed and he saw the change come over her, watched as she went from bored to predatory. Watched as she became aware. He saw the intent interest flare in her eyes and knew without a doubt she’d caught scent of something.

“Shit, don’t let it be my something,” he muttered, reaching back and grabbing the band that held his hair secured at his nape. He shoved a hand through his hair and then gathered it back into a queue. He wasn’t sharing this quarry, not with anybody. Not even Greta. He couldn’t.

This was even worse than being distracted by Greta.

If she picked up on his hunt, she would want to get involved, and she’d do just that. She’d get involved, and in a very big way, simply by placing herself at his side. Definitely not what he wanted to see happen. She was a pit bull. Once she got a hold of something, she didn’t let go.

Not ever.

Of course, if he didn’t keep his attention where it belonged, he was going to become a job, of sorts, himself, when his associates had to track down his killer. He felt the warning ripple down his spine and jerked aside just in time to evade the downward stroke of a wicked-sharp Kel-Tech knife.

It wasn’t big enough to take his head off unless somebody was either very patient, very fast or very strong. The demon-possessed man in front of him looked to be very, very strong, even without aid of the demon that had settled inside his body. His body was no longer his own, though. It belonged to the demon. He was nothing more than a host—basically just a vehicle for the monster inside.

The demon was called a paraisei—sounds a lot like parasite and that’s exactly what this kind of demon was. A parasite. It picked out a victim, set up housekeeping and whittled away at the victim’s will until the human was no longer strong enough to fight. Once they reached that point, there was no saving the victim. They were trapped until the victim was either killed or the body gave out.

With the paraisei, it didn’t take long for one of those endings to come about. They were vicious and a lot of them ended up going on murderous rampages.

Since the demon didn’t need food to live, those paraisei-infected humans who didn’t meet a bloody, brutal end had the pleasure of dying of thirst and starvation.

Usually, the demon vacated its host right before death. The only way to kill one of the monsters was to kill the host before the demon left it. To Rip’s eyes, the face was still human. Barely. It had probably only been a few days since the paraisei had taken complete control.

The typical person looking at the demon-possessed wouldn’t see anything but the insanity lurking inside his eyes.

The demon wasn’t insane.

It was quite the opposite—functioning exactly as his kind did. Feeding on the misery of others, taking them over.

There was nothing Rip could do to save the human.

The demon was in control and the only way Rip would set this poor bastard free was if he killed the paraisei inside.

“Aren’t you due a nap, Grimm?”

Rip was startled. Not at the raspy, obviously inhuman voice that came from the man’s throat, but by the words. The paraisei knew him. He pushed the surprise aside. It was something he’d worry about later.

He was curious, though. The paraisei knew him. Not many in the world did—within the Circle, among the demons, anywhere.

Curling his lips in a smile, he said, “Don’t worry…dealing with you is going to leave me so bored, I may just sleep for a week. When I’m done.”

Keeping the knife in sight, he circled around, moving away from the mouth of the alley. He wanted this done as quietly as possible, and preferably without drawing anybody’s attention.

Namely, Greta’s. If she knew there was prey to be found in Ann Arbor, she wouldn’t be leaving any time soon and he’d work a lot better if he didn’t have to worry about her pretty little neck.

He gave the paraisei a taunting grin. “That’s a nice looking blade. Hope you don’t mind if I decide to use it for a while.”

It chuckled. “Do you truly think you can take it from this body so easy?”

“Yes.” Rip launched himself forward, tucking his body and rolling. He came up in a crouch and immediately spun on one foot, catching the host just above the knee. The sickening crunch of bone seemed horrifically loud.

The victim could still feel pain—the demon couldn’t and the demon’s will was stronger. Although Rip could see the man’s face contorting with pain, the only sound was a furious growl.

Coming to his feet, Rip kicked again, this time aiming for the face. The paraisei snarled and tried to get his host to scramble away, but the leg with the busted knee couldn’t support any weight. Stupid things—they never do get the idea just because they don’t feel pain doesn’t mean they can’t be injured.

That mistake would prove costly. Rip evaded the hand clawing for his ankle. The thing was trying to slice and dice with the knife, and crawl away at the same time.

Rip caught the host’s wrist and at the same time, took out the elbow in much the same fashion he’d used to take out the knee.

After that, getting the knife away was child’s play. Rip flipped the host over onto his belly and caught the one good hand, shoving it high between the shoulder blades. “Let’s chat, then you get to take the nap. Although you won’t be waking up anytime soon. Not in twenty minutes. Not in twenty years…”

“Go fuck yourself, Grimm.”

I heard something off to my left. A struggle. The skin along the back of my neck tingled. There was a faint scent in the air, one I recognized. My heart skipped a few beats. I didn’t go investigate, though. As much as I wanted to, there was something else out there.

Pulling at me.

Drawing me.

I felt like a fish with a hook in my mouth, dragging me along.

Normally, I’ll admit, I’d have followed the sounds of the struggle first. I’m so insanely nosy. I can’t recall if there’s a fairy tale out there about how curiosity killed the cat, but if there isn’t, I could probably be the basis for that one too.

But there was something…something else.

In all my years—and whoa, we’re talking a lot of years—I couldn’t recall feeling something tugging at me like this. Ahead of me, there were a group of noisy college kids laughing and talking a mile a minute. Their voices were an annoyance just then, intruding and interfering with whatever it was I needed to be doing.

I cut through an alley—a good plan. I managed to avoid the college crew and get a little closer too.

Closer to what, though? I just didn’t know.

A few miles later, I found myself in a rundown, mostly abandoned park on the outskirts of town. There was a shelter off to my right, covered with graffiti. To my left, I saw a fire…and I found myself staring at a girl.

Well, I guess she wasn’t really a girl. She was probably about the same age I had been when I made my choice. She looked older, though—hard lines carved into her face, an unsmiling set to her mouth. But oddly enough, her eyes had a strange vulnerability.

That vulnerability was going to get her killed. Or worse, considering the things I saw hovering around her.

None of the demons had managed to manifest into physical form, a fact that was both good and bad. Once they took physical form, they were easier for me to fight. But as luck would have it, most demons took on physical form by taking over the body of a human and sometimes the only way to kill the demon was to kill the human too.

Demon possession is a sad fact of my life. I liked to get involved before things progressed this far—if I’d met the girl earlier, as in days, weeks or months ago, maybe this could have been prevented.

Right now, I was going to have my hands full keeping her from giving in. She had two very hungry orin hanging around her. The orin are the closest thing to vampires in existence. They literally feed on souls. They settle inside a person’s subconscious and slowly, oh so slowly drain the life away. If the orin isn’t evicted, it can lay claim to the body once the victim’s soul is truly gone. What separates them from the rest of the demons is the fact that once the host is truly gone, the body becomes demon property and as long as they continue to feed, the orin will continue to live, to grow stronger.

Most demons don’t think to make the host feed, so once the body dies, the demon has to vacate the premises. Not so with the orin.

I could hear the whisper of their voices inside my skull, bouncing and echoing around. I pushed them aside and focused on the girl. She’d built a fire inside a metal drum and she was staring into the flames like they held the answers to the universe.

In one hand, she held a knife.

In the other hand, she had a book. There wasn’t a lot of light to see by, but I didn’t need that much light. Another one of those neat little things that happened to me all those years ago—I’ve got eagle eyes.

My blood turned to ice as I stared at the symbol on the cover of the book.

It wasn’t the kind of book you could buy at the local bookstore, or even online. It had no title and was basically an omnibus of evil. I’d destroyed quite a few just like it in my time and I could have happily lived out the rest of my years, however many that may be, without seeing another one.

Of course, I wouldn’t be that lucky.

It was practically a Wikipedia on all things evil—the condensed version and it was probably a few hundred years old, maybe more. The bitch of a book was handmade. Well used and crafted by somebody that had known their stuff.

Stupid, stupid girl, I thought, glaring at her.

It “pretended” to be a book of witchcraft, a book of spells. It didn’t precisely lie either. It promised a chance at a long, youthful life, of great physical strength, beauty.

Those things could be had, and by almost anybody who wanted them. No mystical powers required, no months and months of training. All it required was a willing body and you could have youth, strength and beauty.

It didn’t explain the flipside.

It didn’t explain the price.

The price was taking on a demon. Say the right words and you invited an orin right inside your skin. You’d live to a ripe old age and spend all your years looking like you were in the prime of your life. It didn’t explain that you’d slowly fade away and then the orin would suck the soul out of all of those around you.

It was a handbook on all things demons—orin, paraisei, glamori, vankyr, succubae, incubi. Some were lesser known than others. Some were harder to kill than others. But they were all bad news.

The girl stared at the book like she was trying to memorize it—it was written in bastardized ancient Latin, so the chances of her understanding the words were slim to none. She was butchering some of the words as she sounded them out. Not in order, thank God.

It didn’t matter if her pronunciation was off. If she started to actually read them out loud and in some semblance of order, the process started—a demon slipped in and if it wasn’t one that I could extricate without killing her, she had to die.

So. I guess it made it easy, deciding how to proceed.

“Wow.”

She jerked her head up, staring at me like I was the one about to turn my body and soul over to some faceless evil.

I gave her my idea of a charming smile and nodded to the book. “That’s a wicked looking book. Where did you find it?” It wasn’t just a stalling tactic. I wouldn’t mind knowing the answer to that. Those damn demon books were all over the place—every time I destroyed one, I hoped it would be the last. It never was. I’d destroyed several hundred in my lifetime and I’d probably destroy several hundred more before I gave up.

She wasn’t interested in being distracted. Her eyes were a weird shade of purple and the eyeliner she had on nearly matched the shade of her irises. It also matched the purple streaks she’d added to her thick black curls. “Go away,” she said.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

She looked back at the book and as her eyes fell away from me, I reached inside my shirt and tugged out the medallion I wore around my neck. I was hoping the demons would see it and maybe decide she wasn’t worth the trouble.

On first glance, it was a plain silver disc. On second glance, one might see what looked like wings etched into the surface, sweeping out from the center of the disc. For a human, it would take a much closer glance, and a magnifying glass, to see the letters carved into the disc.

But demons had killer eyesight.

I’d kind of been relying on that.

They noticed, all right.

Their voices rose—high-pitched chitters that echoed inside my head. But nobody else could hear them. At least not right now.

The girl couldn’t hear them. Until she called one of the demons, she wouldn’t be able to see the things hovering in the air around her. Not until it was too late. Not until they were inside her.

One of the orin focused on me. I smiled at it. “Go away.”

The girl jerked her eyes up and snapped, “Excuse me—I was here before you were.”

“Wasn’t talking to you.” I kept my eyes on the orin.

Off to my left, I could see the other orin, its aura darkening to near-black, shadows hovering in the shadows. They didn’t disappear.

Too bad. But I hadn’t expected anything else. Orin weren’t easily dissuaded once they had a victim picked out.

They ignored me and focused on the girl. They hung in the air, one on either side of the girl. Their voices grew louder and I knew they were projecting themselves into the girl’s mind too.

Say it…read the spell.

You’ll have power. You’ll have acceptance. You’ll have the life you want to have…instead of the one that’s been given you.

“Now that’s called false advertising, my friends.” I rolled my eyes and laughed.

The girl jerked back. She shot a wide-eyed look over her shoulder and then looked back at me. “Who are you talking to?” she demanded.

“Not you.” I advanced, and to my satisfaction she was suitably freaked out and scurried backward, using her hands and heels…and leaving the book. I stooped down and grabbed it.

The orin wailed. They pushed their commands on her, hard and fast. Get the book…you must get it or she will claim your power.

“Oh, puh-leeze.” I tossed the book into the fire and had the pleasure of listening to them screech. I also had the pleasure of smelling the book burn, listening to the pages crackle as the flames gobbled it down. It might have words of nasty power scrawled all over it, but it was just a book.

The girl didn’t mess with screeching—she lunged for me. She had a good six inches on me, but was probably only about thirty pounds heavier. I come from good solid, German stock—the short and stocky variety. She was strong, though. Strong and very pissed off.

I caught her under the chin with the heel of my hand, watched as her head went flying back. She didn’t let go, though, so my next target was her throat. A quick jab there and she was too busy choking for air to worry about me as I rolled her off. I reached behind me to touch the knife I had tucked into the back of my jeans. It wouldn’t hurt the demons now, but it made me feel better. I’m all for security blankets.

“She can’t call you now. The book’s gone and somehow I don’t think she gets your particular brand of ancient Latin,” I said, facing the two orin.

They still hovered. They watched me, body-shaped shadows, with a faint red glow that passed for their eyes. One of them drifted forward, hovering closer to the girl. She doesn’t have to read the words. She just has to say them. And we can tell her the words…

Good point. She was trying to get to her feet. I grabbed her from behind, applying pressure. Contrary to what it seems like on TV, putting somebody under with a sleeper hold is not all that quick. As she sagged in my arms, I muttered, “Sorry.” After I eased her to the ground, I smiled at them again. “She can’t say the words if she’s unconscious.”

How long do you think you can keep her unconscious? For the rest of her life? We have the time. You have the time. But does she? Can you truly watch her until she dies? We’ve already been inside her. She’s already tasted our power.

It was pissed. I could feel it. I was getting pissed myself. Inside her—shit. Shit. Shit. This was bad and getting worse. They’d been inside—that meant one of them had been close to taking her over. Close. Not the same thing as complete control, but it did give them power over her. That taste of power—most likely, they’d shared just enough of their experiences of draining a soul. It was entirely possible that all she felt was the rush of power, without realizing what it was.

“I don’t really have anything else going on right now,” I told the orin. “I can always use company.”

I didn’t turn my head to look at her, but I was tempted.

If she had known, if she had any idea the misery and pain she could unleash by using that book, would she have still done it? Illogical as all get-out, if you ask me, but people do crazy things for youth, strength, power and beauty. Plenty regret it later on, but when it came to demons, regrets didn’t do much good. You were already gone, past hope by the time you realized the danger.

We want the girl, they told me, their voices as one, a low, vicious snarl inside my head that made my skull ache. We will have the girl. But we can wait.

They started to fade, returning to the netherplains where the demons resided.

Enjoy your…company. The last word was followed by a laugh that sent shivers down my spine. They disappeared, and immediately the air became easier to breathe and the ice in my blood thawed ever so slightly.

I blew out a breath and crouched down by the girl.

She was breathing. I could hear both her heartbeat and the soft, steady sounds as the air passed in and out of her lungs. She might have had her eyes closed, but she looked every bit as hard now as she had a few minutes ago when she’d been about ready to rip into me for interfering.

A hard life.

She’d led a hard life. I could see it in the stiff, rigid way she held herself, even in unconsciousness. I needed to touch her, but I was reluctant to do so. This could really only go one of two ways—either she wasn’t too far gone to save, or she was. If she was too far gone, I had to kill her.

Even after all this time, it leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Even after all this time, it leaves me sick for weeks after.

But my role in this was clear—it had been almost from the first. I am the way I am because I’m meant to help people. That means protecting them, from themselves, from demon predators and from the monsters that walk around in human skin.

My hand shook as I reached out to touch her, but before I could make contact, I heard something.

It hissed.

Something brushed against the back of my neck, a hot, fetid breath of air. I didn’t wait another second. Rolling to the side, I scrambled to my feet just in time to face what had to be the biggest damn bocan I’d ever seen—nearly twice my height and easily three times as wide.

Bocan—it’s the Irish name for the bogeyman and oh, holy hell, if you’ve ever faced one, you’d understand why people feared the dark for centuries on end.

“How in the hell did you get here?” I muttered.

But I already knew.

Somehow, the orin were responsible. Responsible or involved. It was the only thing that made sense. The bocan weren’t strong enough to manifest in this world. They dwelled in the netherplains and they could only come from there to here if some being strong enough forced open a doorway.

I hadn’t ever heard of any orin opening actual doorways, but they had known about this behemoth.

Enjoy your…company, they’d said.

They hadn’t been talking about the girl.

They’d been talking about the bocan.

CHAPTER THREE

In his two-hundred plus years on earth, Rip had done some hard things, some ugly things. Hard, like watching friends die, watching children and innocent people die.

Ugly…like walking around with blood coating his face and hands like war paint. It wasn’t the first time he’d been this way, but it was as distasteful and depressing now as it had been the very first time.

He wanted a shower, desperately.

He left the dead human in the alley, slipping away and using the shadows to hide himself.

The paraisei had almost gotten away. At the last second, it had realized it wasn’t going to win against Rip and it had tried to flee. Rip had seen the black tendrils emerging from the host’s bodily orifices. He’d stopped it in time, in a very bloody fashion, and now he had a human’s blood staining his hands.

It wasn’t the first time.

It wouldn’t be the last.

But he hated it all the same.

The entire night was shot. By the time he got cleaned up, it would be too close to dawn and his particular prey preferred to sleep during the day.

Another night. Wasted.

Another day where he’d spend the hours thinking about what he had to do.

God, I wish somebody else could do this one.

A harsh wind picked up. Although it was mid-April, winter hadn’t totally given up and the night air had a cold edge to it. Rip might have enjoyed it, might have let it carry away some of death’s stink, except, over the blood and sweat and dirt, he scented something else.

Greta.

And—shit.

I was pretty sure I hadn’t felt this kind of terror in a long time.

I’m not really afraid of dying. Or at least, normally, I’m not. Remember that “hard to kill” thing I mentioned?

I am hard to kill, but a bocan is strong enough to tear my head from my shoulders, and they are fast. That doesn’t sound like a fun way to go.

Plus, if it got past me, who knew what it would go after next.

They are killing machines. Big, dumb killing machines and I was facing this one totally unprepared. The knife I carried wasn’t long enough to kill the thing unless I was really, really lucky. I’m good, but with these things, being good with a knife isn’t enough.

A sword would be better.

A cannon would be better.

Warily, I backed away, circling around and trying to lead the bocan away from the girl. I didn’t know if she’d be able to see it when she woke up. It depended on how far she’d dipped her toes into the waters of evil and death. I could hope that when she saw it, if she saw it, it might scare her straight, but I’m not really big on hope right now. Of course, if she saw it, it would know and it would be able to kill her.

I didn’t like to think about the odds, not with the way the night was going.

And to think I’d been bored just a few hours ago.

“So how long have you been hanging around this plain?” I asked.

The bocan didn’t speak. Their race didn’t have vocal chords. Other than the sibilant sounds they made when they breathed, they were quiet. They moved quietly, they attacked quietly and they killed quietly. Big, dumb, ugly…and quiet. They ought to be loud—only seemed fair. Something like this breathing death down your neck, there should be some sort of warning.

It cocked its head. The dim light danced over the dull gold scales that covered it from head to toe. Those scales were like armor. It had been a while since I’d faced a bocan…probably two or three hundred years, but I hadn’t forgotten how big they are, how strong they are or how hard they are to kill. At least the last time I’d faced one I’d had a for-real sword.

It came at me, a silent rush of death. At the very last second, I spun out of the way and felt the blast of air as it swiped out at where I’d stood only a heartbeat earlier. The thing’s hands ended in claws that measured close to three inches long.

The skin along the back of my neck prickled as I once more started to circle away from the bocan, weaving around it in nonsensical patterns. It made another rush and this time, instead of moving aside, I went down and sliced upward. Black, bitter blood covered me as I managed to break its tough hide. It shuddered, but I figured out very quickly that while I’d hurt the demon, I hadn’t slowed it down. It slashed out as I scrambled away. Those claws got closer that time.

And then again. This time it caught me. I bit my lip to keep from screaming as the claws managed to get me in the belly, slicing me open. Blood flowed.

Shit—

A hand came out of nowhere and grabbed me, hauling me aside.

Dazed, I fell against the crumbled rock wall at my back and watched. I was in a state of shock, I think. I didn’t recognize the man at first…well, not consciously. My body probably would have, if I hadn’t been losing huge quantities of blood through the gashes in my belly. I whimpered and shrugged out of the blood-soaked jacket I wore and balled it up, pressing it to my wounded stomach.

The flesh was already knitting back together. I could literally feel it, deep, deep inside. It was a bad injury. If I was still wholly human, I’d be dead already. As it was, I was losing a lot of blood. Even us pseudo-immortals get weak when we lose too much blood.

Sinking to the ground, I watched as the man fought the bocan.

He was a lot more equipped to handle the thing than I was, that was for sure. The bocan tried to gut him with those lethal claws but the man moved away, quick as a wish. I saw one hand disappear inside the long coat he wore—something about that coat, the way it stretched over his shoulders, tickled a memory. I wouldn’t look at his face. Thinking about it now, I know why I wouldn’t look, because I knew in my heart who he was, and I needed to prepare myself a little bit more before I actually looked at him.

Instead, I focused on his hands…and on the very awesome weapon he’d drawn from inside that long, black coat. It was a black cylinder, maybe two, two and a half feet long. Yeah, I know, that doesn’t sound too flashy. It would do some serious damage to a human, probably even a number of manifested demons.

But a nine-foot-tall bocan?

Nope. Right up until he twisted it, I wasn’t impressed. But then he twisted it. I heard the whisper of metal as two edged blades appeared, one out either end of the metal cylinder.

Now it was five feet long, and bladed on both ends.

He used it like an artist. He moved like a dancer of death. The silver flashed through the air. His body barely seemed to touch the ground before he was moving off again. Eerie, deadly and oh so lovely to look at. In a rather morbid way, of course.

Black blood stained the metal as he sliced through the bocan’s scales.

The bocan hissed.

The man just laughed. That laugh. I knew that laugh.

Rip…

Just before I passed out, I finally let myself look at him. I found myself staring at his familiar profile. An ache settled in my heart and it followed me as I went under.

Rip had problems.

He had all sorts of problems. He had one dead demon on his hands. He had one unconscious, young adult female on his hands. He had one unconscious, not-so-young adult female on his hands—and she was injured.

His body screamed at him as he crouched beside Greta. Along his left arm, he had a series of gashes, three of them, each one of them a good seven inches long and deep. Very deep, because they weren’t healing fast. The bocan had managed to tear into his muscle, and the muscles had to knit together before the skin could. So he was still bleeding.

But not as bad as Greta.

She was pale, even paler than normal. That milky, fair complexion was ghostly and even though he knew she couldn’t die from the injury she’d taken, his heart skipped a few beats and then took up residence in his throat. To reassure himself, he laid a hand on her neck, felt the warmth and the life of her.

It didn’t help much.

He was going to relive the night’s events a thousand times over in the years to come—the nightmare of seeing the bocan come this close to gutting her, and he had been too far away to do a damn thing.

What were you thinking?

She had faced down a bocan with pretty much her bare hands. She’d had a knife. A paltry blade in her right fist as she’d circled around the demon. Bocans were too fucking big, too fucking strong, and that hide of theirs was like armor. Knives just didn’t cut it.

He shot the dead creature a nasty look and wondered where in the hell it had come from. Bocans were uncommon in the world because they didn’t have the abilities a lot of other demons had—they couldn’t manifest, couldn’t possess. They just killed.

A bocan. The paraisei he’d faced earlier. Something weird was going on. Demonkind didn’t ever gather together in one place for long—it attracted too much attention, the sort of attention that ended up them being sent back to the netherplains.

What in the hell was going on?

Greta shifted under his hands. Under her breath, she whimpered quietly and Rip, without even thinking about it, bent over her and pressed his lips to her brow. “Hush, angel. You’re safe now…you’re safe. Sleep…heal.”

His heart broke a little as she burrowed close to him. Rip let her, even though he had to get to work—figure out what to do with the bocan. And the human—shit.

Not having much choice, he reached up and fished his medallion out from under his blood-stained, black T-shirt. Fisting it in his hand, he sent out a broadcast call. I need help.

He couldn’t take care of Greta, the human and the bocan. Not without getting noticed. It would be morning soon, and a man carrying a couple of unconscious women around was going to catch some attention.

He was going to have his hands full just getting Greta someplace out of sight.

The disc warmed in his hand, then there was a flash, a circle of light. A man emerged from the light, staring at Rip impassively.

Rip didn’t flinch under the steely weight of the man’s gaze. “Morning is coming. I won’t be able to hide under the cover of night much longer and I don’t have time to deal with the bocan, the girl and Greta.”

“You were not sent here to deal with the bocan, the girl or Gretel. Gretel can deal with the girl.”

“Greta is hurt,” Rip snapped. “And I don’t walk away from those who need me—job or not.”

“You’ve already wasted too much time on this job.”

Rip bared his teeth in a mockery of a smile. “I’m sorry. If my performance has been less than satisfactory you could always fire me.”

No, he couldn’t.

Narrowing eyes that glowed like molten steel, the man shifted his gaze to the bocan. Another flash of light, but this was a dark flash. A circle formed in midair and on the other side of the portal, Rip could see into the netherplains. Dark, barren…a midnight desert that never saw the sun, that never saw any relief from the endless heat.

The man inclined his head. Rip swallowed back his growl. The bastard was perfectly capable of getting the bocan through the portal on his own, but Rip knew he’d already helped as much as he was willing.

“You’re too kind,” he muttered as he hauled the monstrous creature to the portal. Uneasy, he glanced at the huge doorway and then at the man who waited in silence. “You wouldn’t close that thing on me, would you?”

No answer.

Grimacing, Rip muscled the bocan through the portal and then dashed back through. The second he cleared the portal, it collapsed—so close behind him, Rip heard a strange, sucking sound, kind of like the sound a wine bottle made when the cork was pulled out. But louder. A lot louder.

Something caught hold of his coat and he jerked away, only to fall to his knees as the material came free easily. It was also missing quite a bit of material in the back. The buttery, soft black leather had scorch marks all along the end.

“You bastard,” he snapped, glaring at the man.

“Help has been given. Waste no more time, Rip. This has gone on long enough.”

“That’s not my doing,” he said through gritted teeth.

But the man was already gone, the circle of light closing down behind him in the span of heartbeat.

“Bastard,” he muttered. Striding across the grass, he knelt once more by Greta.

Now if he could just figure out what to do about…

But even as he started to try and figure that one out, Greta stirred. Then her lashes lifted and he found himself staring into bottomless blue eyes.

“Rip?” she murmured, her voice husky.

“Shhh. Take it easy,” he said as she started to sit up. “You’ve been hurt. You’re going to be down a few more hours, probably.”

Greta frowned. “I feel fine,” she said. “Just kind of tired.”

Rip shot a look at her belly. Through the ragged, bloody tears in her shirt, he could see her belly. Soft, white…and whole.

Well, hell. The bastard had helped a little more than Rip had thought.

Unable to stop himself, he reached out and touched her, stroked his fingers along her smooth, unscarred flesh. “He healed you.”

“Who did?” she asked, her voice low and hoarse.

Rip just shook his head. “This helps. Now we can deal with your human…”

They turned to look at the unconscious woman.

But she was gone. Since the bocan was dealt with and there was nobody else around, they had to assume the girl had escaped.

“Shit.” Greta sagged in his arms, a scowl tightening her face. “This is bad, bad, bad…”

“The bocan is dead,” he said gently. “She’s safe enough.”

A ragged sigh shuddered out of her and she stared at him from under a heavy fringe of lashes. “She had a book, Rip. And I don’t have any idea who gave it to her.”

A book. He didn’t need to know what sort of book. There was only one kind of book that would have Greta worried.

“She has one of the demon tomes,” he muttered, furious. He closed his eyes and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Bloody hell. Bad doesn’t quite cover it then, does it?”

CHAPTER FOUR

So that’s how Rip ended up back in my life.

Those books were a big deal and none of us liked it when they were being passed around like candy. I’d have to deal with this and I was desperately hoping Rip would be willing to help me out.

“You are certain?”

We walked down the sidewalk, keeping to the shadows. Me in my torn clothes, Rip in his bloodied ones—it wouldn’t do for us catch a whole lot of attention. Sliding a look at him from the corner of my eye, I said, “Hmmm. I don’t know…let me think.”

I pretended to do just that, tapping my lips with my finger. Then I nodded. “Yeah, it was one of those books—the really bad ones. I think we should do something about it. What do you think?”

Rip didn’t appreciate my sarcasm.

Or maybe he did. He just didn’t say anything about it.

“This is a problem,” he muttered.

“Tell me about it.” Although it wasn’t likely, it was possible there were other copies close by and if the girl got to one, she wasn’t going to waste time on proper pronunciation. I had very little time to get to her—the urgency was a scream in my blood.

And to make matters worse, I had no clue where to look.

Having Rip around—for once—was an answer to a prayer.

Although, it was kind of odd…

Shooting him a look, I asked, “Hey…why are you here?”

“Working,” he said tersely.

I rolled my eyes. “Wow. That’s vague. That’s pretty much what we do, isn’t it? Any more detail than that?”

“Why?”

I jerked a shoulder in a shrug. Man, he couldn’t be easy, now could he? Couldn’t just up and offer to help me find her? No. I was going to have to ask. Sighing, I rotated my neck. I had a mammoth headache creeping up on me, I was feeling more than a little nauseated and I needed some sleep. And a shower. So bad did I need a shower. “I could use some help finding the girl, if you’re free.”

I shot a look at him from the corner of my eye.

He was watching me. The minute our gazes locked, he reached out and caught my arm. “Do you wish for my help?” he asked, drawing me to a stop.

I couldn’t even go into detail about what I wished from him. There just wasn’t enough time in the day. Or strength in my legs—they were wobbling and threatening to give out on me at any second. I licked my lips and strove for a casual tone as I replied, “Well, yeah. That’s kind of what I said. Are you free?”

“Free?” he murmured. He eased closer and stroked his fingers over the rips in my shirt, tracing the skin where the bocan had sliced me open.

I remembered that, a fiery pain, followed by numbness. The real pain hadn’t started until a few seconds later, when my blood was pumping out of me. It had been bad. Really bad.

But the flesh was already healed and I had no idea how that had happened.

“I’m not certain I understand what free is,” he said, staring at his hand as he touched my belly. “But yes…I’ll help you.”

“Thank you.”

“You sound relieved.” A smile tugged at his lips. The fingers grazing over my belly shifted course, traveling up, up, up until he could hook a hand over the back of my neck. My breath caught in my throat. “Did you think I would say no to you?”

I swallowed. Ah…well, I hadn’t ever thought about it.

And I couldn’t exactly ponder it in this moment either, because he was looking at me in a way that made my heart race, in a way that stole the breath from my lungs, in a way that made me forget we had some potentially big problems.

He was close, so close I could feel the warmth of his breath on my face. So close I could feel his warmth…

Is he going to kiss me?

Damn it, he couldn’t kiss me. I was covered in bocan blood. I felt so sick to my stomach I thought I might pass out again. My head hurt. My heart hurt.

Damn it, what if he didn’t kiss me? I missed his kiss, although that didn’t really make much sense. We’d spent a couple of weeks in each other’s company—and one hot, wonderful night that I hadn’t been able to forget. It had been years ago and I still couldn’t forget.

I didn’t need to be thinking about kissing. I needed to think about the girl. Had to think about the girl. Had to…

This is why you left after that night, girl. This is why you avoid him.

Rip has always left me in a mess, a nasty, tangle of a mess, totally incapable of any sort of coherent, rational thought. But I didn’t affect him like that. Hell, nothing seemed to affect Rip. When I walked away from him, he had just stared at me with that blank, noncommittal expression on his face. I’d seen him kill demons with that same look on his face. I’d seen him hold the door for little old ladies with that same look on his face.

Nothing affected Rip.

Everything about Rip affected me.

He didn’t kiss me. He just kneaded the tense muscles of my neck and murmured, “There is very little I wouldn’t do, if you asked, very little I wouldn’t give. Anything that is within my power is yours.”

“Wow, Rip. You haven’t changed much. You still know how to charm a girl, don’t you?” I pulled back. I had to. It was either that or collapse into a mindless drooling puddle at his feet.

That smile tugged at his lips again and he asked, “Am I charming you?”

Man, I’m in so much trouble.

That was the last clear thought I had for a while. Between the blood loss, the adrenaline rush and Rip, my head was very, very fuzzy. Fortunately, Rip was in better shape. Somehow, he got us both to the house I was renting, and somehow, he got me into the shower—I’m not entirely sure how. I don’t remember unlocking the door, much less taking a shower.

Hell, for all I know, he ended up getting into the shower with me. Even thinking about that makes me get all hot and tingly.

I doubt that happened, though.

I think I’d remember being naked with him…again.

The next clear memory was sitting on the bed, the heavy weight of my hair dragging me down as I tried to remember what I needed to do.

All I wanted to do was sleep. For a week.

“Let me help,” Rip murmured.

Help? Frowning, I looked down and saw the comb. No. I didn’t need his help—not with something so…intimate. “I can do it,” I told him. My tongue felt thick, about three times its normal size. I didn’t really see how I could do it, because when I lifted the comb, I almost poked myself in the eye.

“Sure you can.” He nudged my hand back down into my lap and finished with my hair. Then he was tucking me under the covers like a child.

“You know, I’m a big girl. I’ve been putting myself to bed for a few hundred years now. I can take care of myself.” I glared at him, or at least I tried to glare at him. I had a feeling it came off about as threatening as a pair of bunny slippers.

“I know you can.” He grinned as he settled down on the edge of the bed.

“I can,” I argued. My lids felt heavy—heavy as in elephant-heavy. “I’m just kind of tired.”

“I know…go to sleep, Greta. You’re safe.” He cupped my cheek and stroked a thumb across my lower lip. “You’re safe.”

I never felt safe when I slept with somebody else close by.

It was a remnant of a past I can barely remember.

But I fell asleep with Rip watching over me.

And I felt safe.

I fell asleep thinking of him.

It wasn’t a big surprise when I found myself dreaming about him.

I’ve spent quite a few nights dreaming about him, more than I like to admit. It’s been years since that one night, years since I’ve seen him. And still, I keep thinking about him. As many people as I’ve met in my life, it’s hard to believe there’s still room in my head for this obsession.

In my dream, we were on the beach. Warm sun, soft sand and a hard man…sounds like bliss for a woman, doesn’t it? As long as the hard man is Rip, it pretty much fits the bill for paradise, in my opinion.

He kissed me, kissed me soft and gentle, then harder, deeper, like he’d swallow me whole if he could, like he couldn’t possibly get close enough. I returned the favor—it simply wasn’t possible to get close enough to Rip, not even when he was moving inside me.

In reality, he may not be affected by me.

But in my dreams, he seems to need me as much as I need him. Miss me the way I miss him. In my dreams, I really do matter to him. I’m not just a willing woman…I matter.

“I miss you,” he rasped against my mouth. He had his hand fisted in my hair, using it to hold me still as he took the kiss deeper.

“How can you miss me?” I smiled at him. Even in my dreams, I had to keep it light, had to. “I’m right here.”

“Not really, you’re not.” He stroked a hand down my side, cupped my hip and circled against me. “I’ll wake up alone…this is just a dream.”

“Hmmm.” I nipped his shoulder. “If it’s just a dream, we should probably make the most of it, don’t you think?”

Nudging at his shoulders, I pushed until he moved away and lay on his back. I rolled on top of him and took him inside, shuddering in pleasure. His hands gripped my hips and his eyes, those dark, sinfully sexy eyes, stared at me, rapt on my face.

Like nothing else existed for him…just me.

“Nothing else does exist for me,” he muttered. “Not when you are near me.”

Part of me wondered how he knew I was thinking that. The other part didn’t care—the other part was too lost in the pleasure to comprehend thought. He lifted me up with his strong hands as though I weighed nothing. Slow…steady…

And not enough.

Reaching down, I wrapped my fingers around his wrists. “Faster,” I said, staring down at him. “Harder.”

Rip’s lashes lowered. “I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to scare you.”

“You wouldn’t ever hurt me. You couldn’t ever scare me.”

As I said it, the dream shifted around me and we were no longer the beach, but in a bed. A big, soft bed that cradled me like a dream as Rip moved over me.

“Say my name,” he whispered. “Let me hear it.”

“Rip…”

“Tell me you’ve missed me,” he ordered, kissing me hard and rough. His voice was just this side of desperate, something I wasn’t prepared for, not with him. “Give me something, damn it.”

But I couldn’t ignore that plea—it was just an echo of my own need, anyway…right? That’s all dreams were.

“I’ve missed you,” I told him. Then his mouth came down on mine and he was kissing me like he could drown in me.

One second I was dreaming, lost in Rip’s arms, lost in his kiss and hovering on the edge of climax, and the next second I was awake, brutally awake and all too aware of the fact that I was being watched. I jerked up in bed, clutching the sheets and blankets to my chest.

Rip was standing in the doorway with one shoulder propped against the door jam. He had a look in his eyes that sent my skin to tingling all over. I mean all over—I felt it in my lips, my toes and every square inch in between.

“Hey,” I said. My voice cracked.

He continued to stare at me.

It was very, very unnerving the way he watched me.

“Ahh…is everything okay?”

He didn’t answer. Nope, what he did was push off the door jam and come over to the bed. He knelt down by the bed, resting one hand on top of the blankets. He had such damn nice hands…the hands of a poet, a warrior…a lover. One of those lovely hands was only an inch away from my thigh too. I thought I could even feel the heat of it, through the blankets.

“You were dreaming,” Rip said, his voice low and rough.

Oh, shit. Swallowing, I dredged up an innocent smile. “Was I?”

“Yes.” His eyes, that dark, melted-chocolate gaze, locked on mine and I felt frozen in place. Unable to move as he laid a hand on my cheek and stroked my lower lip with his thumb. “Do you remember it?”

Oh, man, did I remember. But I couldn’t really tell him that, now could I? Self-preservation is a lovely thing, and I looked him dead in the eye and lied. “Nope.”

Self-preservation is a lovely thing, yeah, but it doesn’t make me a better liar.

He smiled, a wolf’s smile. “You don’t remember?” He leaned in and nuzzled my neck, his breath teasing across my flesh like a caress. “Maybe I could jog your memory.”

The hand on my cheek stroked down, over my neck, across my collarbone, down, down. The tips of his fingers brushed against the curve my breast and I realized I’d dropped the blankets and was sitting there as naked as the day I was born.

“I’m good. No need to jog the memory.”

“You whispered my name,” he murmured, nipping my earlobe. “Then you moaned. You sounded exactly like you did the first time I made you come.”

As he cupped my breast in his hand, I whimpered. Heat…oh, sweet, blissful heat, hurtled through me and I pressed against his touch. Needed more. Needed him.

“Do you remember now?”

He lifted his head and stared at me, eyes glittering.

Dazed, I whispered, “Remember what?”

“The dream.” He slid his hand up and cradled the back of my head, his fingers tangling in my hair as he tugged. “Do you remember?”

I blushed. I could feel my face burning, my cheeks flaming hot. He’d have to be here when I’m dreaming that kind of dream… Then his mouth came down and against my lips, he whispered, “Yeah, you remember.”

He nipped my lower lip, then asked, “What else do you remember, Greta? Do you remember that night?”

I didn’t dare answer, didn’t dare tell him I remembered like it was yesterday. I still remember what it did to me when he kissed me. When he kisses me, it’s like…flying. Like dying. I can’t even describe what it’s like to be kissed by Rip. When he kisses me everything else falls away and there’s nothing but me. Nothing but him. His mouth on mine, his hands on my body and my hands on his.

I tugged him closer, desperate to feel him against me, but he held back. Then he was pulling away from me. I fisted my hands in his hair and tried to hold him—closer, closer, needed him so much closer.

“Greta.”

He caught my wrists and pulled. I let him, even as I arched my neck to try and kiss him again.

“Stop,” he muttered.

“Stop?” I repeated.

Stop—wait, he wanted to stop? He kisses me and now he doesn’t want me kissing him? I narrowed my eyes and glared at him. “If you don’t want me kissing you, then maybe you shouldn’t kiss me…maybe you shouldn’t be snooping around while I’m sleeping, or listening in when you shouldn’t.”

The hands on my wrists tightened. Something flashed through his inscrutable eyes. “You think I don’t want you to kiss me.”

“Well, you just told me to stop.” I glared at him and tugged half-heartedly against the hands on my wrists. Once more, I was blushing, that hot, nearly painful blush, but it was just as much frustration and disappointment as embarrassment. If he didn’t want me kissing him, why had he kissed me?

“Greta.”

I scowled at him and pulled against his hands again. Harder this time. “Let me go.”

He dipped his head and nipped my lower lip. “No.”

“You know, there’s a name for people like you—I’m not entirely sure what it is, but there has got to be a name.”

I glared at him and turned my head away so he couldn’t brush his mouth against mine.

“Tease—yeah, that’s the word. You’re a damn tease. You kiss me, then tell me to stop kissing you. Then you kiss me again. It’s not nice to tease people, Rip.” Especially with something like this. Especially when I was already so hungry for him I ached.

“I’m not trying to tease you.” He nibbled on my lower lip again and whispered, “I could kiss you forever. That…and more.” He reiterated the more by letting go of one of my wrists and stroking me. From my neck, down along between my breasts, along my belly and down, resting the heel of his hand low on my belly with his fingertips resting just above the curls between my thighs.

So close…so close…

I whimpered as he rubbed his lips against mine. “Yeah, well, telling me to stop is great way to prove that.”

“You don’t want me kissing you forever, though.” He straightened, pulling his hand away from my belly, letting go of the wrist he still held. “You walked away from me—didn’t want the complication.”

He stood by the bed and stared down at me.

For once, those inscrutable brown eyes weren’t quite so inscrutable. I saw a flicker of something. He was acting edgy too. Restless even. That’s kind of weird for him. He’s very much not the restless sort of person.

He shoved his thick hair back from his face and then pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. It drew the material of his shirt tight across his shoulders and if I wasn’t so busy trying to puzzle him out, I might have taken a moment to admire the way his shoulders looked under the soft, faded black cotton.

“You left, because you didn’t want a complication. That’s what you called it…a complication. I wanted you more than I’ve ever wanted anything or anybody, but you didn’t want the complication.” A strange, tired smile curled his lips as he watched me. He sighed and shook his head. “Sex with me was just a complication.”

I’d hurt him, I realized. It had been a hundred years since that night. One hundred years, and I thought about it a lot. But this was the first time I’d ever even considered that maybe I’d hurt him when I’d walked away…and I’m an idiot.

Because it was right there in front of me.

It was in his eyes as he looked at me—because he did look at me. When he was around others, he barely paid them any attention unless he had to. But he watched me. He always had.

It was in the way he watched me, the way he watched over me, the way he spoke to me…

Did you think I would say no to you? He’d said that to me, late last night…or early this morning, to be precise. Say no to you—

To me—like maybe I meant something to him. A little more than…well, I don’t know. A little more than others. That was part of why I’d walked away from him. In the few weeks we’d spent working together before, he’d somehow come to mean something to me—something more—I couldn’t really say what.

But I didn’t want to be just…well, just anybody to him. Most of our kind end up drifting in and out of relationships, casual ones usually because most of us are too damaged for anything more involved.

I’m not casual. I can’t do casual. Trying to make myself do casual, to pretend to feel casual when I already felt a lot more than that, not knowing if he felt anything at all… I just couldn’t see myself doing it. Add that to the chaos that reigned in my head and heart whenever he was near and you might be able to understand why I didn’t think it was smart to get involved with him.

Then there’s the fact that I’m something of a coward. I’ve never been able to get involved in any sort of relationship. The few casual ones I’d had left me feeling rather incomplete and after a few decades of that, a girl learns to be happier just on her own. And I had been doing just fine, right up until Rip.

Slowly, I sat up in bed, staring at his back as he walked away. He was walking away, right out of my room, leaving me alone… I could go back to my dreams, I could go back to my decidedly uncomplicated, lonely life.

“Rip, wait.”

He paused in the doorway, but he didn’t look at me.

“You… I mean… Well…” I snapped my mouth shut. Words were sort of blurring up in my head and running together and nothing made sense. Except—well, I didn’t want him to walk out. I really didn’t want that. “Do you… I mean, did I…?”

Rip sighed and turned around, staring at me. Once more, his eyes were shuttered, revealing absolutely nothing. “Just out with it, Greta.”

Out with it. Right. Just take a deep breath and calm down, think of a nice, diplomatic, preferably humiliation-free way to ask—

“Did I hurt you?” I blurted out.

Oh, good job, Greta. Way to avoid humiliating yourself…

“Hurt me?” he repeated slowly. Emotion flickered in his eyes yet again before he hid it.

“When…” I swallowed. “Well, when I told you I didn’t want to…well, have a relationship.”

He was staring at me like I’d sprouted another head.

“Look, forget I said anything,” I said after he continued to look at me like that for about another thirty seconds. I stood up, using the sheet to wrap around me toga-style.

Clothes. I needed to get some clothes, and then maybe a blistering-hot shower to clear the cobwebs from my head, and coffee. Lots and lots of coffee. But of course, he was still standing there looking at me and my invisible second head, like he couldn’t quite figure me out. I shuffled around the bed and headed for my dresser.

Get the clothes. Get the shower. Get away from that dark, brooding gaze—

“I’m just tired,” I told him. “I think I’m still a little off from the blood loss. That would explain why maybe I’m seeing things that aren’t really there—”

“For months after you left me, I’d see you. Everywhere I turned. Every time I closed my eyes to sleep. Every time I saw a woman with dark hair, I’d stop and stare, hope that maybe it was you.”

I stopped—no, that’s not exactly right. I froze, unable to move. He was coming up behind me, I could hear him, then I could feel him because he was so close the heat of his body warmed mine. Then I could feel his hands on me, resting on my shoulders, then stroking down my arms until he could cover my hands with his own.

“I dreamt of you every night for years and even now, I can’t go more than a few nights without seeing your face in my dreams. And you ask me if you hurt me when you walked away.”

My heart was racing. So damn fast… Hell, if I could have a heart attack, I’d probably be in desperate need of CPR. And I ached. There was pain in his voice, and I had done that. I’d hurt him. Tears pricked at my eyes as I forced myself to turn around and look at him. “I’m sorry.” It came out in a pathetic little squeak and I made myself clear my throat before trying again. “I’m sorry. I never thought… Well, I mean, you know, we only worked together for a few weeks. And there was just the one night. I didn’t think we really had anything… Well, I mean…one night, you know?”

I was rambling. Man, oh man was I rambling. I can’t help it. When I’m nervous, I blabber. A lot.

“One night.” He smiled. But it was a sad smile. “Yes, it was just one night. Perhaps we didn’t have anything. But I didn’t need the one night, Greta, to know I had something. You didn’t feel it—that isn’t your fault.”

He cupped my cheek and stroked a thumb across my lip, staring at me in that way of his—the way that makes it seem like nothing and nobody else exists. “You didn’t want the complication of a relationship—I can understand that. Respect it. But I won’t just be a distraction whenever we have to work together.”

His lids drooped low over his eyes, shielding them from me as he pressed against my lip with his thumb. “Why don’t you get dressed? We’ve got work to do.”

His hand fell away and he turned around. Walking away.

It made my heart freeze to even think about it. He was walking away—

“You’re not a distraction.”

He didn’t stop.

“Damn it, Rip. I walked away because I don’t know how to do relationships period and I figured you were just wanting…”

Now he stopped. Now he turned around, staring at me and oh, shit, I couldn’t breathe. It was like something had gone and sucked all the oxygen out of the air and I was suffocating on the words trapped in my throat.

“You figured I just wanted…what?”

“Ah… Well, you know…one of those friends-with-benefits relationships.” I gave him a weak smile.

“And you didn’t want to be friends with me?”

“Yes. No. Damn it, I’m even confusing myself right now.” I stared at him. The strength went out of me and I sank down to the floor. The sheet pooled around my legs and absently, I smoothed it down around my legs. “It’s not that I didn’t want to be friends—it’s that I didn’t think I could just be friends with you. You turn me into a mess. You have pretty much from the first time I met you and I can’t think straight around you.”

“The feeling is mutual,” he muttered under his breath.

I frowned as he crossed the floor and sank, kneeling over me with one knee on either side of my legs. “You’re a confusing woman, Greta. I don’t know if I should walk away, if I should stay, if I should run like hell while I still have the capacity for thought.”

“I’m rather lacking that capacity myself.” I reached up toyed with the button of his shirt. It was a rather faded black polo, one that stretched over his excellent chest and clung to his excellent arms in the yummiest way. I bit my lip and said, “I loved being with you. Loved talking to you, just being around you. If I’d thought for five seconds you were hurt when I decided to leave, I would have… Well, I don’t know. I might have still walked way, but I would have probably tried to talk to you first.”

He threaded a hand through my hair and tugged, forcing me to look at him. “So what do we do now?” he asked. He massaged the back of my neck, his strong fingers digging into my knotted muscles and turning them to putty.

“I don’t know. Maybe… Well, maybe we should take care of business, and then see how this plays out?” I suggested.

“I’ve got a better idea.”

His idea involved untangling my hands from the sheet I held around me. It also involved urging me back until I was lying beneath him. And his mouth—it involved his mouth, running over me, along my shoulders, my neck, down over the curves of my breasts, my belly. And his hands—his hands pushing my thighs apart until he could lie between them and kiss me.

It involved his tongue and his hands and a lot of moaning from me.

It involved me climaxing—

I whimpered and gasped out his name, trying desperately to breathe and failing. I couldn’t breathe, not when he touched me like that, not when he licked me, teased me, tortured me…

“Rip, please.” I fisted my hands in his hair and tugged until he lifted his head and stared at me.

He didn’t say anything. He just pushed up onto his knees and tore his shirt off while I fought with the zipper of his jeans. I wanted him naked. Naked and on top of me.

He shoved his jeans down and I decided naked wasn’t an absolute necessity—he didn’t bother taking them off and right now, I was fine with that. As he came over my, I lifted my knees and wrapped my legs around his waist.

He couldn’t remember how to breathe.

It was a damn good thing he wasn’t exactly mortal anymore, because he would have suffocated by the time he got his lungs working again. But who in the hell cared? Rip slanted his mouth over Greta’s as he reached between them, fitting the head of his cock against her entrance.ss

She was silken hot, wet and tight, closing around his aching flesh like a glove.

As he sank deep inside her, she whimpered in her throat and arched, wiggling under him and rocking her hips. Tearing his mouth from hers, he stared into Greta’s eyes and saw the edge of pain she tried to hide. Easing back, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her gently. He kept it light and easy, waiting until she relaxed. Then he sank deeper inside. Each time she tensed up on him, he pulled back until finally, she reached down and cupped his butt. Staring up at him, she whispered, “Stop being so careful with me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Then make love to me, damn it.” A pout formed on her soft, full mouth. Her blue eyes burned into his as she added, “I hurt for you. Holding back is killing me.”

It was killing him too. She was killing him. A groan vibrated out of him and he pushed his hand into her hair, tangled the gleaming brown strands around his fingers. “Mine.” He rasped it against her lips as he pulled back…slowly…so slowly.

Greta arched underneath him, her nails biting into his arms. “Damn it, Rip!”

He drove inside, forcing his way through the tight, clinging tissues of her pussy, deeper, deeper until she’d taken all of him.

“Oh.” Her lids drifted down.

“Greta?”

With a smile curling her lips, she said, “Do that again.”

He did. Again. And again. Even when she tightened around him and came with a cry, he continued to ride her, taking her deep and hard and fast and it still wasn’t fucking enough—

The soft, warm weight of her breasts pillowed his chest, her nipples tight and hard, pressing into him. He kissed her again, desperate for the taste of her, the feel of her…desperate for her. All of her.

Need.

Need.

Need.

It was a burning inside him, this need for her, one he’d had to live with for so long. Even meeting that need was excruciating. Touching her, taking her, it was a painful pleasure that just might kill him.

It just might undo him.

It just might make him…

She came a second time and as she clenched around him, shuddered and wiggled and rocked beneath him, he came as well. His climax was another one of those painful pleasures—he wanted it to last forever, and at the same time, he didn’t know if he could handle another second.

By the time it ended, his muscles were limp and he barely had the energy to keep from collapsing on top of her. She breathed out his name on a ragged sigh and slid a hand down his sweat-slicked back, urging him closer. Unable to fight it, he sank down against her body.

His heart raced as he lifted his head, stared into her eyes.

A smile curled her lips and she sighed, a drowsy, content little sound.

Stunned, still struggling to breathe, he buried his head between her breasts. She felt something. She’d said as much, right?

His head was something of a mess, though, and he barely knew up from down.

He needed to know. That was one thing he did understand.

He needed to know…

A soft, steady sound reached his ears and he lifted his head and realized in the span of a few heartbeats, Greta had drifted off to sleep.

“Greta?”

She hummed under her breath and did that little wiggle again, arching closer like she wanted to disappear inside his skin.

Okay, so his need to know would have to wait a little while.

CHAPTER FIVE

He was already awake when I woke up.

It was the first time in years that I woke with a smile on my face and I couldn’t stop myself from pushing up on my elbow just so I could see his face better. I could feel the dopey smile spreading across my face and I didn’t care.

Reaching up, I toyed with the medallion he wore around his neck. It looked exactly like mine. But it was more fun to toy with the one he wore. Man, I had it so bad.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, stroking a hand down my arm, then running the tips of his fingers across my belly.

“Wonderful.” I smiled. “A little tired, but I feel wonderful.”

He cupped his hand over my breast. “Yeah, you do.”

The gleam in his eyes faded as he sat up and urged me onto my back, eying my belly. I wiggled and tried to pull away. “I’m fine, Rip. Good as new.”

He frowned and rested the palm of his hand just below my navel. “You were cut up pretty bad.”

“Couldn’t be that bad.” I shrugged and tugged until he lay back down beside me. “I healed up quick enough. Hey…where did you get that staff thing of yours?”

“God.”

“Seriously…?” I stared at him. The deadpan expression on his face never would have given him away. But there was a faint smile glinting in his dark brown eyes and it wasn’t so easily hidden. His gaze locked on my mouth and all of a sudden, I realized what he was referring to.

He caught my hand and guided it down and I blushed even as I closed my hand around him. “I wasn’t talking about this staff, hotshot. I’m talking about the one you used on the bocan last night.”

“I had it made. I could get one for you, if you’d like.”

I grinned at him. “Hell, yes.”

One of his rare smiles appeared and he shook his head. “Such a strange lot we are. I offer to buy you a tool of death and you smile like I’d offered to give you a puppy.”

“I would make a lousy puppy mama. Tools of death are much more useful for us anyway.” I dipped my head and kissed him, paused just long enough to nip his lower lip. He was reaching for me as I pulled away. “And speaking for tools of death, we really do need to moving. We’ve got work.”

“Where do we look?”

“I can find her,” I said, blowing out a breath. I had no doubt of that. She was a weight inside me, a dark presence in my heart.

Is that what I’d felt like to Mary?

Don’t go there. Not right now—I couldn’t let my thoughts go wandering down those paths right now. I sometimes get lost in my memories. After you’ve lived a few hundred years, it’s easy enough to do. But I couldn’t afford to get lost when somebody out there needed me.

Even though she wouldn’t be happy about it, that girl from last night did need me. I could hear her need, calling to me.

Calling…

A hand closed around my arm and shook me. Dazed, I had to force myself to focus. Had to force myself to focus on Rip’s face. He was half-lost to the shadows, staring down at me as we stood on the porch of the small house where I stayed.

“You in there?”

I gave him a wan smile. “Where else would I be?”

He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. I jerked a shoulder up, shrugging restlessly. “I’m feeling a little out of it, I guess. Feel a little off from last night and now I’ve got her in my head.”

I didn’t have to say anything more than that. He understood.

“You up for this?” He curled a hand around the back of my neck and eased me close. I could feel him toying with my hair while he did it and I took a moment to just revel in it, in him.

“Greta?”

“I don’t know if I’m up for this or not.” I grimaced. “Not that it really matters. It’s calling me.” She was calling me.

“Then focus. If it’s that strong, we may not have a lot of time.”

We didn’t. With every step we took, my urgency grew. Miles passed and we drew nearer. Closer…closer…almost there. But we were already too late. There was a dark cloud in my mind. Dark and suffocating.

She wasn’t alone.

There was somebody else with her…and it was too late for that person.

Choices.

We all have to make them. Every day. Some are important, some are almost inconsequential.

But we have to make them and tonight, somebody had made a choice that was going to end in death.

We were outside a rundown house. It looked abandoned. It wasn’t. The darkness didn’t affect my vision. I could see perfectly fine and more. I could hear voices. Faint and muffled. She was in there.

And there was a book.

“Rip?”

He paused and glanced at me. “She’s not alone,” I told him, staring at him morosely. Too late…

“Neither are you.” He dipped his head and kissed me.

I wish I could say all my fears and misgivings disappeared, just like that. I wish I could, but I’d be lying. It was a comfort, though. Having him with me. Now at least I wouldn’t have to guard my back from one while I dealt with the other.

As we mounted the crumbling concrete steps, the stink of evil flooded the air. Demons, in their incorporeal form, don’t smell. But once they settled in a human, it was kind of like the stench of decay came with them. Humans wouldn’t smell it, but animals did. So did we. It was faint, cloying and enough to make me glad I hadn’t taken the time to eat anything earlier.

I doubt I would have puked it up, but fighting the urge to hurl can be kind of distracting.

I didn’t need to be distracted right now.

It was an orin.

Orin—fucking soul stealers. The orin could probably make dealing with a vampire look like a walk along a moonlight beach. At least with vampires, when they move in for the kill, the typical person realizes something wasn’t quite right.

With the orin, the typical person wouldn’t figure out anything until it was too late.

Of course, maybe it’s not that big a deal—after all, either way, you were dead.

Somebody inside that house was dead.

God, please…don’t let it be somebody young.

I wasn’t worried about it being a child exactly. Children tend to have their own guardian angels—of a sort—ones that keep the demons at bay, but these days, childhood was lost earlier and earlier.

True innocence came with a protection against demonkind that awes me even as it saddens me. If only we could spread that protection out to everybody.

The door creaked as we pushed it open. I recognized the girl from last night, although she hadn’t seen us yet.

The other one had.

It was—had been a teenage male. Seventeen, perhaps. Maybe eighteen, but not much older. His body was still in that long, somewhat awkward phase, and now it would look that way forever. Or at least until the orin died. He had one of those poetically beautiful faces, the kind that made teenage girls sigh with longing.

His eyes—

I swallowed and made myself look into those eyes. I didn’t like doing the dirty work, but I’d accepted it. I wouldn’t hide when I had to do it.

The girl was seated on the floor, bent over one of the books. He sat next to her and stared at me over her bent head. As our gazes locked, he lifted a hand and rested it high on her back. There was a threat in his eyes, one I understood loud and clear. He didn’t have to say a word.

His gaze dropped to the medallion I wore around my neck and a smirk twisted his lips.

“I’m terrified.”

The girl jumped as he spoke. Her head swung around and she glared at me. “You. What in the hell are you doing here? How did you find me?”

“Get away from him,” I said softly.

Rip stood beside me and as I spoke, I saw him move, saw him slip a hand into his coat. He pulled out the staff and twirled it in his hand. It danced there—like he was some sort of lethal baton twirler.

“Lady, what in the hell is your problem?” she demanded.

“Get away from him,” I said again.

She stared at me, like I’d lost my mind.

God, please…just get away from that monster. Don’t make me make you—

The matter was decided for us, though. The boy reached for her and hauled her back against him. She shrieked, startled, then she whimpered. He was holding her with too much force, causing her pain. His fingers dug into her arms, squeezing with such force, I was afraid he might shatter bone.

Even though I hated seeing her hurt, it was the best thing that could have happened, I guess. It caught her off-guard, which effectively pulled her attention away from that damn book. The adrenaline rush from the pain would hopefully clear her head a little.

And if she caught a look at her boyfriend, it just might terrify her into running. I could handle her running. Then I’d just have the possessed boyfriend to deal with.

“Let me go!” Her demands gave way to screams but all he did was tighten his grip.

She whimpered again and finally, she looked over her shoulder at him.

The orin was showing in Joey’s eyes—eyes gone black as onyx. Other than that, his features hadn’t really changed, but he looked other, at least to my eyes.

The girl screamed again. Okay, so he looked other to her as well.

“He’s got a demon inside him,” I said. I waited until her eyes came back to me.

“A demon…” She sucked in a breath, shook it. I could see her trying to think past the fear and the pain. “You…what are you on?”

“I’m not on drugs.” I shook my head and started to pace around the edge of the room. Rip did the same, mirroring my movements. He went left while I went right. The orin couldn’t defend itself against both of us and still hold onto the girl. “Neither is Joey. But he did get caught up in some very, very bad things.”

“Shut up, Grimm,” the orin said, grinning at me.

Grimm.

It served as an unneeded reminder—I knew what I was. What we were. There are hundreds of us. Maybe even thousands. Fighting the good fight, doing what we can to help. We were put on this earth with a specific purpose—to deal with monsters like this. I focused on that, focused on the weight of the medallion against my skin as I watched him.

I would save her. I hadn’t been put in her life for nothing. “Let her go, orin. If you let her go, you might live another couple of days.”

“But she’s such fun…” He let go of one of the girl’s arms and trailed his fingers up, over her biceps, along her collarbone. He traced an “X” on her cheek. “I don’t want to let her go. I want to keep her, make another like me. Although it would be fun to just kill her right now, right in front of you.”

“If I don’t get her away from you, she’s dead anyway,” I said, shrugging. My stomach clenched as I said it, but none of my turmoil showed on my face. I’d been doing this too long, dealing with his kind too long. I might be scared, I might be pissed, but I controlled it.

“But if I kill her now, you won’t have a chance to save her.”

“Saving her isn’t my main concern,” Rip said, joining the conversation as he moved to intersect us, using his body to hide me from the orin. “My main concern is getting rid of you…and the book.”

The orin laughed. “Nice try, Grimm. You can’t really expect me to buy that you don’t care if I decide to gut her in front of you.”

Rip moved closer. Closer. I stayed just behind him. Not sure what he was planning, but whatever it was, I was ready to improvise.

“I didn’t say I didn’t care. I said she wasn’t my main concern.”

Rip glanced down at the girl’s face as he said it, felt his heart twist. Despite the heavy makeup, despite the hard veneer she projected to the world, she really was just a girl. Eighteen, maybe a year or two older. And she looked utterly terrified.

But demons knew how to exploit weakness and when it came to situations like this, showing any sort of fear or worry would definitely constitute a weakness.

Instead of trying to reassure her, he focused on the orin who held her life in his hands. Rip was fast—it would take him just seconds to reach the demon’s human host. But a demon-possessed human could rival him for speed and it would take just seconds to snap the girl’s neck or rip her heart out.

So he waited.

He lifted a shoulder and shrugged. “I’ll save her if I can, but if I can’t… Hell, she brought this on herself. If she dies, it’s through her own actions. I’ll be satisfied with killing you, getting rid of the book.”

The orin sneered.

And backed away.

The girl struggled against his hold and he gripped her neck, squeezing lightly. “Be still, bitch.”

Tears gleamed in her eyes and she struggled harder. Terror was taking over. Low in her throat, she made animalistic little sounds and panted. She tried to jab back and hit him in the stomach with her elbow. All it did was irritate the demon.

“Shut up,” he snarled, his voice deeper, rougher—utterly inhuman.

“They don’t listen so well when they are terrified,” Rip said.

The orin growled and locked his arm around her neck, squeezing until the girl’s eyes fluttered shut, until her body went limp.

Finally.

“Greta,” he said quietly, hoping she was ready.

“Thank God. I was getting a little bored.”

In a moment of perfect synchronicity, Rip dropped to the ground. Silver flew over his head. As the blade buried itself in the demon’s left eye socket, Rip grabbed the girl and jerked her towards him. The orin howled and reached up. He still fought, although the body he inhabited was dying. No…no longer dying.

Dead.

The heart no longer beat.

The lungs no longer breathed.

“They don’t make very good shields when they are unconscious,” Greta said, moving around to stand over the orin.

The mouth moved—it was a macabre sight. “Fuck you, Grimm.”

Even having seen a show like it before, it was hard to watch. The human’s body was dead, but the demon was still fighting to control it. Fighting to live—it was a useless fight. The orin couldn’t take over an unwilling body. It couldn’t touch Rip or Greta, and the girl—the one person that could have served as a host—was unconscious.

“Knocking her out was just plain stupid.” Greta knelt down and grabbed her knife, drawing it away. She wiped the blade on the mortal’s shirt, leaving blood, brain matter and gore. “You didn’t really think you’d get away from us, did you? But you had to go and put a sleeper hold on the one chick who could have taken you in.”

“Fucking…bi…”

Then it was gone. Just like that, the demon ceased to exist.

“Well, that was fun,” Greta said. She stared down at the lifeless body at their feet, with a somber, unhappy look on her face.

“Fun.” Rip moved to stand behind her, resting a hand on her shoulder.

She lifted her knife and stared at it. Gently, he reached around and covered her hand with his, easing the blade back down. “It was too late for him. There was nothing we could do.”

“We could have gotten to him sooner.”

“And he could have not used the book.”

In the end, it was that simple. The boy might not have understood just what he was getting into, but a demon tome felt wrong. The very promises the demons offered felt wrong.

Somewhere inside, every potential host knew it was wrong. If they made the choice to do it anyway…

“He made his choice, Greta.”

CHAPTER SIX

Choices.

That’s what it all comes down to in the end, I guess.

I sat on the couch and watched the girl. She still hadn’t woken up. I don’t think she wanted to. Somewhere inside, she knew she was in a world of bad, bad things and she wasn’t ready to deal.

Easy to understand.

But still, I needed her to wake up.

I needed to know how far she’d gone with the book, I had to look into her eyes and know—that was all I’d need. A look into her eyes, and I’d know if she had gone too far. If she had…

God. Squeezing my eyes closed, I thought that one simple, powerful word and let myself pray. For a guardian angel, it was something I didn’t do often.

If she was too far gone…

I don’t want to think about that. Yep, I understand all about not wanting to deal. I sighed and leaned my head against the back of the couch. I was tired. I didn’t know if it was from the injury the other night or if it was just…everything.

I felt stretched thin and I certainly didn’t feel equipped to handle whatever lay before me.

How disgustingly weak is it of me to admit that it would actually be easier in the long run if she was too far gone? If I had to kill her and just deal with the grief and guilt?

She was different.

Something about this girl was different, and I had a bad feeling I knew what it was.

It was something I didn’t want. Especially not right now.

I wasn’t ready to take on the responsibilities that Mary had taken with me. Talk about pathetic. Talk about weak. Five hundred years of living and I still wasn’t ready.

I found myself thinking about Mary, thinking about her and wondering. Had she been ready? I’d been younger than this girl when I’d be thrust upon Mary, and not only had she saved me from Hans and my stepmother, she’d been forced to raise me. Not to be just mentor, but mother as well.

Closing my eyes, I let my thoughts drift. Found myself remembering…remembering a life that had ended long ago. A life where I had been called Gretel—

Germany, 1520

“I know this place. My father’s home is near.”

Famine had spread across the land and many, many people went hungry. But Gretel lived happily in the small house in the deep of the woods. Every week, they walked to town with baskets of food that they gave to those in the most need. The baskets held bread and flour, sometimes some meat, eggs and seedlings.

Gretel hadn’t ever asked Mary why they did this. Questioning Mary simply never occurred to her. Mary was like a mother to her—no, more. An angel. Her guardian angel. Mary taught her to read, taught her other languages, taught her kindness…and forgiveness.

True peace cannot be easily found without forgiveness. Without true peace, one cannot be happy.

If nothing else, Mary wanted Gretel to be happy.

With her heart racing, Gretel stared through the trees to the house. Her hands were cold and clammy with sweat and her belly was a horrid tangle of nerves and fear. She wished to leave, run away and never come here again.

Stricken, she looked at Mary and whispered, “Why are we here?”

But Gretel already knew.

“You know why.” Mary stopped and turned, looking at Gretel. “Your stepmother and your stepbrother haven’t fared well over the years. They have run out of food, out of money. Your stepmother is too ill to work and your stepbrother… Well, Hans never was one for a hard day’s work, was he?”

Gretel swallowed. Her mouth was terribly dry.

“You may give them that basket.” Mary nodded at the basket on Gretel’s arm. “You may walk away from them. It is your choice.”

“What happens if I walk away?” Gretel asked.

“They will starve,” Mary said simply.

Gretel squeezed her eyes closed. The basket on her arm felt even heavier now and there was a bitter, ugly taste in the back of her mouth. “What should I do?”

“I cannot tell you that, dear one. You must decide for yourself.”

“But I do not know what is the right thing to do,” Gretel said, shaking her head. She looked at Mary and pleaded, “Please. You have been like a mother to me. You have taught me, you have cared for me, you have loved me. I’m asking you—what would please you more? Simply tell me and I will do whatever you ask.”

“Gretel, I have loved you like a daughter.” Mary laid a hand on Gretel’s shoulder. “You have always pleased me. From the very first day you arrived on my doorstep, you have pleased me. And whatever choice you make, please know that I will not be disappointed. But this is your choice, and it’s one you must make for yourself.”

Memories of the nights she’d cried herself to sleep haunted her. Nights when she had gone to bed hungry. Nights when she had gone to bed with her back aching from one of her stepmother’s beatings. Nights when she had lain in bed, hot with shame, sick with pain and tormented by the things her stepbrother had done to her.

Leave them to starve, a voice whispered in the back of her mind. She never cared if you were hungry. She never cared if you were in pain. When you tried to tell her what Hans did to you, she slapped you and called you a liar. The world will be better off without them.

Gretel shook her head. “But that is not my decision to make.” She lowered her eyes and studied the basket on her arm. There was food enough for a good week, if they were careful. As well as seedling plants, a bit of flour and salt.

She took a deep breath and then looked at Mary. “I will give the basket to them. But I do ask that you walk along with me. I cannot go to that house alone.”

They were not greeted with open arms. Gretel was not given any apologies for their treatment of her, although she knew they recognized her. But she had not done this for apologies and she did not wish for them to welcome her.

She only wanted to give them the basket and then return home to the small house in the deep of the woods.

“Your stepbrother follows us,” Mary said some time later as they walked along the path that would lead them home.

Fear gripped Gretel. “He does? How do you know that? Why does he follow us?”

“Now, Gretel, you are not a dim creature.” Mary gave Gretel a bland look. “Why do you think?”

She patted Gretel’s shoulder and for some odd reason, that simple touch comforted her.

“I told him, you know, when he left you with me that day, he was never to return to my home again. Never.” Mary sighed and reached up, toying with the silver medallion she wore. It was something that Gretel had never seen the woman without. She wore it always. “I so despise it when I am disobeyed.”

Letting go of the piece of silver at her neck, Mary smoothed a hand down her skirt and then turned the lone basket over to Gretel. “Take this and go home. Whatever you do, you mustn’t come back here. No matter what you hear as you walk, you must go to the house. Do you understand me?”

Gretel frowned. “Go home? But…I cannot leave you here alone, Mary. Come, let us hurry. If we hurry, we can reach the house before he gets close. We’ll be safe there.”

“I do not fear him,” Mary said, reaching for Gretel and pulling her close in a hug. “He is no threat to me. Now, do as I say.”

Gretel did not want to leave.

But she could not make herself argue, not with Mary. Not with the woman who had been so kind, so good to her.

She left. Even as part of her wanted to grab Mary, cling to her, she walked away.

She walked away from Mary, following the path as it curved through the forest. Mere seconds passed before she heard him speak.

Then Mary’s voice, clear as a bell, her words echoing around Gretel. “I told you not to come back here, Hans. You were warned and you ignored my warning.”

Hans’ laugh echoed.

The sound of it terrified Gretel down to her very bones. She heard the sound of branches breaking. A slap. The thunder started. A cold rain began to fall. It seemed only seconds earlier she’d seen sunlight filtering through the leaves. Behind her, she heard their voices, Hans’ hoarse bellow, underscored by Mary’s quiet, level tone.

The wind began to whip through the trees, howling eerily.

Gretel began to run. She ran so fast, and the farther she ran the more trouble she had remembering what she was running from. By the time she reached the small house in the deep of the woods, she had utterly forgotten why she ran, what had frightened her so.

It would be years before she remembered that day. It would be years before she could think of it clearly.

By the time Mary reached home sometime later, Gretel had already started preparing dinner and the two women sat down, as if nothing had happened.

The following week, as was their custom, Mary and Gretel set off for the village. They hadn’t been there long when Gretel noticed how very many people were staring at her. Some appeared to offer her looks of sympathy, while others gazed at her with avid curiosity. Uneasy, Gretel smoothed a hand down her skirt.

“Mary, do you know—”

She was unable to finish her question, for at that moment, one of the villagers approached them.

“Gretel, you poor thing. I am so sorry for your loss.”

“My…” Gretel looked at Mary and then back at the villager. “My loss? Whatever do you mean?”

“Child, have you not heard?” Shocked, he looked from Gretel to Mary, and then back. “Your brother Hans was found dead last week. It must have happened shortly after you left his home.”

Hans was dead?

Staring at him with stricken eyes, she whispered, “Dead?”

“Yes. He was in the forest. It would seem he was killed by wild boars.”

Hans.

He was dead.

Gretel turned away and raised a hand to cover her face. Tears stung her eyes. Her heart raced. A wave of nausea struck her.

Hans was dead.

She did not know whether to weep or rejoice.

The question burned inside her, but she did not give voice to it until they were safely away from the village and on their way back to their home within the forest.

But finally, she could hold it back no longer.

“You knew about Hans,” she blurted out.

Mary continued to walk.

Gretel could not move. Her very legs felt frozen, her feet too heavy to lift.

“Mary?” she whispered.

The other woman stopped and sighed. She returned to Gretel’s side, smiling sadly. “You have been like a daughter to me, Gretel. I’ve told you that, haven’t I?”

“You have. And you know you have been like a mother to me. I love you. With all of my heart, I love you. But please, tell me—did you know about Hans?”

Mary inclined her head. “I knew.”

“How long have you known?” She could hardly see through the tears in her eyes.

“A week.” Mary gazed at Gretel with somber, serious eyes.

“You knew for a week, and you did not tell me?” Gretel spun away and pressed a hand to her mouth. “Why?”

“I chose not to.”

“You would rather I hear it from people who are but strangers to me?” Gretel cried out. “Mary, how could you be so cruel?”

“I did not do it to be cruel.” She looked away and when she looked back at Gretel, there was unhappiness in her eyes. “I did not tell you, for I worried what you think of me.”

“What I would think of you?” Gretel shook her head. “But he was killed by wild boars. Why would I think badly of you over that?”

Mary said nothing. She reached up and toyed with the medallion she wore—it was something she often did when she was sad.

There was a look in her eyes.

That look turned Gretel’s blood to ice.

“Come. We must talk.” Mary looked around the forest and said, “But we cannot do it here.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

“Come back to me.” Rip’s voice whispered in, filtering past the memories and finding me. Lost inside the memories, I latched onto his voice and let him pull me out.

I came to and realized we were on the loveseat, with me perched on his lap and his strong arms wrapped around me, his lips at my temple. “Come back to me,” he said again.

“I am. I did.” I swallowed and my mouth was painfully dry. I felt like I’d been asleep for days—weeks. “Was I sleeping?”

“No. But you weren’t here either.” He pushed my hair back from my face and cupped my chin, tilting my head back. His brown eyes, warm and concerned, stared into mine. “Where were you?”

“Remembering.” I caught sight of the bottle of water on the couch next to us and I reached for it. He rested a hand on my back and stroked up and down. I took a sip of water and snuggled against him. I tilted my head back so I could see his face. “Do you ever get lost in your memories?”

“Not often.” He shook his head, then lowered it and pressed a kiss to my lips. “But my memories are not as dark, are not as grim as yours.”

“Grim.” I smirked at his unintentional pun. “But you’re a Grimm…aren’t grim memories kind of required?”

“No.” He smiled and stroked a finger down my cheek. “Some of us were lucky and didn’t have to walk one of the darker roads to get where we are.”

There was a low, rough sigh off to our side and I turned my head, staring at the girl. She was coming out of it too, I realized.

“She wasn’t one of them.” I moved off his lap and perched on the edge of the loveseat, watching her. She had so much pain inside her, even unconscious, I could feel it. I licked my lips and looked at him. “She’s supposed to be one of us. I think maybe I’m supposed to guide her.”

“I figured as much.” He rested a hand low on my back. It managed to be both comforting and bolstering, giving me some very much-needed strength.

“What if I’m not strong enough?”

On the couch, she started to move around. Rip leaned in and murmured into my ear, “Don’t be an idiot.” He gave my back one last stroke and then stood. “You can’t do what you do without strength. We both know that.”

He left the room just as the girl sat up. She took one look at me and screamed.

I didn’t do anything.

She stopped screaming and bolted for the door. Then I did something. I shoved off the couch and got between her and the door. “Sit down.”

She swung out with her fist and I blocked it, caught her other hand as she tried to hit me from that side. Her arms were covered with bruises from where the orin had handled her so roughly. I was as careful as I could be, trying not to make her hurt more but the way she was fighting, it wasn’t that easy.

Rip intervened. He emerged from the other room and wrapped his arms around her, hauling her back, with less care than I had shown. “Calm down.”

She elbowed him in the gut. He grimaced and shifted his hold until he could pin her arms to her sides.

“Let me go!” she screeched.

And damn—she could really shriek. My ears felt like they were going to split open and bleed. I rubbed my left one. “If you’ll stop fighting, he’d be more than happy to let you go.”

But she just wasn’t inclined to take our word for it. She continued to struggle, using her foot to slam down on Rip’s instep, trying to ram her head into his nose. Rip stoically took all of it while I stood there and pinched the bridge of my nose. There was a headache building behind my eyes and it was only getting worse.

Finally, I had enough.

“Let her go, Rip.”

Without a word, he did so and when she lunged for me, I hauled off and punched her in the nose. I pulled it—I’m a lot stronger than I look, stronger than her for certain. I didn’t want to seriously hurt her, but I did want her attention. Blood fountained out of her nose and for a few seconds, she was too blinded by the pain and the tears to fight.

“It’s time for you to calm down and listen to me—I don’t want to hurt you. Neither does he. But you’re not leaving here either.”

Silence. Save for the odd hitches in her breathing, she didn’t make a sound as she sat there and held a hand to her heavily bleeding nose.

“Rip, do you have a handkerchief?”

He produced one from somewhere—the man could probably whip out an AK-47 and a can of whipped cream if you asked him. Prepare for everything, that was Rip. I took the handkerchief and held it out to her. She grabbed it away, glaring at me like I’d forced her to take a poisonous snake by the tail.

“Now…are you ready to talk?”

The answer to that question was no.

It continued to be no for the next hour or so.

Damn it, she was stubborn.

“Damn it, you can’t keep me here.” She was scared, she was pissed and she looked like she was about ready to make a run for it—again. She’d already made two attempts. I’d stopped her the first time. Rip had stopped her the second time. After that, she hadn’t tried to run again.

Somehow, I suspected she was more afraid of Rip than me. She sat in the chair, trying hard not to look at him, and trying hard not to look terrified.

I stared at the girl without a lot of sympathy.

She glared at me and repeated, “You can’t keep me here.”

“You keep saying that. And you sound so convinced,” I mused. Then I shrugged. “Maybe the correct phrase would be I shouldn’t keep you here. But I can, and I will. I can’t let you go right now. You have no idea the kind of trouble you were messing with last night and until I know you’re safe, you and me are going to be like best buds,” I told her.

She sneered at me. Okay, the tough girl was back. “And what are you going to do…watch me twenty-four seven for the rest of my life?”

“Not necessary.” She hadn’t completely fallen for the dark evil promises the book offered, but that didn’t make my job easier. I still didn’t know what I was going to do with her. She wasn’t too far gone, but it was still possible she’d take that final step. If that happened, I’d kill her. If that didn’t happen, I could fail and she would die anyway.

No matter what happened, she wouldn’t need a twenty-four-seven guard. Either we’d both win, or we’d both lose. I was prepared to handle either outcome, but I was really, really hoping I wouldn’t fail. Of course, if we both lived, I had a feeling she and I weren’t done.

If that turned out to be the case, she didn’t know it, but I had a feeling she was going to be in for the shock of her life.

But none of that was going to come any time soon. She wasn’t listening, she didn’t want to listen, so until we could get her to listen, we would have to watch her like a hawk. I didn’t know about Rip, but I was hungry and I was tired. I needed to get some sleep and try to think of where to go from here.

Across the kitchen, he stood by the back door, playing the not-so-subtle bad cop. He had his arms crossed over a wide chest. He was wearing his devastated black leather coat—he’d have to buy a new one. From the front, it mostly just looked a little battered, a little worn. But the back had a huge piece of material missing by his legs, like it had gotten caught in something. It wasn’t cold enough to need the coat, but that wasn’t why he wore it. It hid a number of weapons and other surprises. He probably felt naked without all of his toys.

Speaking of toys…

An idea hit me. She wasn’t going to like it, but I needed to get away from her for a few minutes. I doubted Rip wanted to play babysitter either. We both needed a break. I asked him, “You got any sort of handcuffs on you?”

If I knew anything about the man, he’d have a dozen different weapons hidden somewhere, as well as a sundry of other gadgets and devices.

Rip lifted a brow. Then he dipped a hand inside the coat and withdrew a pair of cuffs.

Our guest freaked.

“Oh, shit, no.” She lunged for the door and terror gave her both speed and strength. I ended up with an elbow in the gut. Although the injury from the bocan was gone, the area was still tender. I grimaced as pain jolted through me. Unwilling to take any more abuse, I used my foot to take her legs out from under her. She struggled to get back up.

I was weaker than I’d realized because she almost got away—if Rip hadn’t been there, she would have. He caught her and hauled her to the table. She tried to rack him and he narrowed his eyes.

“Try that again and I’ll get upset,” he said, his voice flat, his eyes colder than ice.

She went still, staring at him in utter terror.

Man, I wish I could inspire that sort of terror with just a few words, a cold look. I usually had to draw a weapon, kick a little butt before anybody showed me any kind of respect. I glared at his back as he cuffed her to the chair, running the cuffs through the ladder back rungs.

“I’ll find something to tie her legs to the chair,” he said, straightening up and looking at me.

“Thank you.”

As he left, the girl started to cry. “Please…please don’t hurt me.”

Guilt jabbed needles into my heart. There was a look in her eyes, one I’d seen before. One I’d worn before, as well. Sighing, I dropped into the chair across from hers. “We’re not trying to hurt you. We don’t want to hurt you.”

She didn’t believe me. I’ve got to admit, I can’t say I blame her. But my options here were very limited. Silence stretched out between us. Rip was in the other room, waiting. I didn’t know whether he’d found anything to tie her legs with or not, but he’d been standing outside the room for a couple of minutes, not doing anything, not saying anything.

“What…what happened to Joey?”

Joey…? The memory of a young face flashed through my eyes. Young face—demon eyes. Oh, yeah. The boy the orin had possessed. This was not going to help matters any. But I’d be damned if I lied.

“He’s dead.”

She started to cry again, deep, ugly sobs. I rested my elbows on my knees and stared at the floor, waited for the storm to pass.

Finally, she asked, “Why? Why did you kill him?”

“Because he was going to hurt people,” I said flatly. I nodded towards her arms. “Don’t you remember what he did to you?”

What little color remained in her face washed away as she lowered her gaze and stared at her arms. I could see the memories in her eyes, fighting to surface.

“He did that,” I said. “He did it. He used you to protect himself and if he could have done it, he would have killed you to protect himself.”

“No!” She shook her head. The cuffs rattled as she jerked against them, fighting to get free. “That’s not true.”

“Then you’re telling me you don’t remember how he grabbed you? Held you between himself and me? You remember. I can see it in your eyes.”

“He loved me…he wouldn’t hurt me.”

She needed so desperately to believe that.

Heaving out a sigh, I said, “He might have loved you. But the man who hurt you last night wasn’t the one you knew. The book saw to that.”

Shadows skittered across her face. “What are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about. The book.”

“You burned my book…and besides, it’s just a book.”

“No.” I held her gaze and repeated, “No. It’s a lot more than just a book and I think you know it. Your friend wanted power. Well, he got it and it killed him—and make no mistake, that power is what killed him. The power comes from the demon that takes over your body and once that happens, you cease to exist. Your friend was dead long before I showed up.”

I pushed up from my chair and left the room. I caught Rip’s gaze and shook my head. I didn’t want to mess with the rope for now. She couldn’t get out of here without making noise, and if we heard her, we’d stop her. Right now, she needed to think and I needed to get away from her pain before it choked me.

It was going to be a long day.

Three hours later, I was back in the other room. I’d lain down for a little while for a nap, not that it had done me any good. I’d also showered, and that had helped. I no longer felt like I had the stink of demon death clinging to me.

Now if I could just get through to the girl.

“If you’re not going to hurt me, then just let me go,” she pleaded.

“Why?” I leaned back in the chair. Yeah, I felt bad for her. I didn’t like scaring people or freaking them out. But I didn’t feel bad enough to let her go either. Even if I didn’t have this gut-deep knowledge that she was one of us, I couldn’t let her go. Not until I knew she was safe from the orin, which meant convincing her those books were bad, bad news. Which meant convincing her of her own strength, her own worth.

“Why should I let you go? So you can go back to what you were trying to do the past few nights?”

“I wasn’t hurting anybody.”

“Not yet.” I cocked my head and studied her. “But if you had succeeded, you would have. Or at least the things inside you would have, would have used your body to hurt quite a few bodies.”

She stared at me blankly. “What are you talking about?”

“Look at your arms, girl. A human couldn’t do that to you—not so easily. Humans just aren’t that strong—how badly do your arms hurt? Have you ever hurt like that before? He almost shattered your bones just by holding you. Humans can’t do that. But he did. Remember his face. Remember how his eyes looked…he wasn’t human anymore, and that book is part of the reason behind it.”

She shook her head. “That’s insane.”

“Is it? Apparently you believe in stuff like witchcraft, magic. Why is so hard to believe in monsters? Demons? Soulstealers?”

“Soulstealers?”

I nodded. “Yes. Soulstealers. That’s what took your friend over—that was what killed him. That was what you were summoning the night I found you. You were getting ready to help them manifest and the first thing they would have done was set up housekeeping inside you and you… Well, you would have ceased to exist after a while.”

“That’s not true.” Her voice shook as she said it and she wouldn’t look at me.

“Yes, it is. They didn’t tell you that part…but then again, why would they? They promised you power, didn’t they? Let me guess…you just want some power so you can have a little more control over your life. Make good things happen instead of the bad things.” I lifted a brow. “How close am I?”

She shook her head. “You’re wrong. Nobody promised me anything.”

“And I bet the book just dropped right out of the sky, didn’t it?”

She flushed and looked away. Abruptly, the passive and submissive prisoner disappeared. She snarled at me and jerked against the cuffs. “Let me fucking go!” she shouted.

Rip chose that moment to join us. I gave him a faint smile as I eyed the rope in his hands.

“Took you a long time to find it.”

Rip shrugged. “I was kind of hoping we wouldn’t need it. But she’s not listening, is she?”

“No.” I had no idea where he’d found the rope, but then again, I hadn’t been in the house that long. For all I knew, the landlord could have had some stashed down in the basement.

She tried to kick him as he crouched down in front of her. He shot me a look. Rolling my eyes, I joined him and crouched down out of kicking range, and forced one ankle back, held it still. He tied it and then we repeated the process on the other side. I had to fight a wave of weariness when I stood. Leaning against the table, I let him finish up—using more of the rope just above and below her knees. Rip might have been the original boy scout. He believed in covering all the bases.

“If you don’t want to hurt me, then why are you doing this?”

The headache pounded behind my eyes. I rubbed at my temple and sighed. I was feeling seriously exasperated at this point. “Look, I’ve already explained that you were getting ready to dive into something you couldn’t possibly handle—”

“You don’t know me!” she screamed at me. She jerked so hard against her restraints that she managed to make the chair clatter on the ground.

“You sure about that?”

“Fuck you.”

I made a face at her. “I’m so sorry, but you’re a little young for me and you’re also female.”

She opened her mouth, going to yell at me again, I was sure. Lifting a hand, I cut her off. “Look, here’s the deal. I know you. A lot better than you think. You’re angry, you’re pissed off. You’ve had bad shit happen to you and it’s usually because of things you don’t feel you can control. So you want to take control. You’ve always been different…” I paused and looked her over. She had that Goth-girl look going, but that wasn’t what made her stand out. It was something only certain individuals can see…people like me. And demonkind. She had some sort of gift and that gift made her different. “You feel like you’re on the outside looking in because of it. You hated it. Until you realized you could use it. So you started using it a little. Then a little more. Maybe you started needing it, maybe it started using you.”

She stared at me, that strange purple gaze darkening to twilight. She didn’t speak, but I saw the answer in her eyes.

“Where did you get the book?”

She looked away.

Rip leaned by the counter just behind her, a small smile on his lips. I glared at him. I felt like I was beating my head against a brick wall, not getting anywhere and I was damned tired of it.

He shook his head a little and shoved off the counter. He bent down. “What’s your name, girl?”

Under the warm gold of her complexion, she went pale. “Muh…Mandy.”

“Where did you find the book, Mandy? Did somebody give it to you?”

But she wasn’t going to share that answer with him. Even if he did terrify her.

“Don’t worry about it right now, Rip,” I said. “Right now, it doesn’t matter. We’ll figure that out later…assuming she lives through this.”

Her eyes popped wide, but I was done dealing with her for now. Stupid girl doing stupid things, messing with forces she couldn’t even begin to understand, and being too stupid to realize that we were trying to help.

Rip followed me into the other room, closing the door behind him. “This wasn’t exactly how I’d expected things to play out,” I told him as I headed for one of the chairs. “You know, a few days ago, I was going out of my mind with boredom.”

“Well, at least you’re no longer bored.”

“I’d rather be bored.” I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the back of the chair. Everything was in sheer chaos. I’d fallen into a bit of a rut lately, and now that I was out of the rut, part of me wanted back in.

Even if it meant no more Rip.

I stared at him and tried to figure out just how he’d ended up back in my life. How he’d already managed to become such an important part of that life. Yet again. I’d managed to avoid him for the better part of the last century and I’d planned on keeping to that pattern indefinitely.

You know what they say about best-laid plans.

He glanced around the cottage. “At least you have some privacy here,” he murmured. “Since she’s not being…”

From behind him, we could hear her screaming, “Damn it, let me out of here.”

“Cooperative,” he finished.

When I’d gotten into Ann Arbor a few days earlier, I’d found this little cottage within a few hours. At the time, I’d thought I’d really lucked out. Most people don’t want to rent out to people for short, indeterminate periods of time—I’d told the owner I may be there a few days or a few months. As long as I paid by the week, the owner hadn’t cared.

Yep, I thought I’d gotten really lucky, but as we listened to my unhappy guest, I decided luck had nothing to do with it. Fate, God, take your pick had everything to do with it. Instead of living in some microscopic, long-term efficiency-styled hotel room, I had a modicum of privacy, a for-real bedroom and a sofa bed in the living room and plenty of room for my unexpected guests.

I rested my elbows on my knees and watched as Rip straightened and shrugged out of his coat. The back of the coat was seriously messed up. Like it had gotten caught in a meat grinder or something.

“That used to be a very nice coat,” I said, biting my cheek to keep from smiling as he stared at the back of the coat in disgust.

“Yes. It did.” His voice had a clipped edge to it—he was younger than me and hadn’t completely lost his accent. Back when he had been born, Americans didn’t sound like they do now—it was a softer version of a British accent. Even in the older ones like me, when we are angry or upset, something of it still bleeds through. Personally, I think it’s going to be a shame when Rip loses his accent altogether. It’s sexy.

Hell, Rip is sexy. Rip is mouth-watering. Rip is…staring at me like he knows exactly what I’m thinking, I realized. Of course, I’d been staring at his mouth so it wasn’t like I’d been practicing much in the way of subtlety, I guess.

He threw the coat down on the coffee table and started to approach me. I tensed up and then made a concentrated effort to relax. It seemed rather pointless to get worked up when he got in my personal space. After all, last night we’d spent a decent amount of time getting in each other’s personal space.

“This isn’t over,” he murmured as he knelt down in front of me and rested his hands on my thighs.

Was he talking about us? Or the mess with the girl? I really wasn’t sure.

I reached up and ran a hand through his hair, watching as the strands fell back into place.

“She had a book and you said you’d burned it. Her friend had a book. That many close together spells bad news.”

Okay, so he was talking work. I continued to play with his hair and closed my eyes. “Seriously bad news.”

It was my mess, though. I’d stumbled into it and it was my obligation to see it through.

Screw obligations. I opened my eyes and looked at him, getting lost in the soft, velvety brown of his eyes. “Will you stay? Help me with it?” I cupped his cheek in my hand, felt his rough stubble graze my palm.

“I’ll stay. For as long as you need me.” He turned his face my hand and kissed it.

I found myself thinking wistfully, How about forever? Can you stay forever?

CHAPTER EIGHT

Rip stuck his head under the piss-poor showerhead and rinsed the shampoo from his hair. He had the water on cold in the hopes that it would clear his mind. He had a job to do and he was letting himself get distracted—

Hell. Greta was more than a distraction.

To him, she was everything.

The silver medallion around his neck grew warm against his skin as he reached for the soap. Rip ignored it. The warmth faded. But ten seconds later, it did it again and this time, it wasn’t warm—it was hot. Hot enough that when he glanced down, he saw a faint red mark where the metal had rested against his skin. Swearing, he finished scrubbing off and rinsed off. He reached up and closed his hand around the bit of silver and closed his eyes.

What?

Rip didn’t bother wasting time with pleasantries. Not with this jerk.

You are on assignment. The voice echoed inside his head.

Yes, I am. But I’ve also got an obligation to help my brethren.

Helping your brethren…is that what you call this? That is why you linger? It has nothing to do with Gretel?

There was a sly undertone to the words and Rip curled his lip, wished he wasn’t just communicating via mind, wished the bastard was there so he could punch him. She doesn’t go by Gretel anymore.

That is no answer.

I know my job, Rip answered. I’ve never failed yet, have I?

There is always a first time. There was a pause and then, So you expect me to believe you’ll resume your duties tonight? That you will leave this mess to Gretel?

Her name is Greta, Rip corrected. She hates the name Gretel and you know that. Don’t worry. I remember my obligations. I’ll see to them.

I hope you do.

The presence withdrew and Rip was alone in his head once more. Scowling, he let go of the charm and looked down at his chest. The faint redness had already faded, his body soaking up the small injury like a sponge.

He needed to get some sleep. His head was all cloudy, from fatigue, from worry…from Greta. He needed sleep and he needed to think, to plan.

He remembered his obligations, all right.

And taking care of Greta was obligation number one.

Rip stared out the window, watching as the sun sank ever closer to the horizon. Behind him, Greta straddled a chair, facing Mandy. No softness, no warmth glinted in her eyes as she said, “The book, Mandy. I want to know where you got it, and I want to know now.”

Mandy replied with the same answer as before. “Fuck you.”

Inwardly, Rip winced. Greta had pretty much stretched her patience as far as it would go. As night drew closer so did the risk to others. If there were any more of the books come nightfall there was a chance another foolish human was going to try and use them.

They needed to know more about them, and they needed to know it now.

He could feel Greta’s urgency, and her disgust.

If the girl had known anything about Greta, she might have given a different answer. She might have just told Greta what she needed to know—they’d all be better for it.

Greta was still for a moment, still and quiet. Then she came out of the seat and came to stand in front of the girl. Her face was expressionless.

His heart ached as he watched them. Ached for Greta.

When each of them came to the Circle, they were granted with gifts—increased strength, speed, near invulnerability. And each of them received a gift that was uniquely their own. Some of them became better hunters. Some were gifted with empathy, an ability that let them connect with those they would try to help in their new lives.

But not all of the gifts worked the same. Some were less desirable than others, and Greta’s was one of the worst. She had been gifted with coercion, an ability that let her force her will on others. That gift could get ugly and it had its own built-in controlling mechanism. She couldn’t use it without pain and the more she used it on the same person, the worse the pain got.

“Tell me what I need to know about the book.”

Her voice had an edge of command in it, the sort of command that simply wouldn’t be ignored. Hell, if Rip knew anything about the book that Greta didn’t already know, he would have been singing like a songbird. Even though he didn’t know anything, he was still hard-pressed to keep his mouth shut.

Grinding his teeth together, he closed his eyes and tried to block Greta out.

He was successful.

Mandy wasn’t. She was all but screeching out her answers.

Over and over. Louder and louder.

Greta said, “Enough.”

The coercion was broken and Rip opened his eyes, drawing a deep breath to dispel the lingering effects.

“You make any sense of that?” Greta asked him as she settled back down in her chair.

Rip lifted a hand. He was still trying to recall just what Mandy had said.

Once the words settled into some sort of cohesive order, it was like somebody had just doused him with a bucket of cold water. He didn’t realize he was gaping at Mandy until Greta cleared her throat.

“Any way she could be making that up?” he asked, forcing the words out.

Greta just stared at him. “I’ll take that as a no.”

Mandy gaped at Greta in horror. “What did you do to me?”

“Only what had to be done.”

Rip waited until Greta had left the room before he moved to the girl. She stared at him with dark eyes, fear written all over her. It clung to her. “What did she do to me?”

“As she said, only what had to be done.”

Mandy shook her head. “She made me tell her. I felt it, it was like she ripped it out of me and I couldn’t stop her.”

“You’re right. You couldn’t. I imagine it hurt.”

Her throat worked as she swallowed. Bending down, he studied her face closely. Yes, she hurt—he could see the line of pain between her eyes, see it in the tense way she hunched over in the chair. With a cool smile, he said, “Good. Perhaps next time, you will just tell her what she needs to know when she asks you, instead of making her force it out of you.”

He found Greta in the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed. She looked at him, her eyes dark in her wan face.

“Is it bad?” he murmured, kneeling in front of her.

“Not too bad.” She gave him a weak smile. “She’s already so scared it didn’t take much to force the answer out of her. I’ll be good in a minute.”

And she would. He’d seen her in action before, knew how quickly she recovered from the pain. But he hated it. Hated every second that she had to suffer when she used the coercion.

“She said one of her friends gave her the book,” Greta murmured, closing her eyes. “Now I have to find this friend of hers—this Fae chick.”

“We have to find this friend of hers,” Rip corrected. He settled on the bed behind her and laid his hands on her shoulders. She tensed at first and then, as he started to knead the tight muscles, she relaxed and leaned into his touch.

One good thing, though, at least his loyalties no longer felt divided. His need to help Greta, his obligation to his duty—they were one and the same now.

“You sure you’re good to keep hanging around?” Greta studied his face, reaching up to trace her fingertips over his mouth. “Not that I don’t love having you here, but you were on the move when we met up. You were trailing somebody, weren’t you?”

“Yes.” Unable to stay still, he got up and moved to the window, staring out in the fading light of day.

Greta was staring at him. He could feel it. Glancing over his shoulder, he said, “I’m on the trail of a Grimm named Fae.”

Greta’s jaw dropped. Stunned, she gaped at him. “Did you say you’re on the trail of a Grimm? One of us?”

I’ve been living this life for close to five hundred years. I’ve seen a lot of things, heard a lot of things, done a lot of things. Not much managed to take me by complete and utter surprise, but Rip had just done it.

For the first time, I found myself wondering if I maybe I just needed to call it quits. I’m not stuck in this life. I’ve got an out option I can exercise when I see fit. Right now might be a good time, because if Rip was on the tail of another Grimm, maybe it was time to turn in my wings, so to speak, and just live out the rest of my life as a human.

I wasn’t entirely certain I wanted to be in a world where the good guys weren’t the good guys anymore. I didn’t want to live in a world where the guardian angels were no angels.

“What do you mean you’re trailing after a Grimm?”

He stared at me, his dark brown eyes unreadable. “You heard me well enough, Greta. I’ve been trying to track her for the past two months and every time I get close, she slips away.”

“Why are you trailing after her?”

“To see if she remembers how to make hot-cross buns—nobody makes them like she used to,” he said. Broad shoulders rose and fell in a sigh and then he turned away from the window to pace the room. “You know why I’m after her, Greta. I wouldn’t be assigned to this if there wasn’t a problem.”

“Could there be a mistake?” I really wanted him to say, Yeah, I think there’s a mistake and once I find her, we can clear all of this up. But he wasn’t going to do that. I could see the answer in his eyes.

If Mandy had gotten the book from a Grimm, there was no mistake.

“What do you do when you find her?”

Rip shot me a look over his shoulder. “When did you make the choice, Greta? Do you remember the year?”

I scowled. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“I’m just wondering. You’re older than I am—you were doing this before I was even born. How can you possibly have any bit of naiveté left inside you?”

Naïve?

I gaped at him. He’d just called me naïve.

I was born in 1501. I didn’t have a naïve bone left in my body, and hadn’t for some time. “I am not naïve,” I snarled.

“Then you know what I’ll do when I find her. I’ll do the only thing I can do.”

I rubbed the heel of my hand over my chest. My heart…it hurt. I fisted my hand around the medallion I wore. It was just like the one Rip wore. Just like the one this “Fae” would be wearing…if she really was a Grimm. I didn’t know her. I hadn’t heard of her, but that didn’t mean anything. Like I said, there are a lot of us.

“You’ll take her wings,” I murmured.

“Yes.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Will you kill her?”

Rip just stared at me.

“Of course you’ll kill her,” I muttered. “It’s not like she’s likely to see the error of her ways. It’s not like she’s going to relinquish her immortality or face the consequences. Dear God, maybe I am naïve.”

I looked at him from the corner of my eye. He sighed and crossed the floor to stand in front of me. “No…you’re not.”

“You just told me I was.”

He cupped my face in his hand, rubbed his thumb over my lower lip. Just like earlier, that simple gesture had my knees going weak. It had my heart racing. It had me wanting to press my mouth to his and find some measure of comfort, some measure of heat to ease the cold ache in my heart.

“You’re not naïve. You just like to see the best in people. It’s why you’re so good at what you do, why you’ve been able to do it for so long. You always see the best in others.”

“Not always.” I grimaced. There had been plenty of times in my life when I hadn’t seen anything but the worst. Like Hans. Like my stepmother…no. Not going to think about them. At least not right now. I had enough gloom, doom and despair weighing down on me.

“Well, I guess this means we’re partners for the time being.” Rip stared down at me. He shifted his hand from my face to my neck, his long, talented fingers working the muscles there. “How is your headache now?”

“Gone.” It hadn’t been a bad one. Barely more than a pinch. It wasn’t the pain that bothered me—it was actually having to use the damned gift. If there was one thing about my existence that I would change, it would be the coercion. Having a so-called “gift” that let me force my will on others was something that left a bad taste in my mouth, even after close to five centuries.

I’d been at the mercy of somebody stronger before. I knew what it was like to be forced into doing things I didn’t like. Now I was in a position where I often had to do the same to others. Maybe that’s why that gift had been given to me, though. Since I knew how awful it was to have all choice stripped away, maybe I was less likely to abuse it.

“I’ve got a feeling though the headaches are only just beginning. Somehow I don’t think Mandy is going to happily offer up the rest of the information we need.”

I finished strapping on my weapons and slid out of the bedroom.

Mandy huddled on her seat, refusing to so much as look my way.

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly.

She flinched at the sound of my voice. If she could have covered her ears, she probably would have.

I sighed and turned away, staring out the window. Night had fallen. It was time to head out, but I still didn’t know what we were supposed to do with Mandy. It didn’t seem wise to leave her here tied to a chair, but I couldn’t trust her to stay if I untied her either. If she left, she was a sitting duck.

“How did you do that?”

I glanced back at Mandy’s face and before she could look away, I caught a glimpse of the stark horror in her eyes.

“It’s just part of what I am.”

“What do you mean—a part of what you are?”

“Just that.” I turned and faced her, tried to decide what to tell her, how much I even had time to tell her.

“Joey…” Her voice caught on his name and she blinked away the tears that threatened to fall. “He called you Grimm. But the guy calls you Greta—is that your name? Greta Grimm?”

“Heaven, no. Greta Grimm sounds like some sort of Goth strip act.” I smiled at her, hoping to put her at ease.

But how could she be at ease when she was tied to a chair? Soberly, she stared at me. “Then why did he call you Grimm?”

“It’s what I am.”

She was confused. I could see it. I wanted to explain, but I couldn’t. Not right now. Sighing, I said, “Look, I can’t explain right now. But I will—it’s stuff you need to know.”

Rip entered the room. I glanced over my shoulder at him. He had his black leather coat on, his long hair pulled back and an expressionless mask on his features.

“Time?”

He nodded curtly. His eyes slid to Mandy and I blew out a breath. “I think we need to untie her.”

“She’ll run.”

Tucking my hands into my back pockets, I turned and stared at her. “I’m hoping she won’t. Because if she runs, we’ll just follow her. You’re in too deep now, Mandy. You can’t get away now. Besides, if you run and we don’t find you, you’ll end up wishing we did in the few seconds you have once you realize you’re about to die.”

As I spoke to her, I felt something dance along down my spine.

A whisper of danger.

The promise of pain.

The hunger for death.

The muscles in my back went tight and I reached for my blade. Shooting Rip a narrow look, I said, “They’ve found us. Undo the cuffs.”

Rip shook his head. “Bad idea.”

“We don’t have a choice. If we don’t untie her, she’s a sitting duck.”

“Even untied, she can’t hope to face them.”

I glared at him. “No, but she can run. The cuffs, Rip. Now.”

The girl looked back and forth between the two of us. Apprehension skittered across her face as Rip stalked around her. Metal links clinked and then he dealt with the ropes. The second she was free, she lunged to her feet only to freeze in mid-step as I cut her off. “Bad things are coming, Mandy, and they are probably looking for you.”

“Me?” She shook her head. “But I haven’t done anything.”

I sighed in disgust and turned my back to her. “Just a word of warning. If you take off running, I’m going to be too busy to come after you.” I shot her a look over my shoulder and added, “So if you want to live, I suggest you stay put. Whether you want to believe it or not, whether you like it or not, you’re safe with us.”

“Yeah, because being handcuffed to a chair for hours on end is just so very safe, so very comforting.” Shaking her head, she started to back away, keeping Rip and me in her line of vision.

Something slammed into the door.

The solid oak shuddered in its frame.

I gave Mandy one last look. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Then I braced myself. I had a bad feeling that whatever was on the other side of that door, Rip and I were going to have our hands full. Incorporeal demons couldn’t bang on a door—at least not the ones that were strong enough to find their way here on their own.

It could be another bocan—a creature that had been brought over.

Great. So we were either facing fully manifested demons in full possession of bodies, or monsters like the bocan.

There was another blow and then the door was knocked clear off its hinges. Man, I was going to have to give the landlord some serious bucks to make up for this. Staying on the balls of my feet, I waited.

Two orin came through. The bodies they wore were young, about Mandy’s age. They hadn’t had the bodies long, I don’t think. One came for me. The other went for Mandy, only to be blocked by Rip. He pulled out that wicked, double-edged blade of his and went to work.

I waited until mine was close enough and then I struck. I was rather limited by the knife. I really needed to get one of Rip’s little toys.

Blood flew. The air was thick with the sounds of my labored breaths and the grunts, snarls and swears from the demon-possessed. Rip barely made a sound, save the way the wind whistled as he cut through the air. He had his orin down in under a minute. Then he came up and skewered the one who had faced off with me.

It wasn’t over, though.

I heard a sibilant hiss and turned my head. As I found myself staring into the flat, dead gaze of a bocan, I muttered, “Why me?”

The bocan had damn near gutted Rip this time around. He sucked in a deep breath of air and tried not to collapse. The wound in his side was bleeding sluggishly. His heart hammered somewhere in the vicinity of his ears and he cast one final look around the room before stumbling over to lean against the wall.

Greta stood in the middle of the room, splattered with blood. One of her shirt sleeves was half torn off. The other sleeve had a long slice in it. Through the slice, he could see a narrow red mark where the flesh was knitting itself together. She had a black eye, but her body was already absorbing that injury. In a few more minutes, he wouldn’t be able to see it.

All in all, she was in much better shape than he was.

She turned her head, staring at him, her blue eyes unreadable.

The girl was huddling against the wall, splattered with blood and gore, her face locked in a mask of terror.

Rip had only two clear thoughts in his mind—Thank God, Greta isn’t hurt. Followed closely by: Thank God, that silly girl at least had the presence of mind not to get in the way.

The rest of any coherent thought was lost as hot blood pumped out of his wound. His head spun in dizzying circles. Even with the wall at his back, he could barely stay upright and decided he’d rather conserve energy and sank down onto the floor.

Blood roared in his ears. Dimly, he thought heard Greta. Panicked, he thought to himself. She sounds like she’s panicking…like she’s scared.

But he’d be damned if he could understand why.

The darkness was getting heavier and heavier. Greta touched him. He’d know her touch anywhere. Cool, soft and strong. He wanted to cover her hand with his, but he realized he couldn’t move his arms. Or his head. Not even his eyelids…

CHAPTER NINE

He can’t die. I’ve lost track of how many times I said that to myself in the past fifteen minutes. Dozens. Maybe even hundreds.

Still, I kept looking at him, kept listening to the fragile beat of his heart and waiting for it to fade. The wound on his belly was deep. Very deep, damn near through straight to his spine. He’d all but been cut in half and his body was cooling.

He was bleeding out. Could we bleed to death?

I really didn’t know.

I heard footsteps behind me and I drew my blade, spinning around. I made a sound I didn’t even recognize—I think I must have growled. It sounded nothing like me. Nothing like my voice. It took me a second to realize who it was standing there.

Mandy. The girl responsible for this mess. The girl with the weird purple eyes and a penchant for finding trouble.

“Leave me alone. I don’t have time for you.”

She stared past me, her gaze locked on Rip’s face. She shook her head and said, “This isn’t right—this is really fucked up, lady. How can he still be alive?”

“You don’t hear very well, do you? Leave. Me. Alone.”

She swallowed and took a deep breath and when I went to turn back to Rip, she grabbed my arm. “I can help him. I don’t know how in the hell he’s still alive, but I can help.”

I didn’t waste my time asking how. If she was willing to help… I stood off to the side and watched as she looked him over. “I need to get his feet elevated—he’s got to be going into shock,” she told me.

“He…” I blew out a breath and then finally just said it. “He’s not a normal guy. You can’t treat him like he is.”

Mandy shot me a narrow look. “I figured that much out when he didn’t drop to the ground after that…thing did this. But he’s lost blood, everybody needs blood or we wouldn’t have it, so I’m going to treat him like I’d treat anybody who’d lost a lot of blood.”

I ran and fetched and carried for her, and watched while she pressed a thick pad of towels against him, trying to clean up the blood to look at him.

I threatened to rip her head off when she said we needed to call for an ambulance. There was no way. She probably couldn’t tell yet, but his wound was already healing from the inside out. If a doctor got Rip in his hands, there would be all sorts of questions we couldn’t answer.

“I said no hospital.” Then I glared at her. “Do you even know what you’re doing? You sure as hell aren’t old enough to be a doctor.”

“I’m a…look, I can help him.” Her eyes skittered away from mine. “I can help. Do you want me to try or not?”

“Yes. Try.” I was getting little curious about just how she thought she might help. Very curious.

A few seconds later, my question was answered. She pushed Rip’s tattered shirt away and laid one hand on either side of the gaping injury. The warmth I felt coming from her was staggering—it was like her body had suddenly become a furnace. It blasted off her in waves and she stared out into the distance, her eyes opaque and unseeing.

Then, quick as a wish, she was done. The wounds on his belly were still open, but they looked days, maybe weeks old, healing the way a wound would have done before modern medicine had come along—assuming the injury or infection didn’t kill the person. It was a scar he’d carry forever, but one thing was clear—he would live.

The relief I felt almost put me on my knees.

She sagged over him, bracing her body upright on her hands as she sucked air in and out of her lungs.

“He needs a hospital,” she finally said. “I took care of the bleeding but he’s weak from how much blood he lost.”

I knelt down beside him and stroked my fingers down the side of his face. He was cool. But he breathed. And his heartbeat, though thready and faint, sounded a little stronger. “Thank you.”

I shot her a look. “I never would have guessed you for a healer.”

She didn’t answer, just stared off over my shoulder. “You need to get him to a hospital.”

“No. But he’ll be okay now that the bleeding has stopped.” We couldn’t do hospitals. Too many questions. Too much paperwork. Too many gaping holes in our background. Too many things about us that just didn’t add up.

“He’s not fine. He nearly bled to death and he needs to replace that blood.”

I glanced at her. “He’ll be fine, trust me.”

“Fine. Let all my hard work go to waste.” She shook her head and then smirked at me. “Well, here’s the good news. I’m leaving, and you can’t stop me, because you really do need to keep an eye on Superman there.”

She started for the door.

I was between her and the exit before she had taken two steps. She jerked back, startled.

“Sorry. You can’t leave.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You can’t stop me without hurting me and I don’t think you’re going to do that.”

“A few hours ago, you were pretty damn certain.”

She jerked a shoulder in a shrug and said, “That was before… Well, whatever that was. I’m leaving, So, unless you’re willing to knock me out and tie me down, get out of my way.”

I smiled. “Oh, I’m perfectly willing. And that is something you and I need to talk about. But not now.”

“You can’t make me stay here and watch that guy die.” She had a wide-eyed look now, an expression of remembered horror that dug at me. “If you won’t take him for real help, he’s going to die from shock alone and I can’t watch it. Let me leave because I can’t watch this.”

“He isn’t going to die.” She wouldn’t believe me. But I could prove it to her. Taking a deep breath, I asked, “If I could prove to you that he’s healing, that he’ll be okay, would you stop trying to leave? You’ll be in more danger than you can understand, being alone right now.”

“How are you going to prove he isn’t dying?” She folded her arms around her middle. She tried to sound defiant, but she just sounded…broken. “You have some kind of life support around here you’re going to whip out any second? Can you get an IV going on him? Restore some of the fluids he’s lost? I stopped him from losing more, but I can’t do anything else than that. Only time, rest and medical care can do that.”

“You’re wrong.” I reach for my knife and held out my left arm. Holding her gaze, I slashed it down my forearm.

She yelped and went to grab the knife. I pulled it back and held my bleeding arm between us, watching as the blood flowed, watching as it dripped down my arm, watching as the blood stopped.

She saw it too.

Her eyes were so wide the white showed all around her pupils. She hadn’t blinked, hadn’t breathed since I’d cut myself. I grabbed one of the rags we hadn’t used for Rip and wiped the blood away, revealing the scar underneath. My flesh had already knit itself back together and now all that remained was a dark, vibrant red line that faded with every heartbeat.

“He’s like me. He was already healing before you touched him. You stopped the bleeding, so now his body can focus on healing. He will be fine.”

She didn’t want to believe me.

But I think at that point, she was too overwhelmed to run.

It was hours later. Rip slept. He’d woken twice and each time, I forced a bottle of water down his throat. A little before noon, Mandy had checked the bandage on his abdomen and she’d ended tossing the filthy rags in the garbage.

The fat pink scars were fading into fat white stripes. Soon, they’d look like an injury he’d received when he was still mortal. But his body was exhausted—he was exhausted.

“So what are you?”

I looked up from my place at Rip’s side. I’d been brushing his hair back from his face without even realizing it. Touching him made me feel better—reminded me he was alive. He would heal. Even though my head knew that, my heart needed the comfort.

My heart is still very much one-hundred percent human, no matter how old I am. He was no longer quite so pale, so I knew his body was repairing the damage. I really needed to wake him up and make him eat, but I hated to disturb him.

“Are you going to tell me or just keep petting him?”

“Tell you what?” I blushed but didn’t stop stroking his hair.

“What are you? You aren’t one of those…things. But you sure as hell can’t be human. People don’t heal like that.”

“I’m not not human,” I hedged. I’d been mentally prepping myself to have this talk with her, but I still didn’t know where to start.

She was watching me with those weird purple eyes, her gleaming black hair hanging in her face. “What in the hell does that mean? You’re either human or you’re not. Are you like…I dunno…an alien? Because humans don’t heal like that.”

“It means that I am human. Or at least I used to be.” I held out my hands and shrugged. “I was just like you…once. But it was a very long time ago and it’s a very long story.”

“He’s not going anywhere.” She glanced at Rip and then back at me and added, “Apparently, neither am I. Entertain me.”

Rubbing the back of my neck, I wondered if I really wanted to mess with this right now.

You don’t have a choice.

I worried that might very well be true. I rested my head against the headboard of the bed. I’d hauled Rip into my bedroom once I was convinced the bleeding had stopped. Mandy had come with us—I didn’t trust her not to leave, but I couldn’t tie her up again either. It just didn’t seem right.

“One of them called me a Grimm,” I said softly, reaching up and folding my hand around the medallion I wore. “That’s what I am. That’s what we both are.”

“A Grimm?” Her forehead puckered as she scowled. “What in the hell is a Grimm?”

“It’s just what we’re called.”

She glanced at Rip, then back at me. Fear sparked through her eyes and she opened her mouth to ask me something, only to stop. Then start again. It took her three minutes to finally ask me anything. “We… You mean more than just you and him, don’t you?”

“Yes.” I toyed with my medallion as I worked my way through possible explanations, discarding them almost as quickly as I considered them. “There are a lot of us. And we’re here to protect people from things like the things we faced earlier.”

“You mean that big…what in the hell was that thing?”

“It’s called a bocan—it’s an old Irish name for what Americans call the bogey man.” I stared into the living room. Most of the blood had been cleaned up. For now, the bodies were wrapped in blankets and waiting by the door—it wouldn’t be long before I had to deal with them, though.

The bocan would be the hard part, though. How had Rip gotten rid of the first one?

I made myself focus back on Mandy. I was having a lot of trouble staying focused right now. “But the bocan wasn’t the only monster. The other two were monsters as well. The bocan could just kill you. The others—by the time you realize you can’t get away, you only wish they would just kill you.”

“But they were just…people.”

“No.” I closed my eyes. “They used to be people, and then they did something stupid—like using a book to call up an orin. Or maybe they were just weak to begin with and the orin toyed with them until it was time to feed. An orin is much, much worse than the bocan. A lot worse.”

“That thing damn near tore your friend to shreds. It could kill me in a heartbeat. What could be worse than that?”

“A quick death can be a blessing,” I said. Then I shrugged.

“You won’t find quick with the others. They are called orin—they feed on souls. And that’s a lot worse than just dying.” I watched her now—it was important that she understand, that she realize. Her soul wasn’t weak and she wasn’t blind to things now. Easy manipulation was no longer an option. She’d have to allow it. “You know the legends about vampires—how they need blood to live. Well, an orin is like a vampire, but you can’t see it. It has no physical body on this plain and it uses its magic to take one.”

“What do you mean, on this plain?”

“There are different plains—different levels of existence, so to speak. You and me, we live in the mortal plain. Then there’s the demon plain—the netherplain are where the demons are trapped.” I lifted a brow at her. “Do you believe in God?”

She snorted. “As in the biblical one? Hell, no. It’s just a crock.”

“You need to rethink that line of thinking.” And she probably would. If she decided to become one of us. It’s hard to ignore what’s right in front of your face. “Anyway, the netherplain is where the demons are trapped and most of them will stay trapped there, physically at least, until the end of the world. Then they will be given free reign, for a time.”

I drew my legs to my chest and rested my elbows on my knees. With a sigh, I said, “Unfortunately, a lot of demons are smart. Their physical bodies can’t break free, but the strong ones can manifest for short periods of time on this plain. If they can get themselves a body, they can even walk among us for as long the body lives. In the case of the orin, they can make that body live a very, very long time.”

That’s what would happen to her—if I failed. “That is what they want you for, Mandy. They want your body, and they want your soul. If you give them half a chance, they’ll take it and once they do, I can’t help you.” All I can do is kill you.

“How?” she demanded. “How can they take my body?”

“With your permission.”

“Like I’d give it.” She gave me a bizarre look, her eyes full of doubt and skepticism.

“But you were getting ready to do just that when I first found you with the book. It’s bastardized Latin, but basically you were getting ready to toss out the welcome mat for one of them.”

She didn’t want to believe me. I could see it. But my gut told me she did. Or at least she was starting to. Poor kid. The warm gold of her skin went white and her throat worked as she gulped.

She looked away for a minute then looked back at me and asked, “What happens once one of them gets inside you?”

“You die.” There’s no soft, easy way to explain that. “It feeds on your soul and once everything that is you is gone, the body becomes demon property and then it starts reaching out and munching on the souls of those in your life. Anybody and everybody you come in contact with. For as long as the body lives, and that can be a very, very long time.”

“That’s crazy.” She surged to her feet and started to pace the bedroom. She didn’t go far from me, though. She kept sending skittish looks into the living room and I suspected that as much as she might want to run, she didn’t want to risk coming in close range to the dead bodies. “This is all crazy. It’s all insane. Demons aren’t real.”

“I bet there are a lot of people who would insist that a girl healing a man with just her touch isn’t real either,” I said quietly.

She shot me a sidelong look.

I gestured towards the living room where the bocan’s corpse awaited disposal. “Go tell that to the bocan,” I offered. “Explain what that thing is, if it’s not a demon. I’m kind of curious how you’ll rationalize it away.”

She just shook her head and continued to pace.

“Mandy.”

She stopped in her tracks to look at me.

“Tell me where you got the book.”

“I told you that already. A friend gave it to me. Her name’s Fae. She… Well, she looks out after people.”

I looked her over from head to toe and then snorted. “Darling, it’s been a long time since you’ve let people look out for you.” She was diamond-hard, through and through. Or at least that was the image she projected and if I hadn’t seen her in very dire predicaments, I might have even bought it.

She might need a good slap on the head but she didn’t need somebody holding her hand either. Nor would she allow it.

“I don’t exactly let her look out for me. She just… Well, she was always around. Always willing to listen.” As she spoke, her features got colder and colder, her gaze darkening with anger.

She fooled you, didn’t she? She sucked you in. I think I felt sorry for her. Whoever this Fae was, Mandy had believed in her. And somehow, Fae had convinced Mandy that she’d returned that belief.

Having illusions shattered can be so very painful.

It was nearing dawn when she spoke again.

“So what exactly is a Grimm? I mean, where do you come from? Why are you here?”

“Didn’t I already explain that? We’re here to protect people from the things that try to escape from the netherplains.”

She shook her head. “But where do you come from? You said you were like me once. What made you like you are now? And why in the hell are you called Grimms? Of all things.”

“Because guardian angels just sounds so…theatrical.” I smirked inwardly at the look on her face.

“Guardian angel. As in wings. Harp. That kind of thing?”

I jerked my shoulder in a shrug. “Do you see any wings? They would kind of stick out here, don’t you think? And I couldn’t play a harp if I tried. But yeah, guardian angel—that’s the general idea.”

Now she really wanted to think I was crazy. I smiled.

She glanced at the door. I could all but see the wheels spinning in her head. She wanted to make a run for it. The night was pretty much gone. She’d feel safer in the daylight. Who knows—maybe if she ran long enough, hard enough, and didn’t get her hands on another book, she just might be safe.

But she didn’t make a break for it.

“Let’s say I buy the guardian angel bit.” She didn’t want to. But something wasn’t letting her just brush me off either. I wonder what?

“Okay. Let’s say just that.”

“Explain why a guardian angel would be called a Grimm—it sounds kind of… Well, I don’t know…morbid, or freaky or…”

“Grim?” I offered with a smile. I shrugged again and said, “It wasn’t my idea. Up until a couple hundred years ago, we didn’t really have a name. Then stories about us started getting out. Not the real story, though. Just a few details, here and there. Stories started getting passed around, handed down from one generation to the next. One of the older ones had an idea on how to hide us—in plain sight. Fictionalize us—so to speak.”

She stared at me with a dumb, blank look on her face.

“You ever heard of Hansel and Gretel?”

She ran a hand over her hair and shook her head. “You mean like with the bread crumbs, candy houses and all that? The wicked witch?”

“You don’t know your fairy tales very well. In the story, it was a gingerbread house. But in reality, it was just a little house. No wicked witch. Hans, though…” I grimaced. I didn’t want to go into detail about Hans. Even though time has faded those memories quite a bit, it still took me back to a bad place.

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

CHAPTER TEN

Rip drifted awake slowly. He could sense Greta was near. Feel her hand on his brow. The soft, gentle touch of her fingers stroking his hair. She wasn’t scared or worried, so that must mean they were safe—which meant he could enjoy waking up next to her.

They were talking.

Caught in the twilight between sleep and waking, he could hear Greta talking to…somebody. What was her name? Mandy—yes, that was it. Mandy. They were talking.

“You ever heard of Hansel and Gretel?” Greta asked.

“You mean like with the bread crumbs, candy houses and all that? The wicked witch?”

“You don’t know your fairy tales very well. In the story, it was a gingerbread house. But in reality, it was just a little house. No wicked witch. Hans, though…” her voice trailed off, but he knew her well enough to sense the pain, the remembered fear that lingered even after all this time.

He forced himself to come completely awake. He opened his eyes and stared up at Greta’s face.

She wasn’t looking at him.

She was watching the girl.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Mandy, see the disbelief on her face, the edge of cynical laughter trying to work its way free.

She shook her head and snapped, “You’re fucking kidding me.”

She started to pace, her heeled boots thudding dully on the floor. “Insane. Why in the hell do I always end up with insane people around me?”

“She’s not insane,” Rip said softly. His throat was dry—dry as a desert. Damn, he was thirsty. He didn’t even have to say anything though. Greta pushed a bottle of water into his hands and he eased halfway up in the bed, wincing as the healing muscles in his belly screamed a reminder at him.

Like he could forget that he’d been gutted not that long ago. He downed half the bottle before lying back down.

Mandy was watching him like she expected him to come after her at any second. Pale and spooked. She stared at his torso with an intensity that had him shifting on the bed until he realized what she was staring at. His healing wounds. Almost already completely healed. And scarred—he hadn’t scarred since he was a mortal.

He pressed a hand to his stomach and shot Greta a look. He knew how bad it had been. He should have spent another day or two, at least, healing.

“How long was I out?”

“Only six hours.”

Glancing at his stomach, he looked back at her. “I don’t heal this fast.”

“Mandy helped you.” She glanced at the girl and smiled faintly. “Apparently, she’s got a healing gift.”

“She’s a healer.”

“Yep.” Greta slouched over the bed, bracing her elbows on the mattress as she slanted a look at Mandy. “She’s got a gift that lets her heal some damn bad wounds, but she doesn’t believe in demons, in God, in us.”

Mandy sneered at them. “I’m in the room, hello? And the jury’s still out on the demon thing. The guardian-angel bit, though, that is messed up. No way.”

“Doesn’t it stand to reason that if demons exist, so do angels?” Rip asked. He couldn’t stand being flat on his back—left him feeling too vulnerable. He eased back up and shifted until he could rest against the headboard. It helped. Some.

“I still haven’t decided on the demons. And what does one have to do with the other?”

“Balance?” he suggested. “If there’s good, there’s evil. If there’s evil, there’s good.”

She just glared at him for a few seconds before looking back at Mandy. “So if you’re Gretel, who is he supposed to be? Hansel?”

Rip snarled and almost came out of the bed. Greta reached out and rested a hand on his thigh, stopping him. She gave him a gentle smile and shook her head. “Take it easy, darling. She doesn’t know.”

Darling… Rip wasn’t one from pet names or endearments. So why did it sound so wonderful for her to call him darling? He reached down and covered Greta’s hand with his, lacing their fingers. The sight of their joined hands mesmerized him. Glaring at Mandy from under his lashes, he said quietly, “Hans was a sick dog that should have been put down long before he was.”

Greta squeezed his hand. “His real name was Hans. Not Hansel. He was called Hans but my name really was Gretel. I just changed it after…after Hans died.”

“This is so confusing,” Mandy muttered. She rubbed her temples and slumped against the wall. She looked exhausted, like a stiff wind would blow her over. She wouldn’t let it, though. She had a well of strength in her.

Rip could feel it. At least now he understood why Greta had been so drawn to the girl.

“If you’re not Hansel—Hans—whatever, then who are you?”

“My name is Rip.”

A frown darkened her face. Squinting at him, she said, “Okay, so I’m not as up to date on my fairy tales as Gretel of breadcrumbs and candy houses, but I can’t think of a single fairy tale with a guy named Rip.”

“That’s because I’m not from a fairy tale.” Rip shrugged restlessly and took another drink of water. His stomach was starting to rumble. He needed food and he needed it yesterday. His body could heal damage, but it still needed fuel. “Not all of us are.”

Greta grinned at him. “No, he’s not a fairy tale. He’s more of a folk tale. Think of Rip Van Winkle.”

He scowled at her. It shouldn’t surprise him that she knew, although he hadn’t shared that story with others. It wasn’t one of the shining moments in his life. The only people who knew were those responsible. Himself…Fae. And probably the bastard in charge of them.

“Isn’t that the guy who slept for like a hundred years or something?”

Rip rolled out of the bed. His legs were still unsteady, but he needed food, and he needed out of the damn bed. “It wasn’t a hundred years. It was only five months—and I didn’t sleep.”

He had been hypnotized. There was a very big difference.

“Washington Irving put his own little artistic touches to the story,” Greta said, watching him as he reached for his jeans. They were blood-stained and torn, but clean. Somebody must have washed and dried them.

His shirt was done for, though. Unless he wanted to walk around with gaping tears in it. He wadded it up and tossed it on the bed and then turned to look at Mandy. She still had the horrified, yet entranced look on her face. Like she didn’t want to hear more, but needed to. “I didn’t sleep,” he said again. “I was already…” he reached for the words, wondered how much Mandy had been told.

“A Grimm,” Greta said, as though she’d read his mind. She gave him a small smile. “I’ve already explained that part—or most of it.”

He nodded. “I was already a Grimm, working with my trainer.” He closed his eyes and then opened them, staring at Greta. He hadn’t ever thought he would love again. Not until he met this woman.

“I met a woman. Fell in love with her. We had been married for a year when the war started. You’d know it as the Revolutionary War.” Folding his arms over his chest, he stared out the window. “She didn’t know about what I was. I never told her. She wouldn’t have understood. Wouldn’t have believed me. I left to fight in the war without telling her what I was. I wrote her letters. All the time. She would write back, telling me how she missed me, how much she loved me, how she longed for me to come back to her, safe and whole. And I did.”

He closed his eyes and remembered what happened the day he returned.

His beloved wife had been with another man. A man who Rip had loved dearly, like a brother. “I came home and found her longing and loving another man—my best friend.”

He’d nearly killed them both.

He might have if Fae hadn’t been there.

She’d been drawn there—much the same way Greta had been drawn to Ann Arbor. With the knowledge that she was needed.

He hadn’t seen the other woman in nearly forty years, not since she had trained him.

“Not the nicest homecoming,” Mandy said. Then she shrugged. “But that’s people for you. You can’t trust anybody. Especially those who claim to love you.”

“You’re awful young to have that outlook on life,” Greta said softly. She moved up to stand behind Rip. She slid her arms around his waist and pressed a kiss to his spine. In a voice too quiet for Mandy to hear, she whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

He covered her hands with his and squeezed. Turning in her embrace, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and held her close. “I wanted to kill them. I believe I would have killed them. But others had different plans. There was one of us there—a Grimm who had the ability to hypnotize others, with just a look. You look into her eyes and the whole world falls away.”

Mandy’s eyes widened.

“She used her gift to get me away from there and she kept me under until she knew I wouldn’t act out of temper. I was gone for five months and when I came back, I found out the two of them, my wife and my friend, had died the past winter. I left, and I never returned.” He grimaced and said, “How some fool writer managed to come up with the idea that I was some layabout who slept away twenty years, I don’t know.”

Mandy gaped at him.

“You seriously expect me to believe that. That you’re really Rip Van Winkle, that’s Gretel from Hansel and Gretel, and that there are freaks out there that can hypnotize you—keep you under control for five months? You are nuts.”

“Possibly.” Rip jerked a shoulder in a shrug. “After you’ve lived to see centuries come and go, you don’t see reality the same way.”

His stomach chose that moment to growl, very loudly. Glancing down at Greta, he said, “I’ve got to get some food in me if I expect to be any good when she comes looking for us.”

“Who?” Mandy demanded.

But Rip didn’t answer. He needed food about as much as Mandy needed to breathe in that moment. His healing body demanded it.

She trailed along after them into the kitchen, watching as Greta nudged Rip to one of the stools at the breakfast bar. “Sit. Rest. I can do up some food—we could all use it at this point.”

He would have rather done it himself, just to get away from Mandy’s inquisitive stare. But he didn’t argue, especially not when Greta dropped a couple of packages of peanut butter crackers in front of him. It wasn’t anywhere near enough, but it would help while she got together a real meal.

“Who’s coming after us?”

“The woman I told you about—the one who kept me from killing my wife and my friend,” Rip said, popping a cracker into his mouth and munching on it.

“Why would she come after us?” Mandy just stared at him.

“Not us.” He drank the rest of the water from the bottle and then braced his elbows on the smooth wooden surface of the bar. “You, Mandy. She’s coming after you.”

“Me?”

Rip watched her intently. “The woman who saved me—the woman who trained me—the woman who kept me from making the worst mistake of my life—her name was Fae.”

I wondered if he was aware of the pain reflecting in his brown eyes. He wore an expressionless mask, his face cold and remote. Like an ice sculpture. But the pain in his eyes… I hurt for him.

I hurt for Mandy, as well. And I thanked God I had Mary in my past, instead of Fae. Mary had made the choice to give up her wings, live a mortal’s life, die a mortal’s death.

That’s the out option, you know. If it gets to be too much, if we get to be too lonely, or just too damn tired, we can give up our wings and live a completely mortal life. We’ll age, and we’ll die. That’s what Mary did.

Even after all this time, I still miss her.

She was one of the truest people I’d ever known. She’d made me, and I’m not talking about her making me into a Grimm—she’d helped me become who I am. After all the things Hans did to me, if there hadn’t been Mary, I don’t know who I would have become.

She was more than a mother than to me, even before she’d brought me into the Circle.

I can’t imagine how hard this must be for Rip. We all tended to bond to those that brought us into the Circle. Sometimes a parent-child bond, sometimes a sibling bond, but always close.

Fae had been that to Rip. And then she’d turned on us all.

“Fae,” Mandy echoed, her voice faint and reedy. She shook her head and backed away, staring at Rip with horror. “This is a sick fucking joke. First you tell me you’re guardian angels. That you’re the good guys. Then you tell me I’m trying to conjure up demons, and the woman who’s been a dear friend to me—one of my only friends—is a guardian angel too, but if she’s one of you, and if those books can really do what you say, why would she give me one?”

“I don’t know,” Rip said. “Perhaps she’s lost any and all grip on reality. Perhaps it got to be too much.”

“Wouldn’t guardian angels be above that?”

Rip pinned her with a flat stare and said, “We’re hardly perfect. Our bodies heal, our bodies don’t age, but in our hearts, we’re human. We have every human weakness that any other human has, every other strength. I don’t know why. But she’s coming after you, and if she can’t get you to do what she wants, she’ll just as soon kill you.”

I stopped messing with the meal when Mandy threw something at Rip. He knocked it out of the way, his reflexes only marginally slowed by his injury. He stared at her, and there was sympathy and sadness in his gaze now.

“You’re lying,” Mandy said, shaking her head. “This is all some kind of fucking sick joke—or you’re just so fucking crazy, it’s not even funny.”

She disappeared from the room and I braced myself, expecting to hear the front door open. But her footsteps didn’t even go near the door. I heard another door open, then slam shut.

The basement door. She was hiding down there. Away from us. Away from the truth. Poor kid. She probably even knew she was hiding.

Rip looked at me and sighed. “Should you talk to her? Should I?”

“Neither.” I shook my head and went back to the food. “Just give her some time. It’s one hell of a load we just dropped on her.”

After I fed him, I urged him back to bed and then settled in beside him, stroking my hand up and down the hard, smoothly-muscled planes of his abdomen. I felt my way along each of the fading scars.

For the rest of my life, I’d remember how they’d looked before Mandy had healed him, those hideous, horrible open wounds, pumping out blood in rhythm with his heart.

“I thought you wanted me to rest,” Rip said, his voice drowsy.

“I do.” I pushed up on my elbow and looked at him. I loved looking at him. His face was so unbelievably beautiful—perfect, even. And his eyes—melted chocolate. I could get lost in those eyes.

Resting a hand just above his heart, I whispered, “I’m sorry about your wife and your friend. I more or less figured out who you were a while back, but I didn’t know… Well, I didn’t know. That must have been hell for you.” I smirked and added, “And to think you tried to tell me that not all of us have such shadowy, dark stories.”

“Mine is nothing compared to what happened to you.” He covered my hand with his, stroked his thumb along the back of it.

“Do you know? I mean, all of it?”

He shook his head. “No. If you want to tell me, I will listen. But no, I don’t know all. I just know enough.”

“How?”

He glanced away and then back at me. “Through Fae. She knew your Mary, you know. They were close at one time. Fae knew of you because of Mary, and then after that night, I learned of you from her.”

“So the psycho Grimm who is out hurting people instead of helping them is spilling out my life story?” I winced. I could do without that. Seriously.

He stroked a roughened fingertip along my jaw. “Not to everyone. She told me. I suspect, only me. Would you rather I not know?”

“I don’t know. No. Yes.” I blew out a breath and sat up, drawing my knees up and hugging them to my chest. “I just don’t know.”

He stroked a hand down my back. The warmth of his touch, the care, the passion he held in check, made me shudder. I shot him a look over my shoulder and said, “If I’m supposed to let you rest, then you really need to quit touching me like that.”

“Like what?”

I rolled my eyes at him. “Like at all. Any time you touch me, all I want to do is get naked with you.”

He waited a beat and then responded, “I don’t mind you getting naked.”

“You need to rest.” I tried to mean it. Really.

But when he caught one of my braids and wrapped it around and around his wrist, drawing me closer, I knew I didn’t.

We needed each other more than he needed rest.

I glanced at the door as I leaned over him, my mouth just a whisper away from his. It was mostly closed, open enough that we could both hear Mandy if she started up the steps or tried to escape.

“Should we be doing this?” I asked him as he pressed his mouth to my jaw.

“We should.” He grabbed the waistband of my shirt and stripped it away.

I threw a knee over his hips and straddled him. Through the layers of denim, I could feel his heat, feel how hard he was. He throbbed against me and I moaned, rolling my hips against him.

“You’re right. We should.”

“Your clothes are in the way,” he whispered, pulling me down and burying his face between my breasts. He ran gentle hands up my back and sought out the clasp of my bra, slipping it free and pulling the silk and lace away from me. When he caught one nipple in his mouth, I groaned and reached down, threading my hands through his hair. The dark gold strands tangled around my hands.

Rip surged up, uncaring of the wound in his belly as he tucked me under his body and levered up onto his knees. He stripped away my jeans, then his own. Just before he would have come over me, I reached out and traced the wounds on his belly. “Are you feeling well enough? We don’t know what will come tonight. You need to be ready.”

He caught my hand and guided it to his cock. I folded my fingers around him and stroked. He shuddered and arched into my touch. “Trust me, I’m fine.”

Then he came over me. I spread my legs to accommodate him, whimpering as he stroked his fingers along the sensitive flesh between my thighs. He pressed his thumb against my clit and stroked. He alternated between teasing strokes there and dipping his fingers in and out of my sex, spreading the heated moisture around.

I rocked against his hand and tugged on his shoulders. “Stop teasing me.”

“But it’s fun,” he murmured, nipping my lower lip.

I worked a hand between us and closed my fingers around his sac, tightening them and tugging—gently at first, then harder and firmer.

His eyes narrowed and he growled, thrusting himself against me. “Don’t,” he rasped.

“But it’s fun.” I gave him a look of mock innocence and then grinned as he eased up onto his knees, one on either side of my hips, staring at my hand on his flesh. He cupped his cock in his hand and started to stroke, his breath leaving him in ragged bursts.

I tugged lightly, staring at him from under my lashes.

Thick, dark hair fell across his shoulders, into his eyes. With his face in shadow, I could just barely make out the hungry glitter in his eyes. I tugged on him again and he groaned, his head falling back. He stroked himself harder and reached down with his other hand, covering mine and squeezing until I tightened my grip.

I winced, certain I had to be hurting him, but when I looked at him he had this look on his face. It took my breath away.

“Harder,” he muttered, tugging on my hand again. He moved faster and faster and then, with a muffled shout, he came. The hot, wet fluid coated his hand and my belly.

I smiled up at him, but the smile faded as he crushed my mouth under his.

He kissed me like he was starving for me.

I opened for him—I opened my mouth for his kiss, my legs for his body…my heart for his. I needed him. So much. I’d been a fool to think I could convince myself otherwise. Ever since I’d walked away from him, I hadn’t been living.

I had just existed.

He entered me with one deep, hard thrust. I wailed his name against his lips and he immediately froze, his long, lean body stiffening over mine. He tore his mouth away and swore. “Damn it, Greta, I’m sorry…”

I grabbed his shoulders. My nails pierced his flesh. Wrapping my legs around his hips, I whispered, “Don’t you dare stop.”

“I’m being too rough—”

“I won’t break.” I stared at him, reaching up to cup his cheek in my hand. “You’d never hurt me.”

I knew that. Like I knew my own name, I knew he’d never hurt me.

Arching my hips, I rubbed myself against him and then flexed my inner muscles around his throbbing length. We both shuddered.

“Rip, please…”

He kissed me again and started to move. Deep, rough strokes, followed by a slow, lingering withdrawal. It was a teasing, taunting rhythm designed to drive me mad. I panted and wiggled and rocked underneath him, flexing around him as though I could keep him from pulling out. I needed him—needed more.

He stared at me. I felt lost in that gaze, lost in him. I traced one finger along his mouth. He caught the tip between his teeth and bit down lightly. Then he caught my hand and twined our fingers together. Lowering his head, he pressed his brow to mine and stared into my eyes. Like that, with our hands entwined and our gazes locked together, he rode me. The time for teasing was gone.

I could feel it, my climax, moving up on me hard and fast. But I didn’t want to go without him. I flexed around him again and watched his lids flicker, watched as a sexy little snarl crossed his face. “Come with me,” I whispered. “Stay with me.”

“Always.” He moved higher on my body and each stroke had him rubbing against my clit.

Harder. Faster. It built higher and higher, twisted me tighter and tighter. Then it broke and I came with a moan, shuddering and shaking under him while he growled in his throat and slammed home, deep, deep inside me. His cock jerked and pulsed and then he was coming too.

He collapsed against me with his head pillowed between my breasts, working his arms around me. With our bodies tangled, I lay there panting and sucking in air. Cool air danced over my heated flesh. I could feel his heart pounding against me. It echoed the rhythm of my own.

I was drifting ever closer to sleep when I heard him speak.

“I love you.”

Until Greta tensed in his arms, he hadn’t realized he’d spoken out loud.

Inwardly, he swore. Hard and furious. Outwardly, he didn’t allow himself much reaction. All he did was push up onto his elbows and look up at her. Waiting.

She blinked at him.

“What?”

He ran a hand along her thigh and shrugged. “You heard what I said.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You did.” He slid his hand back up her thigh and rested it on the swell of her hip. “If you didn’t hear me, you wouldn’t look so terrified.”

“I’m not terrified,” she lied. Her voice shook as she said it.

“You are.” Then he caught her hand, drew it to his lips. When she didn’t pull away, he let himself breathe a little deeper. He kissed it and then laced their fingers together. “I love you. I think part of me loved you before I ever saw you. I think part of me was born loving you.”

From under his lashes, he looked at her. “You can’t tell me you don’t feel something.”

She ran her tongue along her lips and he closed his eyes. If he kept looking at her, he was going to kiss her again. And they needed to do this—he needed to tell her. And he needed to hear—either she loved him, or she just cared. If it was the latter, he needed to know, because he needed to be away from her.

She combed a hand through his hair and pressed against his head until he had his head pillowed between her breasts once more. “Yeah, I feel something. And yeah…maybe I am a little terrified.”

“A little?”

A weak smile curled her lips. “Yeah. Maybe a little. Maybe a lot. Guess that’s why I worked so hard to stay away from you for so long. I don’t understand the mess inside me, Rip. Not at all.”

“That’s okay. I don’t either. But we can figure out together.”

She stared at him, shaking her head. “You’ve been in love before. I’ve never wanted to love anybody. I don’t like letting people close.”

“I never loved my wife the way I love you.” He pressed a kiss to the inner curve of her breast and murmured, “I’ve never loved anybody the way I love you. I don’t think I ever could. I was made to love you, and only you, like this.”

Tears glittered in her blue eyes. “Wow. I never thought you the poetical, romantic type.”

With a wolfish grin, he murmured, “Oh, I can get very romantic.” Then he slid a hand between them and cupped her, pushing one finger into her hot, swollen pussy. “Would you like to see?”

“That’s not romance, pal.” She groaned and pressed her hips against his hand. “But I don’t care.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I made him rest more.

He’d nap for a few hours, then wake up hungry and thirsty. I’d feed him and then he’d be hungry for me.

On the third cycle, he didn’t drift back to sleep immediately. He lay there with me in his arms. I rubbed my fingers across his scarred belly. Already, the scars were white and smooth, completely flat. They’d be gone come morning.

“Do you think she’ll come tonight?”

Rip shook his head.

“She won’t wait until tonight.”

I waited for him to elaborate. But he looked like he was done talking. Rolling my eyes, I pushed up onto my elbow and stared at him. “Why not?”

He shrugged and toyed with the ends of my hair. “She isn’t patient. She sent the orin to retrieve the girl and they failed. So she’ll come, and she won’t wait for nightfall. She isn’t a demon—she finds no added strength in the darkness.”

“Is she strong?” Then I rolled my eyes and muttered, “Of course, she’s strong.” An idea occurred to me. “Do you…Rip, maybe she is the one opening the door for the bocan. I’m not strong enough, but I’ve heard rumors that the older ones can do it. Not just…” She made a face. “It’s not just our wise and compassionate leader.”

“Compassionate?” Ripe snorted. “Sure.”

His face darkened and I knew he was thinking about what I said. “I don’t know. I just don’t know. She’s old enough—older than you.”

He stared up at the ceiling, brooding. He did the broody-male bit so very well, his dark brows drawn tight over his melted-chocolate gaze, that very bitable mouth drawn into a tight, straight line. It made me want to lean over him and bite him, see if I couldn’t kiss his scowl away. But instead of doing that, I made myself focus on the problem at hand.

“Some demons can open doors, we already know that.” He scraped his nails down his cheek, the short, five o’clock stubbing rasping under his touch. “It can’t be easy, otherwise would have been overrun with demons long ago. God never would have given the demons the power to escape. Although, I’ve got to admit, I wonder why He gave anybody the power to open the doorways to the netherplains, why any of the demons trapped there were allowed to escape at all. Wouldn’t life be easier if they were seriously, permanently and completely trapped?

It seemed that way to me.

One of the many questions I’ve got for when I finally meet my maker. I sent a brief prayer to the heavens that it wouldn’t be anytime soon—not today, not tonight. Preferably not for a long time.

I don’t really fear dying. It happens to all of us and I already know where I’m going. But all of a sudden, life was looking really interesting for me and I wanted to see where it takes me.

Where it might take us—Rip and me.

Plus, if I had my choice, I’d rather not get taken by some psycho Grimm who had to go and turn to the dark side.

“You got any idea why she’s doing this?” I toyed with his medallion and stared off into the distance.

He sighed. I could feel the warmth of his breath skating along my cheek, dancing through my hair. “No.”

“None?” Pushing up onto my elbow, I looked at him.

He had that broody look on his face again, and I wanted to kiss him again. But now I wanted to kiss him because I could feel the pain in him and I just wanted to take it away. He cupped my cheek and stroked a thumb across my lips. “No, Greta. No idea at all.”

Hot tingles started dancing inside me any time he touched me. I wanted to bite his thumb, then suck on it. Then kiss my way up his arm, along his shoulder until I could bury my face against his neck and breathe him in.

But I didn’t. Deep inside, somewhere past this mind-blowing hunger for him, somewhere past all the confusion and hope brewing inside me, there was something else. A part of me, getting ready for a confrontation.

I don’t know if it was instinct, some foreknowledge given to me so I could prepare or what. But the time for lying with my lover had come to an end.

For now.

Only for now.

I wouldn’t let myself think otherwise.

I huffed out a breath and made myself sit up. “We need to get Mandy up here. Talk. I need to know as much as you can tell me about Fae.” I grimaced and looked down. “And I need a shower.”

Rip sat up behind me and pressed a kiss to my shoulder. He slid an arm around me, pressing his palm against my belly.

We sat there like that for a long moment and then, as though by some unspoken agreement, we pulled apart at the same time. I rose from the bed and turned to watch Rip as he did the same. He winced as he stretched. I knew the feeling—the muscles in my belly still hadn’t forgotten the damage the bocan had done.

A few minutes later, I was standing under the showerhead, scrubbing my hair, my body. I didn’t linger. There wasn’t any time. I finished in what might be record time for me. Water sluiced off my body as I grabbed a towel and rubbed myself dry. I hadn’t no more than pulled on a pair of panties when Rip appeared in the door.

He didn’t say a word as he stripped away his jeans and climbed into the shower. His shirt was trashed, but I’d gone through my clothes and found an old, faded, oversized blue T-shirt that I wore to bed sometimes. His jeans had been washed, just a few faint marks where the blood hadn’t come completely out.

Blood can be damn hard to wash away.

I grabbed the blue T-shirt and tossed it onto the sink for him after I finished dressing. And I only peeked towards the shower once on my way out. Okay. Twice. No woman who has ever seen Rip could blame me for that.

I didn’t mess with drying my hair, just quickly braided the damp mess and left it at that. Mandy was back upstairs, eying the bodies. They were starting to smell. We needed to get rid of them—hell, we needed to get rid of them yesterday, but I couldn’t leave Rip alone and I wasn’t about to let Mandy deal with it.

And now…now, I just didn’t know if there was time.

Rip strode in the living after me and stopped abruptly to stare at the covered corpses. I shot him a glance and asked, “How did you get rid of the last bocan?”

He tugged on his medallion. I grinned at him. “Bet he appreciated that.”

His lips quirked in a smile.

“Think he’d take care of this one?”

“I don’t know. But we’ll worry about the bodies later.” He had a strange look in his eyes. I don’t know if he knew it, but his hand kept opening and closing. Flexing into a fist. He wanted his weapons.

I pointed to the chest I toted along when I moved from town to town. “They are in there,” I said. “Even that staff thing, although I was seriously tempted to hide that one and keep it.”

“It’s not balanced for you. Weight’s wrong. I’ll have one made for you. After.” He strode to the chest and crouched down in front of it. The moment he had one of his blades in his hand, I could see the muscles in his back and shoulders relax minutely.

Mandy stood in the doorway of the stairwell, staring at the bodies with revulsion. “How much longer am I going to have to stay in a house with corpses?”

“You won’t have to worry about it after tonight,” I told her absently.

Either we’d deal with Fae, win, and then deal with the bodies and leave town.

Or Fae would kill us.

Either way, our worries would be over.

“How strong is she?” I asked once Rip straightened up. He’d finished tucking away about half of his blades. The rest would go into his trashed leather coat.

“Very.” He leaned back against a wall with his arms crossed over his chest. “Physically, she’s only an average fighter.”

Average for us was pretty much like me. I could tangle hand-to-hand with pretty much any human and survive. But the demons, especially some of them, I had to be faster, stronger and use long, pointed objects to survive.

Rip was the better fighter. He was kind of like the supreme fighter. It’s part of his gift, I think—and I bet that’s part of why he was sent after Fae. He knew her better than most, and he’s a born predator. He’ll hunt and hunt and never give up.

“What about the not-physical things?” My coercion only worked on things that were more human than not. Demon-possessed humans, once they were all the way gone, didn’t react to coercion.

But Fae was still basically human. Just a little more. Like me. Like Rip. I didn’t know if it worked on Grimms or not.

“Hypnosis. If she catches your eyes, that could be all it takes for her to have you.”

I nodded. “Okay, so don’t let her catch my gaze. When I use coercion, do you feel it?”

His lids flickered. “Yes.”

“How much?”

“Depends on how hard you press, I think. I’ve only felt it twice.” He glanced at Mandy. “You felt stronger when you pushed the girl, even though it didn’t seem like you were using as much as before.”

Before…back all those years ago when we’d worked together. A few weeks together. One night together. Then years of emptiness because I was too much a coward to hang around and see what happened.

“Will it work on her?” I asked.

Rip shook his head. “I don’t know. It could be our best bet.”

“I’ve got a better idea.” The words were soft, but firm, coming from behind us.

We turned to look at Mandy. She looked a little green around the gills. “Why don’t we just run? If, and I’m not saying I believe you here, but if Fae really is that crazy and dangerous, shouldn’t we just not be here if she comes looking for us?”

“You believe us,” I said with a shrug. “If you didn’t believe us, you wouldn’t still be hanging around.”

She desperately wanted to be gone from here. It was written all over her face—it might as well have been in neon. She wanted to be gone, wanted to run hard and fast and never look back.

But she couldn’t, and even if she didn’t admit it, I knew why.

“I don’t believe you.” She glared at me. “You don’t know Fae—you don’t know she’s the same woman Mr. Rip Van Winkle is looking for or not.”

“I do know.” Rip stared at Mandy, his eyes intense.

Mandy edged out of the door. Keeping close to the wall, she made a circuit around the room until she stood in the doorway to the small kitchen. “This is insane. You two want me to believe that I’m talking to Gretel from Hansel and Gretel, and Rip Van Winkle—who didn’t go to sleep for twenty years, he was just being controlled by some guardian angel gone bad.”

“She hadn’t gone bad at the time,” I pointed out.

Her purple eyes flashed. “This is insane. How can you expect me to believe this?”

“I don’t.” I shrugged. I hadn’t believed Mary right away either, and I’d known her for a lot longer than Mandy had known me. I’d trusted her. Mandy didn’t know me, and she certainly didn’t trust me. “I don’t expect you to believe—me—yet. But if you want to live, you’re going to listen to what I say.”

“How can I trust that?” she whispered, shaking her head. Tears blurred her eyes. “How can I?”

“Listen to your gut.” She had the healing gift, so chances are she had some sort of empathic gift. Feeling the pain of others, being drawn to it, so she could heal. Healing and empathy went hand and hand. “What does your gut tell you? Does it say trust me?”

“She’s here.”

Rip could feel her.

Part of him, even after all these years, even after he knew what she’d become, part of him wanted to reach out and hold her. He reached inside his coat and drew his staff, palming it so the length of it was hidden by his arm.

They would have to take her out physically first.

Before she could use her gift.

Something thudded against the door. Hard. Mandy yelped. Then it was silent.

“What was that?” Mandy asked, her voice a soft, faint whisper.

Neither Rip or Greta answered. Greta was tucked in the corner, almost hidden from sight. She had to stay out of sight, because if he couldn’t incapacitate Fae before she caught him, then Greta was the next option.

His ace in the hole.

There was another thud against the door. It rattled and the wood whined. The poor door had been all but decimated last night. He had done a quick-fix job on it, but the patch job wouldn’t hold.

At the next thud, it gave way, half-ripped away from the wall. Rip found himself eye to eye with a vankyr. Another demon that took over human bodies, possessed them. It wasn’t one that was in for the long haul, though. Not like the orin. It wanted as much blood and chaos as possible and during the fray, it would try to find another host.

It didn’t feed on souls.

The soul ended up trapped inside, going along for the ride, an unwilling audience for whatever nasty trouble his demon stirred up.

Rip waited as it lumbered towards him.

Just before it would have reached him, he whipped up his staff and twisted it. Twin blades emerged. Metal whispered through the air as he struck. The body hit the floor and the head rolled away. Behind him, he heard Mandy scream.

“Get to the basement,” he ordered. “Now.”

He heard her feet moving, but he didn’t dare turn his head to see if she was obeying him. He couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t worry about her.

A winsome, willowy blonde stood in the door, her arms folded across her breasts. From the corner of his eye, he could see the smile on her mouth, see her lips part as she murmured, “Hello, Rip.”

“It’s over, Fae.”

She laughed. She had always had a beautiful laugh. One of those laughs that sounded like gently chiming bells. It made people want to look at her, to laugh with her and share her amusement. Rip focused on the busted door instead, keeping her in his peripheral vision.

“Over?” She clucked her tongue. “Now, you sound so certain. Arrogance has always been your downfall, precious. You know that, right?”

Shifting his body, he flicked a wrist. One of his custom throwing knifes dropped from a sheath into his hand. One shot.

He’d have one shot.

“Nothing else to say?” Fae asked softly. “No requests for explanations? No impassioned pleas?”

“They wouldn’t work.” He chanced one look at her. Threw the knife.

But she’d been ready.

She wasn’t there when the knife hit and instead of burying itself between her breasts, it was buried into wood.

With the speed and silence of their kind, she came around to stand just beside him. Her hand, cool and icy, touched his. “Let’s not get so rough, Rip. You know I don’t share your fascination for sharp objects. Look at me, precious. Let me see your eyes.”

He jerked away. But she followed him.

A smile curled her lips—a devious, satisfied smirk. She wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at Greta. She’d seen Greta.

“Well, well, well. They sent more than one after me? I’m impressed. I hadn’t realized I was such a danger already.”

Rip brought his staff up. Damn hard to fight when he could look everywhere but directly at his target. She was skilled at catching a person’s gaze. He had to keep that from happening. Had to keep her from using it on Greta.

He struck and Fae moved—towards him, not away. Moving inside his strike and pressing against him.

Caught—

“Stop.”

It was Greta’s voice. Full of command. Heavy with it. Rip threw himself towards it mentally. Grabbing onto the sound of her voice, letting it jerk him away before Fae could command him.

“Close your eyes.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

They both froze when I spoke.

Mandy was down in the basement, safe away from this. Safe—so long as we didn’t fail.

“Close your eyes,” I ordered them. Rip had warned me. I don’t know how her gift differed from mine. I had to actively work to keep people under my control, and I couldn’t do it for long before the pain became too severe.

It worked best for short-term options.

Somehow, I suspect hers is more long-term. After all, she kept Rip under her control for five months.

Bad gift to put into the hands of somebody who no longer fought on the side of the angels.

Both of them stood there, still frozen, locked in mid-step. Rip’s blade still hanging in mid-air. Fae stood pressed against him, one hand reaching up to touch his cheek.

“Let me go,” Fae demanded.

“Be silent, Fae.” I looked at Rip—saw the muscles contorting in his face, a muscle jerking in his jaw. Fighting me even as he needed me. “Rip, open your eyes and move away.”

He did and the minute my attention was focused solely on Fae, I realized how fucking strong she was. I could feel her struggling against my mental control, could feel her heart racing, her muscles tensing as she fought to take control of her body. And she was winning.

Bit by bit, she was forcing her body to turn so she could face me. We can’t have that, now can we?

“Fae, get on your knees. Keep your eyes closed.” She resisted. I pushed harder and pain sliced through my head. “Now.”

I felt something hot and liquid trickle from my nose. Nosebleed—absolutely perfect. I usually didn’t hit this level quite so fast.

“You’ve lost your wings, Fae. Give them up. Now.”

“Never.” She snarled, breaking free of my hold enough to answer me.

She was trying to turn her head. Trying to look at me.

“Keep your damned eyes closed and do not look at me,” I bellowed, putting every bit of power I had into the words. I didn’t dare look away from her. The pain in my head built and built. We needed to end this now, because I couldn’t fight her.

“Rip. Just do it. Now.”

Fae screeched and jerked against my hold as Rip circled around me and came at her from behind. “You’d stab me in the back?”

“No.” He didn’t stab her in the back.

He took her head in one swift strike.

And just as quickly as that, it was over. Metal clinked on the ground as I staggered back against the wall and fought to remain conscious. Something metallic glinted up at me. Tarnished silver.

Fae’s wings.

It wasn’t her power, but it was a symbol of what she’d been…once.

I wavered in and out of conscious, only vaguely aware of Mandy as she crept through the door to stare at Fae’s body. She gave me a horrified look and then went back to staring at the corpse.

“You were right,” she whispered, her voice thick.

Darkness swam in. I forced it back and listened as Rip spoke. Bit by bit, the pain receded. If I could just stay conscious, for a few more minutes…get this done. Then I’d collapse.

“I’m sorry, Mandy. Neither of us had much choice.”

“I know. I…I can see it.” She shot the dead bodies by the door a look. “I can feel it. Even dead, she feels…tainted. Just like they do. But she never felt like this before. Why didn’t I see it?”

I had to make myself look at the girl. “You feel a taint?”

She nodded and swallowed. “It’s evil. I can feel evil—the same way I can feel pain. But I can’t fix evil. I can’t fight it—it makes me helpless and I just have to deal with it.

“That’s why I accepted the book.” Tears filled her eyes and she looked at me. “She said it was a way to learn how to control my gift. It would teach me how to block out the things I didn’t want to feel. That’s why I took it. And when I looked at her, she never felt so…so dirty. Why didn’t I feel it before?”

“Because she wouldn’t let you.” Rip used one of the blankets that covered the bodies to clean his blade. “I already told you that she can hypnotize with just a look. She looked at you and without saying a word, she told you what you would see when you looked at her.”

The blackness was trying to push in on me again. My head didn’t hurt quite as bad as it had a few seconds ago, but I felt weak. Ridiculously weak. Had to get up, though. We needed to deal with the bodies…and get out of here.

Now.

I slammed a hand against the wall to keep from hitting the floor as nausea swam up to join the pain, threatened to drive me to my knees. I didn’t want to be on my knees in this house. Not on this floor. It was thick with blood, dark with death. Death, and its taint, would linger here.

Distantly, I felt ashamed, saddened. This had been such a nice little place and I had helped destroy it…

My legs were wobbling and I locked my knees to stay upright, concentrated on taking just one step. Then another. So focused on that, I didn’t see what was happening off to the side.

A silvery light, gathering in strength. Gathering mass.

It flashed and then there was a man.

He gave me a vaguely disgusted look and said, “Gretel, do sit down before you collapse.”

Mandy stared at him with wide, shocked eyes.

“Hi, Will. Nice to see you too,” I muttered, swallowing the nasty, hot bile that was climbing up my throat.

He moved away from the circle and studied the house. “You made an utter mess.”

Rip strode towards me and caught me in his arms. I have to admit, I was glad. The last of my strength drained away and in another second, I would have collapsed, I know it. “What in the hell are you doing here?” he demanded, glaring at Will.

“I’m here to clean up.” Then he flicked a look at Mandy. “And to take your charge from you.”

Mandy blinked and then looked at me, naked terror on her face. “Charge…is…is he talking about me?”

We hadn’t ever gotten around to that part. I looked at Will. “Take her? Why?”

“Because she needs to be…enlightened.”

“She has to choose it,” Rip said.

Will shrugged. “In her heart, she already has. But don’t worry, sleepyhead. I have not been gone from the field so long that I’ve forgotten the order of things. I’ll do it all right and proper, I promise.”

“But she’s my charge,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s up to me.”

Now Will smiled. It was a real smile too. And unless I was mistaken, there was some affection in it. “No, Gretel. You saved her—you and Rip. That’s all you were sent here for. Well, that…and so you two would find each other.”

My eyelids were too heavy.

I couldn’t keep looking at him.

The darkness swarmed around me. I fought against it and made myself open my eyes. There was still work to do.

A hand touched my cheek.

“No. I’ll handle it now… You rest.”

It was Will’s voice.

But it was Rip touching me. I turned my face into his hand, shuddered out a sigh and slept.

He didn’t like trusting Will. But he knew he did. Knew he had to. Rip glared at the other man as he pulled Greta against him.

“What are you doing here?”

Will returned his stare, a mocking smile on his face. “I already explained that.”

Mandy backed away from him. She looked like she was about ready to fly into a thousand pieces. This was too much for her. Way too much. “You aren’t taking me anywhere.”

“You’d rather walk in this world, knowing about the monsters but unable to fight them?” Will asked her.

It was the same question he’d posed to hundreds. Thousands.

It was the same question Fae had posed to Rip, all those years ago.

“Fight them?”

Will stooped by Fae’s lifeless body and brushed his fingers against the tarnished silver medallion. “Yes. Fight them.” He glanced at Rip, then at Mandy. “There is evil in the world. But it doesn’t have to leave you helpless. You don’t just have to deal. You can learn to fight it—you can learn to block it out so it doesn’t sneak into your dreams at night. That is the choice I offer you.”

“What in the hell are you talking about?” Mandy pressed fisted hands to her temples and squeezed her eyes closed. “None of this makes sense. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what’s going on.”

“If you come with me, I’ll explain all.” Will stood and held out a hand.

Mandy shot a look at Greta. Somehow, she’d forged a bond with the other woman. It didn’t surprise Rip. Softly, he said, “You can trust him. Greta does.” He sneered at Will and then added, “I trust him. I just don’t like him.”

“How can I trust anybody now?”

Stroking a hand down Greta’s pale cheek, Rip said, “Maybe you should just do what Greta said. Trust your gut. Somewhere inside, I think you knew you shouldn’t trust Fae. You wanted to. Maybe you needed to. But you knew you shouldn’t.”

Hesitantly, she nodded.

“So what does your gut say now?”

Mandy looked from Rip to Will and then back. She closed her eyes. Will continued to stand there, hand extended and waiting, like he had no doubt what Mandy’s choice would be. When she opened her eyes, she looked only Rip.

“If I say I want to just leave here, run away, change my name, maybe become a nun and walk around praying and playing with a crucifix, would you let me? Would he?”

“Yes.” Rip held her gaze.

“Yes,” Will echoed.

The tension eased from Mandy’s body and then she turned and studied Will. She looked. Rip could feel the intensity of that stare, feel the raw, untutored power in it. And even before she placed her hand in Will’s, he knew the answer too.

She’d made her choice.

“I’d look lousy in a nun’s habit, anyway,” she murmured.

As Will led her to the circle, Rip glanced around and muttered, “Leaving me to clean up again, you bastard.”

Over his shoulder, Will called out, “You made the mess, boy. Not me.”

The silver light flared. Bright and hot.

By the time it faded and Rip’s vision wasn’t so blinded by it, nearly a minute had passed. Weary, he eased Greta’s body down onto the couch and then stood. Such a mess, a troublesome mess, and it wasn’t going to be a pleasant task.

He glanced around the room. Stopped. He blinked his eyes a few times and then a reluctant grin came. “I’ll be damned.”

The room was impeccable. Even the busted door was restored.

And the dank, slimy feel of evil that should still linger was gone. No sign of the demons lingered. Not their presence, not their blood and not that lingering shadow of darkness.

I woke up to feel sun on my face.

There was a warm breeze blowing, toying with my hair, brushing against my body. My very naked body, I realized as I opened my eyes.

I didn’t know where in the world I was.

It was bright, though, very bright. Lots of windows. Lots of open windows that let in that very nice, warm breeze. Frowning, I pushed upright and looked out one of those windows. My jaw dropped as I realized I was on a beach. Somewhere.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.”

I swung my head around. Rip stood in the doorway, wearing a faded, worn-out pair of jeans, his medallion and nothing else. No leather coat, no arm sheathes that held five different knives. “Sleepyhead—isn’t that your nickname?”

His mouth twitched in that faint smile. “Sometimes I really hate the liberties storytellers take. That man didn’t get a single detail right except my name.”

“Well, the brothers Grimm didn’t exactly get my story right either, but I’d rather the world not know it anyway.” I shrugged and smoothed the cool, clean white sheets down around my legs. “Where are we?”

“Florida.”

That would explain the sandy beaches, I guess. Blood rushed up to my cheeks as I remembered the dream I’d had about Rip and me and beaches just a few days ago. Was it even a few days? Yes. It had been at least two days…I thought. But then again, it could have been longer. I had no idea how I’d gotten here. How long I’d been here.

“How long was I asleep?” I asked him, stretching my stiff body out before I eased over the edge.

“Nearly thirty hours.” He padded towards me and settled down on the bed next to me. “We needed to get away from Ann Arbor. It was a miracle none of the mortals saw us or called the police. I left some money for whoever owns the house, put you in my car and just started driving. Didn’t know where to go so I just came here.”

I glanced around and said, “Just where is here…besides Florida?”

“It’s my home,” he murmured. He laid a hand on my thigh. “And I was kind of hoping maybe you’d want it to be your home too.”

A grin tugged at his lips, and if I wasn’t mistaken he looked nervous. “Of course, it’s not one of those candy houses or anything, but still, I’d like to share it with you.”

“It was a gingerbread house, you dolt,” I said, even as tears started to sting my eyes.

A home.

A real home.

I hadn’t had one since…Mary. I could have—it was possible. There were arrangements that could be made, strings that could be pulled when one of us wanted to find someplace sort of permanent. Someplace safe. A home.

But nothing had ever felt like home since I’d left behind the little cottage in the woods where Mary had raised me. So many years ago.

One would think I might forget what it felt like to come home.

It’s not something one forgets. Ever. I promise you.

I covered Rip’s hand with mine. “Yeah. I’m thinking I’d like that.”

He stroked his fingertips over my brow and murmured, “How does your head feel?”

“Wonderful.” I leaned in and kissed him, pressing my mouth to his. I smiled against his lips and added, “I feel wonderful.”

“Yes.” He pulled me into his lap. I straddled him and pressed myself against the heat I could feel through his jeans. Hot and hard, already.

As he pulled me down on the bed with him, I whispered, “I love you.”

He cradled my head in his hands, his dark eyes locked on mine. “I love you.”

Later, I remember lying in bed and thinking, Huh. I finally got that happy ending, didn’t I?

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BIO

J.C. Daniels is the pen name of author Shiloh Walker.

Shiloh Walker has been writing since she was a kid. She fell in love with vampires with the book Bunnicula and has worked her way up to the more…ah…serious works of fiction. She loves reading and writing anything paranormal, anything fantasy, and nearly every kind of romance. Once upon a time she worked as a nurse, but now she writes full time and lives with her family in the Midwest. She writes romantic suspense and contemporary romance, and urban fantasy as J.C. Daniels. You can find her at Twitter or Facebook and read more about her work at her website. Sign up for her newsletter and have a chance to win a monthly giveaway.

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HUNT ME

A Paranormal Romance

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CHAPTER ONE

“Hello, gorgeous.”

The low, rich purr of her voice was enough to have Drew Quentin shifting in the miserable, busted chair. He also had to fight the urge to smile as he reminded himself he’d decided to end things with Dakota Coulter.

He wanted her, he was halfway in love with her…and she refused to so much as give him her damn phone number.

He could have handled that.

But the cop in him was a little bit disturbed by the fact that Dakota Coulter had a past that was just a little too mysterious. Oh, her background check held up—too well, actually. Something about her had his instincts quivering.

She wouldn’t open up for him.

“Drew?”

He closed his eyes. “I’m here, Dakota.”

“Having a rough night, sugar?”

The compassion in her voice all but gutted him. Damn it. This would be so much easier if she didn’t care—so much easier if he wasn’t in love with her.

“Yeah, you could say that.” He rubbed his temple. He shouldn’t have answered the damn phone. But shit, it wasn’t like he could avoid this forever. He looked up and saw Nicole staring at him. Nicole Halloway, the local DA with the pretty blue eyes, sweet smile and dynamite body.

She was there, she was steady. She was the reason he needed to break things off with Dakota. He liked Nic. Cared for her—a lot. There was an attraction there, too, one that could maybe become more. But not if he was obsessed with a woman who wouldn’t ever hang around for longer than a night or two.

“I guess you’re not up for meeting me after work, huh?” Dakota sighed. “That’s cool, sugar. I understand. I’ll look you up—”

“No.” He continued to stare at Nic. He had to get this done. “We can meet. I…I’ve been needing to talk to you anyway, Dakota.”

Now Nic’s brows arched up over big blue eyes. So far their ‘dates’ hadn’t been much more than a cup of coffee, a quick lunch. She knew he’d been seeing another woman, knew he wasn’t going to get serious until he’d been able to break things off. It was time he did that.

Even if it did feel a little like he was ripping out his own kidney with his teeth. Or even his heart.

Sighing, Dakota ended the call.

Something in Drew’s voice had her heart aching.

“We need to talk, huh, lover? Yeah. I’ve heard that line before.” Then she tipped her head back, staring up at the nighttime sky. Granted, she hadn’t heard it much in recent years. Not since she’d slid into a crazy little world where vampires, werewolves and other things went bump in the night. Sometime back in the 70’s, she thought.

Yeah. She smiled absently, some echo of fondness trying to lift the melancholy settling over her heart. But it wouldn’t budge. She’d been kind of happy about coming to Asheville. Now? Not so much.

She was a Hunter without a territory or Master. Her random circuit had her rambling all over the east coast. She often ended up in this area, and she’d been just fine with that. Because this area held a lot of appeal for her, namely in the fine form of one Asheville city detective…Andrew Michael Quentin…Drew.

Drew—the cop who was getting ready to dump her.

She glanced down at her clothes, remembered she’d planned to change before she saw him. “Screw changing.”

She was going shopping.

If he was going to dump her, she was going to show him in vivid, glorious detail what he was missing.

Maybe it would make her feel better.

Although she wasn’t particularly counting on it.

The splash of murderous red on her nails didn’t do much to lift her spirits, but Dakota was pleased with how she looked, at least. The dress might have been a bit overdone, but red looked good on her. It clung to her curves, stopped just a bit short of her knees. And she could still move.

She’d passed on the really cute Jimmy Choos with the ankle straps, settling on a simpler pair of heels. She could run barefoot without falling. Even though falling wasn’t likely, running flat out in heels wasn’t as easy as people might make it seem in books or movies.

On the job, Dakota was practical, and even if she was taking some time to get dumped, she was still working. The only time she wasn’t working was when she crashed in her cabin up in Maine or when she got pulled into Excelsior for one thing or another.

The life of a Hunter.

Sighing, she made one last study of her reflection, pulling the brush through her dark brown hair. It curled around her mostly naked shoulders, the ends coming down to drape around her breasts. She looked good. She was honest enough to admit that. She looked good…like a woman who wanted a man to know it, too.

“Damn it.” She swallowed and turned away from her reflection, determined not to spend the next hour thinking about this. Next hour, minimum, because even though she wasn’t meeting Drew until midnight, she’d be circling around the city. Circling around, watching things. Making sure she wasn’t being watched. There were paranormal creatures aplenty here.

Every damn time she came through, she had to settle trouble. None of it was bad. If it had been bad in the major category, a bigger bad-ass would be here.

Dakota had yet to grow into full bad-ass potential.

But she was good enough to play cop and if things got bad, call in the big guns. Part of playing cop meant being careful.

The life of a Hunter.

A damn lonely life.

“So. You’re breaking things off.” Nic stared at him with a thoughtful frown. “Look, you know, you don’t have to do this. I…I can tell you’ve got feelings for her. And it’s not like we’re ready to move in together or anything. All we’ve got so far is a couple of casual dates and…”

He caught her around the back of the neck and pulled her close. When this woman started babbling, as adorable as it was, this was the only way to stem the flow of words. She gasped against his mouth and then sighed, moving closer. Her lips parted for him and she slid her hands inside his coat.

“Hmmm.” She hummed under her breath as he lifted his head. “What was that for?”

“To make you be quiet a minute.” Pressing his brow to hers, he stroked his thumb across her damp lower lip. “I know I don’t have to do this. But things with me and her aren’t ever going to change, and I don’t like where they are. I like where things are with us. We can’t change while she’s in the picture. Those casual dates won’t go any further until things change, right? So we change them.”

I change them, he thought.

She wrinkled her nose at him. “That shouldn’t sound so sweet. But it does.” Nic rested her head against his chest. “Call me when you wake up?”

“Yeah.” He stroked his fingers through her hair, the silken blonde strands glinting in the harsh, fluorescent lighting. “You want me to follow you home?”

“No. I’m good. I’ve got paperwork to finish up. I’ll have somebody walk me out.” She stroked a hand down his cheek. “You need to shave, baby.”

Then she pecked him on the lips and turned around, her heels clicking on the floor. Just before she disappeared around the hall, her phone rang. He could hear her voice drifting down the hall. When she suddenly snapped, “Son of a bitch!” it made him grin.

He was still shaking as his head as he turned to grab his stuff. But the grin had faded by the time he hit the door. He had thirty minutes.

Thirty minutes to figure out how in the hell to tell Dakota Coulter good-bye.

How did he tell this woman he loved that he was leaving her because she wouldn’t hang around for longer than a day? Hell, he hadn’t even told her loved her.

If she asked why he was ending it, did he tell her he didn’t entirely trust her? And that he’d rather have the sweeter, quieter woman who was there…even if he didn’t want her quite as much as he wanted Dakota?

Rage vibrated inside her. She hid in the darkness, clinging to the shadows she’d just learned to call, because she had to get control. Yeah. Dakota was being dumped. For another woman. She could smell the other woman, even above the smoke, the alcohol, the food…and that lovely, male scent that was uniquely Drew’s.

Now it was for another woman to enjoy.

Mine.

Everything inside her screamed it. But she pushed it aside. Yeah, she had feelings for the guy. She’d had them for a while, but Drew was human.

Dakota was a vampire. Her heart might still very well be human, but she’d stopped being human forty years ago. Tears pricked her eyes. She blinked them away. Nothing like leaking blood-tinged tears to really freak him out. She waited until she knew her eyes would be normal. Even though she knew they hadn’t slid from their sheaths, she checked her fangs with her tongue.

He didn’t know. Oh, he knew she had secrets. She could see it in his eyes. She had no doubt that was part of the problem between them. But what could she say? Honey, I’m a vampire. I’ll be around as often as I can, but…

He was a mortal who wouldn’t even believe in her world. She’d always known it would have to end. Now it was time. As she slid from the booth, she released the shadows. She saw the way he stiffened when he saw her, caught off guard. She allowed herself a small, pleased smile. She’d seen him looking for her, and he was a cop—he’d have looked well.

But nobody could hide like a vampire.

She came to a stop in front of him, smiled at him lazily, careful to keep her mouth closed. Now that she was closer, she could smell the other woman more clearly and she wasn’t going to risk losing that oh-so-precious control.

“Hey there.” He bent down to kiss her, not that he had to bend much with the four-inch heels she wore.

Dakota turned her head to the side so that his lips brushed against her cheek. Her heart shuddered in her chest and she eased backward, avoiding his gaze as she headed toward the bar. “I need a drink,” she said over her shoulder. Not that she expected it would do her much good, except maybe the familiarity of it. She’d have to down a vat of it before she could really get tanked.

She slid onto the stool and called out to the bartender. “Hendrix and tonic with a cucumber slice! Make it a double.”

“Sure thing, beautiful.” His smile flashed white in his dark face. White…with rather sharp teeth. She rolled her eyes. Bo was a shifter. It was one of the reasons she liked this pub. He was a decent sort. If she had to slip out sudden-like, he’d help cover her retreat. As he brought the drink down to her, he focused on her face, his nostrils flaring a bit.

“You’re unhappy, Hunter.” he said, his voice too low for Drew to hear. That didn’t keep him from trying. He slid onto the stool next to her, gaze narrowed on Bo. The shifter ignored him, stroking a finger down Dakota’s cheek. “I don’t like to see a pretty Hunter unhappy.”

“Can’t be helped.” She smiled brightly. Then she reached out and patted his hand. In a voice just as low as his, she said, “Now stop trying to piss him off. This is going to be hard enough, ’kay?”

Bo stared at her, then, with a sigh, he walked off. She took a sip of her drink. Distracted, she glanced around and saw a business card somebody had left on the bar. It had a phone number on it. For some reason, it made her even sadder to see it. Somebody else had struck out tonight.

Taking the business card, she absently started to fold it up, turning it into a neat triangle. She kept fiddling with it until Bo slid a Guinness in front of Drew.

Dropping the business card, she took a healthy drink from her glass and then turned, crossing her legs as she studied Drew’s face. His gaze dropped, quick as a wish, to her legs and then shot right back up to her face. Oh, yes. It was over.

He reached for the business card, unfolding and it smoothing out the creases. “You did that the first time I gave you my number.”

“Habit. You know that by now.” She shoved her hair back, staring at the familiar lines of his face, memorizing them. Over, it really was over. Damn it, she had to get out of here before she started to cry. “Look, let’s just get it over with, baby. I’d rather not listen to whatever pretty speech you put together.”

The thick fringe of his lashes drooped over his eyes. “What exactly do you do for a living, Dakota, read minds?” he asked, his voice conversational. Or it would have been, if he hadn’t been raising it to be heard over the noise in the bar. One hand, long-fingered and callused in just the right way, closed around his glass.

Dakota sighed. It wasn’t the first time he’d asked, although she knew he wasn’t really asking, this time. “Baby, you know what I do for a living. Security consulting. We’ve had this discussion before.”

“Yeah. And I sell bridges in Arizona.” He took a deep drink from his Guinness. “Do I even need to spell this out or did you already piece it together?”

“Why don’t you just save me the details, Drew?” She tossed back the rest of the drink and slid off her stool, ignoring the concern in his eyes. “I hope she makes you happy, cop.”

Without saying another word, she headed off toward the back of the bar. She heard him behind her. Almost started to turn—she wouldn’t mind one last kiss. Something to give him to remember her by. But something prickled along her spine.

There was a whisper of warning, those instincts that made her what she was. Part of those secrets she’d kept hidden from Drew. As much as she’d love to give Drew that farewell kiss, she knew she couldn’t. Once more, duty called. She was needed.

She shot Bo a look. He wasn’t a Hunter, but sometimes she suspected that was because he’d chosen not to be.

Their gazes met. With a subtle jerk of his head, he nodded to the backroom. He’d cover her, let her leave in secrecy, in silence.

As she slid away from Drew, he played interception.

One last time. Because she wouldn’t be seeing Drew again.

It all but ripped her heart out to think about it.

“What the…?”

Okay, he’d come here to break things off, but he’d wanted to say good-bye, damn it. Was there a fucking reason he couldn’t say good-bye?

Oh, hell, no. He was going to at least do that. She might not be what he needed—even if she was what he wanted, but he would have good-bye.

“Hey there, buddy…”

The bartender, moving with an eerie silence that was almost as disturbing as Dakota’s, stood between them. Drew tensed, his eyes narrowed. “Step back.”

“Can’t do that, cop.” Then he smiled, quick and easy. “Not unless you got a good reason for tearing off into the backroom of my business. You give me a reason, then sure, I’m happy to let you. I’m a law-abiding citizen, you know.”

“How about you just let my girlfriend go back there and she’s upset?”

The black man reached up, scraped his nails down his cheek in a thoughtful, lazy manner. “Well, you see, the problem there is this…she isn’t your girlfriend. Not any more at least. You just broke things up. Got another lady waiting for you, too.”

“That’s none of your business, is it?” And how the hell did you know that?

“Your girlfriend? You?” The man shook his head. “Not a bit. But Dakota, well, she’s a friend of mine. She walked away. That means she’s done. Let her go. Go on now, man. You got your own path to follow, don’t you? Doesn’t seem to include her anymore.”

His golden eyes glimmered in the dim light and for a minute, Drew would have sworn they glowed. The man’s face seemed something…other. But then the moment passed and the bartender smiled. “You gotta understand, man. I just don’t like the idea of a cop roaming around my place without a reason, but even less…I don’t want you upsetting her any more than she already is.”

“That’s why I’d like to talk to her.”

“Talking to her after you ditched her for another woman isn’t going to make her feel better.” Now he stared at Drew as though he was the stupidest man on God’s green earth.

It didn’t help that maybe Drew even felt that way.

It also didn’t help that Drew had the weirdest feeling he was making a huge mistake, walking away from Dakota. But she wasn’t what he needed…

Isn’t she…?

No. What he needed was the pretty, petite blonde who didn’t have a thousand secrets, who answered his phone calls, and who would be there. He didn’t want to put a ball and chain on any woman, but he’d sure as hell like to have a woman in his life who was around more often an once a month, once every two months…less.

Sighing, he shifted his gaze past the other man, staring at the closed door that separated him from Dakota. “You need to go check on her then. Make sure she’s okay…hell. I don’t know. I just…”

“I’ve always been there when she needed me. Today’s no different.”

As the cop finally left, Bo said, “Marin.”

His second, a small, sleek woman, appeared at his side. The top of her head barely reached the middle of his chest. She was one of the meanest bitches he’d ever met in his life—he absolutely adored her.

“Yeah?”

“Watch the bar for me. I think I’m needed somewhere.”

She sighed and pushed her pink-streaked hair back from her face. “Dude, you keep insisting you’re no Hunter.”

Bo smiled. “I’m not…I’m just worried about Dakota. She’s a friend. If she wasn’t, I wouldn’t worry unless it was going to present a problem for us.”

His small pack was just now getting established here. He wouldn’t risk it.

But he wouldn’t be much of a friend if he ignored that tingle on his spine, either. Dakota had problems coming her way. He didn’t know what they were, but if it was something she could handle, he wouldn’t be feeling this way.

“I’ll be back.”

As he slipped through the back door, Marin made a face at him.

CHAPTER TWO

Somebody was going to die. Dakota tasted it, felt it. Could feel it clogging her throat and she wanted to kick her own ass. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t felt anything earlier. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t realized anything bad was going down. What mattered was that she hadn’t been doing her job. She had been with Drew.

Now somebody was going to die. She knew she wouldn’t get there in time to stop it. She could feel the blood. Taste it. It hung in the air like a cloud.

Idiot. Stupid, selfish idiot. What had she been thinking?

It was thicker now, the stink of death, thicker as she drew closer to the building, and when she started up the fire escape, it was almost enough to choke her. She heard them. Voices, whispering. A grunt. A soft, broken moan. The air is thick with the stink of violent, angry lust.

Calling on the shadows, she wrapped herself in them, hiding. Distantly, she was aware of the fading, faltering pulse. The woman, she was dying. I’m sorry…

The window was open. Dakota hesitated. How do I get in?

How had feral vamps gotten in? Had the woman invited them? There was some truth to the rumor vampires could only go where they were invited—a person set up a home, set down roots, it gave him a bit of protection. Their protection started to fade, though, when the owner died. This owner wasn’t gone—yet.

Dakota wasn’t going to wait until it was too late. Focusing her mind, she reached out. As she did it, she prayed. As the ferals were too far into the blood lust, they wouldn’t be aware of anything else. That was bad for the woman, the better for Dakota. She was clinging to life, but only barely.

Hey, sweetheart. Invite me in. I’ll get rid of them.

She felt a flicker of surprise from the woman—followed by desperation, determination. This woman wanted to live. Even though her body strength was waning with every drop of blood loss, clung to life. Help me. Help us…

Us…? Dakota frowned. Then she took a deep breath, trying to filter out the scent of blood. Death, that faint sense of food and something else… another scent, one she knew, hauntingly familiar and tugged at her senses.

And something—stronger, so strong, it threatened to overpower everything else.

Death. Not a woman about to die, the people who had already died.

She didn’t need to wait for this woman to invite her in.

The people who lived here were already dead.

Out of habit, Dakota took a deep breath and gripped the knife she had lifted from Bo’s backroom. The Kel-tech was wicked sharp and specially made, with enough silver in the blade to make any vampire very, very sorry.

The first one, stupidly standing with his back to the door, didn’t survive for more than a few seconds. She plunged the knife into his back as savage jerk of her wrist, shredded his heart. He was dead before he hit the floor.

She stared at the remaining vampire where he remained crouched over his victim. “Get up.” She stared at him and twirled her knife.

His eyes, dazed, all but drowned from the blood lust, stared at her. Dakota took one step toward him. Snarling, she said again, “Get. Up.”

He might be lost to the blood lust—barely more than an animal. But even animals had the instinct to live. As he came for her, Dakota braced herself.

Screw it.

Drew tried to tell himself that, tried to tell himself it didn’t matter. They had ended it. That’s what counted, right? They had even ended it without an ugly, dramatic scene. To be honest, he’d expected some drama. She just seemed the type.

Maybe he should be happy.

Fuck that. He wasn’t happy. Damn it, she’d just walked. How in the hell could she just walk? Two years and this was how it ended?

Okay, so yeah, he’d ended it, but…

“Shit.”

He couldn’t forget that no matter what, Dakota it made him feel like nobody else ever had.

“Shit.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “Not supposed to be doing this. Not supposed to be comparing them. Not supposed be thinking about Dakota, not anymore.”

His future needed to be with Nicole. He knew that. She was what he needed, and pretty close to what he wanted. At least what he thought he wanted. He should call her. He needed to see her—yeah. Go see her. He always felt better after he saw her, after he talked to her. Once he did, maybe this emptiness inside would go away.

Frowning, he saw the messages on his phone. It was from Nicole. When had she sent it? He tapped the screen to bring up her message.

Had to go check on a client. If you’re free, might be in your neck of the woods in an hour. Don’t know about you, but I could use the company.

“My neck of the woods?” He scowled.

A cold chill ran down his spine. He needed to see her. He needed to be there. Right now.

“Bastard.” His worthless body fell to the ground and although everything inside her screamed to get to the woman, Dakota paused to make sure the heart was completely destroyed. It was.

She checked the other corpse and heaved out a sigh. Both dead. Good. Job done. Shittily so, but still done. Moving over to the woman, she crouched at her side and did what she could to stop the sluggish flow of blood.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I should have been here sooner.”

There was no response. She was fading. Taking a deep breath, Dakota blinked back the tears, tried to think. Once more, something about the woman sent tugged at her. Familiar, very familiar. Dakota hadn’t met her before—that much she knew. But she had smelled her before. And there was something else, no, someone else.

“No. Oh, no.”

Her already bruised heart began to shatter. Her voice was thick with tears as she spoke. “Hey, sugar. Listen, we don’t have much time. I can help you—if you want to live, I can help. It can be weird, and may not be a lot of fun, especially at first. But I can help. You have to tell me you want to go. Do you want it?”

It was law. No Hunter was allowed to bring another over unless the person wanted it. No, this woman didn’t entirely understand what Dakota was offering her, but if she wanted to live and if she was willing that was enough. Focusing, she waited.

Hello. Screw acceptance—it was a demand.

You help me, damn it. Now…

From the roof, Bo saw the cop coming. Although he wasn’t surprised, he sure as hell was irritated. “Don’t need this mess.”

There was a reason he preferred to leave the Hunters to themselves. They got involved in things they shouldn’t. They tried to save those they shouldn’t. They tried to help every damn body and half of them couldn’t even help themselves.

Like Dakota, for instance. Poor girl, down there doing her best to save the cop’s girlfriend. Yeah, Bo knew who was in the apartment building. The woman didn’t live here, but her scent was all over the place. She was here, and she was here often. And because she was, he also smelled the cop.

Dakota wasn’t to blame for a couple of ferals making a snack out of the pretty lady. She’d done her job, dealt with them. They wouldn’t kill another woman, another child.

He was pissed off, and yeah, he did feel guilty some poor human had suffered for it. But that was the way of the world. Monsters preyed on the weak. Dakota would let the guilt eat her up, and because she had a connection to this victim, it would be that much worse.

And here comes the cop. “I do not need this.” Leaping off the roof, Bo landed lightly on the fire escape on the floor below.

Sighing, he ignored the sarcastic voice in his head reminding him that he didn’t have to be here. Yeah, he did. Dakota was a friend. She had trouble coming her way, trouble with a capital T. He didn’t leave friends hanging.

CHAPTER THREE

Hurry, hurry, hurry.

It was a scream in his head, a song in his blood. Drew lived by his instincts. Like the time he had first seen Dakota— sauntering down the street, all sexy curves, feline smile and attitude. Instinct had demanded he follow, just as his instincts had screamed mine.

Right now, his instincts screamed danger. They screamed death.

Everything looked normal as he tore into the Hendersons’ apartment building. Nothing looked off. Nothing sounded off. But something was—the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, adrenaline crashed through him and every muscle inside him was loose, ready for action. His phone was silent. He had called Nicole twice on the way over. She always answered, at least when she wasn’t working.

He knew this apartment building too well. One of the elevators never worked. The other was slower than smart, and it broke down often. He took the stairs. Five floors up—it only took him minutes, but it felt like years.

Nic…

The Hendersons lived at the very end, the two-bedroom apartment housing a family of four. Up until past fall, it had been a family of five. The oldest had run away and gotten involved with a criminal type. When she had tried to leave, the bastard that killed her. The family had proof of their daughter’s innocence, though, and they had gone to the cops.

Was that why Nicole was here? He didn’t know. All he could think was…Be safe, please be safe. And because he didn’t trust that to be enough, he prayed silently, please, God, keep her safe.

If any of those thugs had gotten to her, Drew was going to tear this town apart. He wouldn’t rest until every last one of them had been arrested and put behind bars.

He reached the door, hesitating.

He couldn’t wait. He knew that. He couldn’t wait… and neither could Nicole.

Dakota heard the footsteps. More than that, she knew she wasn’t alone. Recognizing his scent, she ignored him. She couldn’t lose focus right now.

“Come on, sweetheart. You need to take more.” She held her wrist to the woman’s mouth and when she fought to turn her head away, Dakota held it in a merciless grip. She hadn’t done this much to lose her now. The problem was that Dakota wasn’t overflowing with blood of her own.

A master of the obvious, Bo decided to emerge from the shadows and point that out. “Baby, you know you haven’t fed enough to be doing this. You barely have enough blood to walk out of here.”

“I’ll be fine.” Staring at the blonde’s face, she thought she saw a bit more response, some animation there. A split second later, she felt the response as the wounded woman started to draw on her wrist.

Behind her, Bo sighed. A second later, the rich tang of shape-shifter blood filled the air and Bo’s wrist appeared in the center of her field of vision. “Feed, Dakota. You and me got about three minutes before we have company. And trust me, they aren’t bringing us tea and cookies, either.”

“What…?” She scowled, but she wasn’t looking at him. Staring at the door, she narrowed her eyes.

“Feed. Now. Her cop is on the way and what do you think he’s going to do when he sees this mess? I’ll deal with the bodies and I’ll handle the blood—throw enough chemical shit on it that no lab in the world is going to be able to get anything useful out of it, especially not vampire DNA. But you and her, you have to be gone…”

She didn’t wait another second. As the woman fed from her, Dakota seized Bo’s wrist with her free hand and closed her mouth around the wound there. It was already healing, but that didn’t matter. Her fangs pierced his skin and the rich, ripe taste of his blood flooded her mouth.

It wasn’t even a minute before Bo rested his other hand on her scalp. “Enough, baby. We didn’t have three minutes. Our time is up—that cop of yours is fast. And damn quiet for a human. He’s already on almost on this floor.”

In under sixty seconds, Bo had scattered the chemicals needed to break down the vamp DNA. Another ten seconds wasted as he gathered the bodies of the dead vamps. In another fifteen seconds, he was out the window. Dakota gingerly pulled her wrist from the woman’s mouth, grimacing as she fought to continue feeding. Already hungry—that was a good sign, Dakota supposed. Showed strength.

As she gathered the woman in her arms, she looked up and as Bo looked back through the window. “Go on. You need to be out of sight more than I do. I don’t have anything here to come back to, in the end. Your life is here, though.”

He nodded. “I’ll keep in touch.”

He was gone in another blink.

Dakota started toward the door, cradling the whimpering woman in her arms. Soon, she’d fall into the deep, dark slumber that would dominate the next few hours. It would give them some time to get safe—and they needed to be safe—

Shit.

She heard the footsteps. And she could smell him.

Don’t look, don’t look dontlookdontlook!

Lunging through the window, she peered downward. Five stories. She could jump that. The door behind her opened. Foolishly, she glanced backward. Her heart leaped into her throat as she saw Drew. Their gazes locked.

Then he looked down and saw the woman clutched in Dakota’s arms.

As he pulled his gun, the shattered pieces of Dakota’s heart shriveled. There wasn’t anything even left to heal now. “Don’t move,” he warned.

She shifted to the side, using her body to protect the woman she carried. And then she leaped.

Still unable to believe what he’d seen, Drew took off running for the window. This wasn’t happening—

He wasn’t going to find Dakota crouched on the fire escape, carrying a bloodied Nicole around like a ragdoll. It wasn’t happening—wasn’t, couldn’t be. He was seeing things…

The fire escape was empty.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he turned and looked around. Maybe he was seeing things…?

Except the Hendersons’ apartment was a bloody mess—very, very bloody. There was a faint, odd smell in the air—something like bleach, but not quite. Remaining by the window, he reached for his phone.

He’d call this in. Then he’d call Nicole again.

He hadn’t seen what he thought he’d seen.

He hadn’t.

If Dakota had been here, she’d either still be on the fire escape or if she’d been able to haul Nicole down the fire escape, he would have either seen her climbing down, or seen them both…no. He couldn’t even make himself think of that image.

There was a logical explanation for all of this. There had to be. Nicole was at home, or she was out with a friend, or something…Dakota wouldn’t hurt anybody. She didn’t even know who Nicole was, right?

There was a logical explanation, and he’d find it.

Except there wasn’t one. And he couldn’t.

Twenty-four hours passed and as those hours ticked by, Drew was aware of too many fucking weird things.

All of the Hendersons were dead. The children had been killed in their sleep, the father’s head had been all but ripped off, and the mother had been raped, her throat practically torn open.

Nicole was missing. Her phone, her coat, her keys, all of them had been found at the Hendersons’ apartment. Her car was parked outside, just down the block. When he tried to track down Dakota at her ‘security firm’ he’d been told she’d turned in her resignation early that morning, as well as relinquishing the key to the apartment they had furnished for her. They were terribly sorry but she hadn’t left a forwarding address, promising she’d come by to pick up any needed paperwork in a few weeks—was there any way they could take a message? Naturally, they told him, they’d cooperate in any way they could.

Warning sirens were already screaming in his head.

What in the hell is going on?

Eyes gritty, head pounding, Drew pored over the lab reports, trying to understand what he was seeing. It was just a rough preliminary and it was likely about as conclusive as anything he was going to get, too.

The blood that had been found in the living room was messed up. Contaminated with something, the techs had told him. Something similar to bleach—that made him think of what he’d smelled.

But they couldn’t identify the compound. They also didn’t think they’d be able to process the blood. It was breaking down on them—it’s like sludge, Detective. We can’t even get a blood type—never seen anything like it.

“You know, you can’t work this case.”

Looking up, he met his lieutenant’s eyes. Then he looked back down at the reports. “I’m not working this case. I’m reading these reports. That’s not the same as working this case.”

“Just like you calling and hassling the lab techs isn’t the same. Just like you going door to door isn’t investigating?” Anna Reid lifted a graying brow as she studied him. Sighing, she settled herself on the seat in front of his desk. “Drew, I know this is hard. But you can’t work this. And you need to take a few days off. Go home. Clear your head.”

“I can’t.” He couldn’t clear his head…every time he even closed his eyes, he’d seen Nicole. Suffering—screaming. Shit, earlier, he’d dozed for maybe twenty minutes and had the most fucked-up nightmare. Dakota had been torturing her. Holding Nicole down on a bed—

“I can’t.”

“You don’t have a choice.” She rose from the chair, lingering for a moment. “Go home. Take a few days. I promise, if there’s anything new, I’ll call you.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Go home.

Yeah. She could make him go home, all right.

But the lieutenant couldn’t make him stay. After another one of those fucked up dreams hit him, Drew left. Driving around aimlessly. Until he wasn’t—until he realized he had a direction. On a road heading north out of North Carolina.

Drew didn’t know where he was going, but he knew he had to go somewhere. He stayed off the highway, sticking to the smaller roads. When he came across a small town, he figured he’d stop and get some gas, maybe grab a bite to eat although he wasn’t hungry.

But instead of searching for a gas station, he found himself slowing down in front of the small hotel. He wasn’t sure why.

It didn’t look like much. The units were set up in groups of twos or threes.

The beds would be rock hard, the water pressure would suck, but it would be cheap.

“What in the hell am I doing here?” What he needed to be doing was calling his lieutenant, seeing if there was any progress. Or maybe heading back to town and doing his own investigating. He could stay out of the way. Nobody had to know what he was doing.

Instead of doing any of that, he turned into the parking lot of the little hotel.

Because he knew he needed to, though, as he parked his car, he grabbed his phone. A quick call to his boss, Anna Reid would only take a couple minutes. And he suspected if he didn’t call, it would make her suspicious. He didn’t want that.

“Lieutenant.” He climbed out of the car and shut the door, leaning against it as he studied the hotel. It looked even more humble up close. “Has there been anything new? Have we found Nicole yet?”

“Sorry, Quentin…there’s nothing new. She hasn’t been seen or heard from. You know I would call you if I had news.”

“Yeah. You know I can’t just sit around twiddling my thumbs either, waiting for you to call me. I had to at least check.”

“Yeah. I was surprised you hadn’t already called. I was getting kind of worried—thinking you were out doing something stupid.” She paused. “You don’t plan on doing something stupid, do you, Drew?”

He ran his tongue along his teeth. Something stupid? Hell. He just might be getting ready to do that. He didn’t know. His skin was itching something awful and his instincts were screaming.

“Nah, I want to keep my badge. Keep in touch.”

He ended the call and tucked the phone in his pocket. Blowing out a breath, he started toward the office. Although he had no clue what he was going to say once he got in there. Hello… I’m a cop. I live a few hours away from here and the night before last, I broke up with my sort-of-girlfriend and less than an hour later I saw her hauling my other sort-of-girlfriend’s body out of the window of an apartment. They disappeared right in front of me. Nobody has seen them almost forty-eight hours. Now I don’t know why I’m here. But I feel like I’m supposed to be. Any idea why?

Yeah, that would get somebody’s attention. Just not the kind he needed.

Okay, so he wouldn’t mention the fact that Dakota had disappeared from a five-story building carrying a woman who had weighed almost as much as she had. She hadn’t fallen, because they would’ve found bodies. He kept that fact quiet from his fellow officers—he would keep it quiet now. He would just go with some official line, investigating a missing persons case… yadda yadda yadda—seen anything suspicious?

No reason to get descriptive at all.

As he stepped inside the office, the stale stink of cigarette smoke wrapped around him like a cloying, embrace. It was going to cling to him, too. Sighing, he moved to stand at the desk.

As the older man ambled through a door behind the counter, Drew rested his hands on the old, stained wood. It was clean, though, cleaned and polished to a mirror shine. There was a smudged fingerprint there. Absently he brushed his thumb across the small smear. When he did, his elbow bumped into a cup of pens, knocking them over.

“Sorry.” He shot the owner an apologetic glance and scooped up the pens on the counter. Then he crouched down and gathered the pens that had rolled onto the floor. That was when he saw it. If he hadn’t bent down on his knees, he never would have.

A piece of paper, maybe a receipt. Folded into a neat triangle, roughly the size of the end joint of his thumb.

She could never be still. For some reason, it had always charmed him. That wild, crazy energy she had inside her.

The little folded triangle lying on the floor could have been left there by anybody. Logically, Drew knew that. But as he picked it up, that itch along his spine got worse, and his blood roared in his ears.

Slowly, he stood. The hotel manager was at the counter now, a friendly smile on his face. But it faded when Drew pulled out his shield and laid it on the counter.

“Officer. Can I help you?”

“Detective.” His hands were sweating, he realized. His hands were sweating, his heart was racing, and he felt more than a little sick. Dakota…was she here? How could she have hurt Nicole? How did Dakota even know about her? “I’m looking for a woman who might be one of your guests. She’s about 5’3, mid-thirties, long, dark brown hair. She would have checked in yesterday or today. Have you seen her?”

Something flickered in the man’s eyes. He was good—very good. But Drew saw it, that flash, there and then gone again.

With a smile, the man said, “Naturally, Detective, I want to help. But I have a responsibility to my guests as well. You’ll need to give me some sort of warrant before I can tell you anything.”

Still gripping that small piece of paper, Drew returned the man’s smile. Then, without a word, he left the hotel’s office. The man had already told Drew everything he needed to know. The rest, Drew figured he’d just take a look around and see if he couldn’t find those answers for himself.

Sick at heart, tired and hungry, Dakota rose from the floor. Nicole was sleeping on the bed, if her restlessness could be called sleep. The fever had come on her yesterday, the Change hitting hard and fast.

As hungry as Dakota was, Nicole needed to feed. Drawing her knees to her chest, Dakota pressed her face against them. “I’m not equipped to handle this.”

She had never brought anybody over. She knew the basics. After all, she had gone through this herself, and all of the Hunters were taught—they had to be, in case they ever had to make a choice like this. Ideally, this would’ve been done in a better place. A more controlled environment. Too bad life didn’t happen under ideal circumstances.

So Dakota was doing the best she could—the best she could think of was to get Nicole to Excelsior. But first she had to get somebody here so the newborn vamp could feed when she awoke. Which meant Dakota needed to go trolling.

Her destination was the town’s single bar. Of course, it involved her leaving the security of the hotel before the sun set. She could do it, tolerate some of the evening sun, but not for long.

Nicole would sleep longer but if Dakota wasn’t back fast enough, the baby vamp would rise and hunger would drive her out on her own. She was too young to be able to control it yet. The hunger would drive her to do awful things if somebody wasn’t there to help her.

Staring at the tousled blonde head just barely visible under the blankets, Dakota sighed. “This isn’t what I signed up for. I wanted to kill the bad guys, that’s all.”

It only cost him $20 to convince the gas station owner to let him leave his car there. Not bad, and it only took him five minutes to make his way back to the hotel. And he got back just in time to see something that left him rather floored.

No. Just… no.

It was her, though. Dakota. He couldn’t see her face—he was too far away. But he recognized that hair, and he recognized that walk. Even with her head down, her shoulders slumped—it was her, all right.

Was she leaving? Did he go back for his car?

But even as he went to do just that, Dakota glanced back toward building behind her. There was hesitation in her steps.

What in the hell…?

As she started back toward her car, suspicion settled in his gut. Suspicion. Fear. Maybe even hope.

The skin on the back of her neck crawled. Dakota had the weirdest damn feeling she was being watched. The wind blew her hair back from her face and the sun was already stinging her skin. She breathed in deep, trying to pick up something on the air—the strong wind was throwing her off, though and she didn’t have time to linger if she wanted to be back before Nicole woke. And this wasn’t just a want—it was a need. She needed to be back.

So she didn’t worry about the strange sensation of being watched. Whoever it was, they were human. A witch, a were or vamp—any of those would have set off her internal alarm in a different way. Since it wasn’t that, she needed to focus on the problem of her baby vamp and keeping her fed. Safely.

Maybe God would smile on her and there would be a town drunk. Wouldn’t be a tasty treat for Nicole, but a town drunk would be pathetically easy for Dakota to use her not-so-impressive mental skills on and once Nicole had fed, Dakota could wipe the memory away. Nice, simple…

Drew circled around from the back, making sure any nosy managers peeking out from the office wouldn’t be able to see him. He’d noted the general location Dakota had looked and it had to be one of two buildings. Her car had been parked closer to this one, too. So he figured this was the best option. But he was wrong. The curtains were partially open. If anybody was using either of these rooms, they were an obsessive neat freak. The same could be said for the next unit. But the one next to it…the curtains were drawn tight. Not even a sliver of the room could be seen.

His gut was a cold, hard stone. He stood there, staring at the door. Images flashed through his mind. Nicole twisting on a bed. Crying out. Begging for help.

Swearing, he lifted his hands to his face. Yeah, he’d relied on his instincts a lot in life. Listened to his gut—sometimes he had hunches that had played out in ways that had been almost spooky. So what if this felt almost like one of those things? He couldn’t—

Swearing, he stepped back just a pace. Enough with this shit. Blocking everything else out, he kicked the door in. As it went crashing back, he braced himself. If he was wrong—

The sight of the blonde laying in the bed almost sent him to his knees.

“Nicole!”

But she didn’t move.

When he ran to her side, tearing back the covers, she barely stirred. As a matter of fact, she barely seemed to be breathing.

Dakota stood in the parking lot of the town’s sole bar. It wasn’t even a block from the hotel, if you cut across the back lots. But she didn’t go in. Not yet. She just stood there, studying the toes of her black leather boots, wishing she knew why she was so edgy.

Wishing—

There was a breaking sound. She tensed and slowly lifted her head. The bottom of her gut dropped away. Vampires had pretty spectacular hearing.

“Nicole!”

That voice…she knew that voice.

Swearing, she took off running toward the hotel.

He couldn’t be near Nicole now. And damn it, how had he found them?

CHAPTER FIVE

Her skin was too cool. She wasn’t waking up, either. Lifting one eyelid, Drew peered into Nicole’s blue eyes, studying her pupils. No reaction—fuck, was she drugged? Sick? What—

“Get back, Drew.”

Hearing that familiar, low voice, he looked up.

Dakota stood in the doorway, her eyes locked on his face—for a second, they almost looked like they were glowing—

Shit.

“I think you need to get back,” he told her as his heart split in two. She’d done this. Damn it. She’d somehow hurt Nicole. How could he have misjudged her—?

Dakota came into the room, frowning at the door for a moment and then shifting her dark eyes his way. “Drew…get away from her. It isn’t safe.”

Drawing his weapon, he leveled it at her. She didn’t even blink—damn it, she could stare at him over the barrel of a gun and not blink. Who in the hell was this woman? “You kidnapped a lawyer, Dakota. You’ve done something to her. You got any idea how much trouble you’re in?”

“I didn’t kidnap her.” She lowered her head, pressing a hand to her temple. When she looked back at him—

Drew stumbled back. Her eyes—shit—they were glowing. “Get back, Drew. Now.”

His legs started to move. He was halfway across the floor before he could make himself stop. Shit. Not right. This was so fucking not right. Spinning away from Dakota, he stared at Nicole. “I’m taking her out of here and getting her to a hospital.”

I need to call the cops. That was what he needed to do. But his gut told him Dakota wasn’t going to let that happen. His gut also told him, though, that she wouldn’t hurt him. Maybe she’d hurt Nicole and God knows who else, but not him. Yet. He’d use that to get Nicole safe, and then he’d make her pay—

Returning to Nicole’s side, he bent down to lift her, still holding his gun. He had no chance, though. A hand closed around his arm. Small and feminine…it shouldn’t have been so strong.

“No.” Dakota shoved him back.

Damn it—

He fell into the wall, hitting it with enough force that it left his head ringing. Swearing, he shoved off it, wobbling for a step before he steadied. “Dakota—” He lifted the Glock he held and that crack in his heart widened, ripping his heart in two. “Don’t make me use this.”

Her lids flickered. “If that’s what I have to do to keep you safe, I will, baby. Please…just leave while you can…”

A strange, whimpering moan rolled through the air.

“Not yet, damn it. It’s not sunset…” Dakota swore, her gaze shooting to the bed. Then her gaze cut to him. “You. It’s you. Damn it, get out.”

If he’d been looking at Dakota, he might have seen the fear in her eyes.

But he was staring at Nicole. Watching her chest started to rise and fall…watching as her eyes opened, revealing glowing eyes of blue. Watching as her mouth opened on a broken moan. Revealing fangs.

“Nic…?”

She turned her head toward him.

He never even saw her move.

Dakota caught her just before Nicole reached Drew. Fast brat. Wrapping her arms around the baby vamp, she pinned the smaller woman. “No, Nicole—you can’t. Not now.”

“Hurts…” Nicole moaned low in her throat. She snapped at the empty air, like it might ease that burning ache.

“I know…shhhh…I know.” Dakota stared at Drew’s stunned, pale face. I couldn’t have fucked this up more if I tried.

“Dakota, please.” Nicole, begging and pleading, shuddered in Dakota’s arms.

“Here.” Dakota lifted her wrist. “It’s not going to help for long, but it’s better than nothing. It will hold you for a few hours.” Long enough for us to get out of here, at least.

And as Nicole sank her newly formed teeth into Dakota’s wrist, Dakota stared at Drew, wondering if he’d bolt. He couldn’t leave knowing what he knew—and she wasn’t strong enough to wipe his mind. She’d tried and failed.

What now…?

“What’s going on?” Drew asked, his voice tight and rusty as he stared at Nicole, bent over Dakota’s wrist.

“What, haven’t you read Twilight, seen True Blood?” Dakota forced a smile, even though her heart was breaking. She didn’t know what to do.

Nicole, first. Make sure she wasn’t going to attack him. Then she’d figured out the next step.

Although she had an idea. She couldn’t wipe his mind, but there had to be somebody who could. He’d thought she’d kidnapped a lawyer—well, she hadn’t. She suspected she might be getting ready to kidnap a cop.

“I can’t believe you put him in the trunk.”

It was hours later, nearing dawn and she’d heard this ten times already. Sighing, she shot Nicole a look as she hit her blinker. “Babydoll, I didn’t have a choice. He saw us. He knows too much for me to just let him go merrily off. I wasn’t able to wipe his mind, either.”

“But you put him in the trunk,” Nicole repeated. “He’s a cop and you kidnapped him and he’s my boyfriend and…”

Dakota sighed. “Nicole. I didn’t have a choice. Unless I decided to stick you in the trunk, because you can’t be that close to him yet. Even though you fed, you don’t need to be around him.” She made herself smile as she glanced over. “Besides, you’ve been through enough. You don’t need to ride in the trunk.”

“And he does? Damn it, he’s got to be so worried. You should have let me talk to him.”

“I will.”

“You will?” Nicole stared at her. “When?”

“Soon.” She took the turn. “The school is ten minutes away. There will be somebody there who’ll know how to fix this.”

She hoped.

She’d knocked him out.

Taken his phone.

Restrained him.

Oh…and let’s not forget…Dakota was a fucking vampire. At least he was pretty sure she was, even though he hadn’t seen her fangs.

When she opened the trunk and his eyes adjusted, the only thing he could think was…I should have known. I just should have known—not about this insane shit, but that she hadn’t hurt Nicole. He still didn’t know what in the hell was going on, but…

“Come on,” she said quietly once he was out of the trunk. “I’ll get you out of those cuffs. We’ll talk. Figure out…something.”

Figure out something…?

As she pulled the gag out of his mouth, he narrowed his eyes. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Drew, baby…” She shook her head and rested a hand on his cheek. “You really should have just left. Screw that. You should have just stayed away.”

Yeah. He was figuring that out fast.

His skin crawled as he looked around. Everywhere, he saw people looking at them. And almost all of them moved with that odd, easy grace that Dakota had. Dakota…or Bo. Similar, but not the same.

Fuck, just how much trouble was he in?

“Calm down, sugar. Nobody will hurt you here.”

He glanced at her. “Yeah? Somehow I’m not reassured.”

A sad smile curled her lips. “I guess not.”

“I tried.”

Dakota flinched as Malachi came into the other room and sank into a chair. He pinned her with a dark blue stared and she immediately looked down. He freaked her out in the worst way. “Tried?” she asked.

“Yes. I tried. He has a natural resistance, so it’s not just you. I can do it, but it would damage his mind.”

“No—” She jerked her gaze up, staring at him. Looking past him, she stared through the one-way mirror to where Drew had been placed. Like a prisoner, she realized. “You can’t.”

He was in there with Nicole now, talking to her, but they weren’t alone. Kelsey, the witch who ran Excelsior was in there, along with Shawn Lenning, one of the vamp instructors who stayed at Excelsior. The two of them could control her if the hunger returned. Shaking her head, she looked back at Malachi. “You can’t. He didn’t mess up—I did.”

“Dakota…” Malachi gave her a gentle smile. “Screw-ups happen. Something about his mind feels…well, strange. I think he’s probably got a bit of psychic skill and that’s why he’s resisting so easily. Your biggest fuck-up was in not calling for help when things went to shit.”

Rising, he turned to the window. “I’ve enough on my hands now—dealing with a stubborn mortal cop and breaking his mind isn’t high on my list. But we can’t let him leave here if he’s going to talk.” Over his shoulder, he looked at her. “You know that.”

As he slipped out of the room, she swallowed.

“So…”

Nicole tucked her chin against her chest, staring at the table like it held something fascinating.

“So.” Drew, on the other hand, was staring at her bowed head. This was surreal. He was sitting in a room with a woman he’d been dating…and she was a vampire. In another room, just down the hall, the woman he was in love with? Another vampire. Surreal.

“That’s Dakota.”

Now it was his turn to study the table. Yeah. Pretty damn fascinating. “Shit, Nic.”

She laughed softly. “Hey, Drew. Stop looking like you kicked my puppy…or me.”

Shooting her a glance, he pushed back from the table and started to pace. “I wasn’t very fair to you,” he said softly.

“Stop.” Nic sighed, slipping him a sidelong glance. “You weren’t unfair. I knew you were seeing somebody. I knew you cared about her. I also knew you liked me…I just kept hoping in the end, I could make you like me more.”

She snorted. “Now if I’d met Dakota earlier? Seen how you look at her?” She shook her head. “You and me, we might have had a chance, if you hadn’t met her. But as it is? Nah. We’re friends. Hopefully we can stay that way.”

He had his own misgivings about that but he wasn’t going to say anything. “You think you’re going to be okay?”

“Yeah.” A smile curled her lips. “It’s going to take some adjusting, but I’ll be fine. What about you?”

That was something he couldn’t answer.

CHAPTER SIX

The way they kept looking at him was driving him nuts.

The big guy, his bald head as smooth as polished quartz, shot him a narrow look before focusing back on Dakota. She had her back to him and her shoulders were slumped.

If he tried hard enough, he could hear them.

He didn’t want to, though. He didn’t want to think about the insane shit going on. Nicole seemed okay and that was the main thing, now that he knew Dakota hadn’t hurt her. He didn’t want to…

“—fuck up, you fix it. How you think you can fix this, kiddo?”

Dakota groaned and dropped her head into her hands. “I don’t know, Shawn. I just don’t know.”

“Well. You need to think fast or you’ll be the one paying for it. This is serious, D.C. People will die if word of us gets out—what were you thinking—?”

Closing his eyes, Drew turned away and started to pace. Damn it, he didn’t know what to do. Nobody seemed to want to hurt him—not even that big, red-haired bastard who’d come in on them earlier. Although something had hurt—he’d felt something in his head, like somebody was pushing on it.

But nobody had done anything to him—nobody had even looked at his neck. Well, except Nicole.

Still, he didn’t see them letting him leave here, knowing what he knew. He could try telling them he wouldn’t say anything. And he wouldn’t—it would be a danger to both Dakota and Nicole. He couldn’t risk that. But nobody here was likely to believe him and why should they?

Damn it, he was fucked.

And worse…so was Dakota.

You’ll be the one paying for it.

What had that meant?

Was she in trouble now?

Blood roared in his ears. And as he stared at the floor…once more images begin to flicker through his mind, rolling like a silent filmstrip, completely and utterly fascinating.

Nicole had told him what she’d gone through—somebody had attacked her. Dakota had found her, but she’d lost too much blood. The only way to save her had been by making her a vampire. It hadn’t been fun, either. Bad fevers, like she’d been sick. Seizures. Dakota had been forced to restrain her. Like what he’d been seeing in his head. It was insane…so screwed up. But all of this was insane. All of it. Maybe this was what he needed to do. How things were supposed to happen.

They had taken his service revolver, his phone. But there was one other thing. Feeling oddly disconnected, he reached into his back pocket. The knife wasn’t good for much of anything except cutting open boxes and the like—he used it as a letter open more often than anything else.

He figured it would open a vein, too. If it saved Dakota…

The smell of blood was something any vampire would recognize. Spinning around, Dakota stared at Drew’s back. He was still standing, but he wouldn’t for long—not considering the amount of blood—

“Drew!”

She lunged for him.

“Mother fuck…” Shawn whispered behind her. He was faster than she was, and he reached Drew just as the other man started to sway.

They were on the floor now, kneeling amidst his blood. As Shawn gripped Drew’s wrists, easily cutting off the flow of blood, she cupped Drew’s face. Okay…he would be okay. He was pale, but that was okay. He hadn’t lost that much…

“Damn it, Drew, I told you that nobody would hurt you.” She stared at him, her heart tripping a bit in her chest. “What are you trying to do?”

“Save you…” He grimaced and tried to pull away from Shawn. Dark lashes fluttered over his eyes. “They can’t hurt you for telling me if I’m one of you, right?”

“Saving me—?” She could smack him. Kiss him. Shake him. “Damn it, Drew. I don’t need saving. Nobody was going to hurt me.”

“They…” Confusion fogged his eyes. Or maybe that was blood loss. “But he said you’d have to pay…”

Shawn frowned. “He’s got good ears for a mortal.”

Dakota ignored him, swallowing. “It’ll be okay. You didn’t have to hurt yourself just to keep me out of trouble.”

He closed his eyes. “And what if I kind of wanted to be with you, too?”

As her heart did another one of those funny stutters, footsteps sounded outside in the hall. “Healer’s here, kiddo,” Shawn murmured.

“Be with me?” She shook her head. “But you dumped me. Damn it, no. We’re not talking about this. We’ll get you healed and then…”

“No. Because if I’m healed, I can’t be with you…” He opened his eyes and stared at her. “Can I? Not for real. Not for good. That’s why, Dakota. I needed more and this is my only chance for it, isn’t it?”

He shot the vampire holding his wrists a look. “Let me go.”

“Don’t you dare,” Dakota snarled. “I mean it, Shawn.”

The black man grimaced at her. “Dakota…ah, well. It’s kind of his choice…”

Shawn let go.

He slept.

For now.

Dakota sat at his bedside, feeling old. She’d slept until an hour before sunset, her body forcing it on her, even though she’d wanted to stay at his side. She was there now and she wouldn’t leave until he opened his eyes, and fed…so she wouldn’t feel so bad when she beat him.

Damn it, she wasn’t ever going to forget what he’d done. She didn’t fully understand it, either. She realized he had some disturbed, twisted sense that he’d been helping her, and while it made some part of her heart warm a bit, she still wanted to beat him.

“What were you thinking?” He’d slit his wrists. Damn it. He’d slit his damn wrists.

She felt sick. Sick at heart, sick in her soul.

She needed answers. She needed…

Him. She needed him. She’d needed him for a very long time. Pretty much from the first night she had met him. The night she should’ve turned around and walked away. And now look what she had done. How badly she’d screwed up his life.

Absently, she found herself thinking about what Shawn had said—what Drew had overheard.

You’ll be the one paying for it… yeah. She guessed she was. But Drew was paying, too. And he didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve any of this.

None of it.

A moan came from the bed. Drew moved restlessly, tangled in the sheets. Rising, she moved to his side. The fever. It was coming back.

He was burning—so damn hot. Was he sick? Had to be…couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, so fucking hot—why was he so fucking hot? Why couldn’t he breathe?

What in the hell was going…?

Pain gripped him, twisted him. Tore at him like it was going to rip him into shreds and just when he thought it would drive him to screams, it eased. And Dakota. He heard Dakota…

It was Dakota, right? Her hand in his, her voice murmuring to him.

But she couldn’t be. They were over, right?

Images flashed through his mind—crazy images of glowing eyes, Nicole and Dakota. His mind couldn’t process it. Maybe he wasn’t sick—he could just be going crazy.

A cool cloth stroked across his brow. And he heard her again, that low, sexy drawl that had driven him mad from the first, now so comforting. He didn’t understand her words, but he didn’t have to; she was there and that was all that mattered. He wasn’t alone. Listening to Dakota’s voice, Drew slipped back into sleep. He just hoped she was there when he woke up.

She was there, all right. She was there. One look at her and he knew all the crazy dreams that had haunted him over the past hours hadn’t been crazy dreams. Not unless he really was going crazy.

He opened his mouth to speak but he didn’t even manage a word before gut wrenching pain ripped through his belly. Dimly, he heard a knock at the door. But he was too busy wondering if he was dying to worry about it. Doubling over, he tried to breathe through the pain. Then a hand touched his brow.

“You need to feed. That’s what’s causing the pain.”

Feed… what? “Feed. What do you mean—feed?”

“Sugar, you’re a vampire now. What do you think I mean?”

He sucked in a breath and that was when he smelled it. Something lush, rich… ripe.

Drew was barely even aware of the next few seconds. There was a woman there, and then she was in his arms. It was a blur—a hot, brutal blur. Some part of his mind remained sane, almost horrified. He had to stop, he knew he had to, but he couldn’t, he just couldn’t—it was so fucking good—

And then two hands gripped his head, prying him away.

Snarling, snapping, he fought with whoever it was tearing him away.

That hot, heavy fog only got worse. Then somebody was whispering to him. “Calm down, sugar. You can do this—you made it through the worst. You can make it through this, just trust me. Breathe, just breathe. That’s it, sugar… that’s it.”

Sugar…

“Dakota.”

A hand touched his face. “Yeah. It’s me. I’m here. You with me?”

Misery gripped him. What had he done? “That woman—what…how could I…aw, fuck…”

“Come on now. Open your eyes.”

He couldn’t. Not ever again. What had he been thinking?

“Beth.”

“I’m here, D.C.” That voice—Drew didn’t know that voice.

Opening his eyes, he found himself staring at Dakota’s face for a long moment. Then, he shifted his gaze past her and saw the other woman. She had blood all down the front of her shirt. But she was alive. Alive—how?

“What is going on?” He sat up, looking between Dakota and the other woman.

“Don’t you think you’ve got enough to process right now?” Dakota’s eyes, dark and gentle, rested on his face. “Beth, thank you.”

“Not a problem, Dakota.”

Drew called out after her, but he was ignored. Ignored, and left alone with Dakota. “How is she still okay?”

“We can talk about that later. Right now, we have more important things to talk about. Like me beating you, for example.” She jabbed a finger into his shoulder. “What were you thinking? You have any idea what you did to me?”

Scowling at her, he rubbed his shoulder. “Damn it, what are you trying to do—put a hole through me?” Then, giving into the urge, he reached for her. As bad as he had felt earlier, as sick as he suspected he should be, he shouldn’t have been able to do it. Hell, he shouldn’t even be alive. But he pulled her into his lap like she weighed nothing. He actually ended up using too much force—and they ended up on the floor when he lost his balance. That was just fine with him. Fisting a hand in her dark hair, he closed his eyes. “Well, I guess I understand a little bit more about all those secrets you always kept. But, Dakota, security? Couldn’t you do any better than that?”

“Shows how much you know.” She sniffed. “I do work in security, just not the sort you would think. You still haven’t answered me. What in the hell were you thinking? You didn’t have to do that—you didn’t have to do this. Not for me. I don’t think you realize exactly what you have done. This is permanent—it can’t be undone.”

“What makes you think I would undo it?” Opening his eyes, he stared at her, combing his hand through her hair to toy with the ends.

“Duh.” Rolling her eyes, she shifted around. As she did, Dakota grew aware of one thing—Drew was feeling better. A lot better. Swallowing, trying not to think about it, she stared at him. “Drew. Two things, one… you dumped me. Two… your girlfriend is here, she’s a vampire—you’re a vampire—maybe you two can ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after… if you really love her. If you don’t, you’re stuck in one very long life and you very well may hate it. It’s not a fun one, and it can be pretty damn lonely. You shouldn’t have done this.”

“My girlfriend.” He rested his hands on her thighs. He had a look in his eyes, a heated, slumberous one that she knew all too well. “You know, you really ought to tell me how you knew about her. She’s not exactly my girlfriend. We were kind of dating, and we were going to get more serious. But…” He sighed and shrugged. “Then the other night happened. And we need to talk about that. About just what did happen.”

Stiffening, she stood and moved away. “I didn’t hurt her. Somebody else did. They’ve already been dealt with. I got there too late to save her—she was already bleeding out. I did the best I could, and the best I could do was bring her over. I realize it’s not good enough, but it was—”

“Hey, that’s not what I’m talking about. I know you didn’t hurt her. Already figured that much out. It just took me a while.”

She shivered as his voice sounded in her ear. Close, very close. He was already so quiet…usually, it took a baby vamp a while to settle into their skin. It wasn’t taken him much time at all.

As his hands closed around her shoulders, she set her jaw. “Then what else is there to talk about?”

“Don’t you think maybe we can worry about Nicole and everybody else later?” He pressed his lips to her shoulder. “Right now I want to talk about you. You’re right, I don’t fully realize just what I did. But I do know one thing—I did this because I knew it was the only way I could have what I really wanted. I broke things off with you because I didn’t think I would ever have that. And as I was, I guess I was right. This sounds crazy, but while you were talking with that guy, I started seeing things—images in my head—I saw me, like this, I knew this was how I had to be if I wanted to be with you. And I wanted that more than anything for the past two years. I just didn’t think I’d ever have it—that was why I ended things.”

He tugged on her shoulders, forcing her to turn around. “I leaped before I looked. There is no doubt about that. Am I going to regret it? It’s possible. But the only way that will happen is if I did it for the wrong reason—I did it for you, because I think you feel the same way about me that I feel about you. I love you. I’ve been in love with you almost from the time I met you. I just didn’t think you were right for me, because of all your secrets.” He grimaced and reached up, probing his mouth. “I wasn’t prepared for this kind of secret, though. It wasn’t you that needed to make some changes. It was me. And I’ve done that. So… am I right or am I wrong? Did I do it for the wrong reas—”

The rest of the sentence never made it out of his mouth. Dakota lunged for him.

He caught her in his arms.

“You idiot…” She muttered against his mouth. “You stupid idiot. Yes, damn it. I love you.”

He groaned and trailed a hand down her back, toying with the hem of her dress. “Good.” His other hand, he wrapped around her waist, locking her body against his.

She rocked against him, pressing closer, but it still wasn’t close enough. Questions, demands, everything else faded from her mind. The two of them had plenty of time to talk, to figure the rest of things out. Right now, a bigger need dominated her mind.

“You know what, sugar? It’s been like…three months since I’ve seen you naked.” She caught his lower lip between her teeth and tugged. “That’s way too long.”

“Is it?” He caught the hem of her short black dress and pulled—too hard.

Dakota heard fabric tear and she might have been irritated, but the befuddled look at his face distracted her. “You’ll have to get used to it…you’re stronger than you were.” Shrugging out of the remains of the dress, she dealt with her bra and panties, lifting a brow at him. “I like my pretty stuff in one piece.”

He was still staring at the ruins of her dress. With a look at his hands, he shook his head. “I didn’t…I mean…”

“Shhh.” Catching his hands, she brought them to her breasts. “That’s some of the stuff we need to talk about. But later. Touch me. I won’t break or tear, I promise.”

“But…”

“Touch me.” She moved closer, crowding closer and going to work on his jeans. “Just touch me…please. Damn it, I thought I wouldn’t have this again, be with you again.”

She could feel the burn of his hunger, too, a purely physical hunger now. But he was worried…that she could scent, wrapping in the air around them. Staring at him from under her lashes, she smiled. “Drew…you should know…I play dirty.”

For a vampire, lust and the desire for blood often went hand in hand. Her fangs had been threatening to emerge; now she let them. As she rose on her toes to kiss him, she bit her own lip just before she pressed her mouth to his.

He stiffened, went to jerk away. Chuckling, she clutched him tight. “Baby…you can’t hurt me this way.”

“Dakota…”

“You won’t hurt me.”

He shuddered. Then, with force that would have bruised her had she been human, he hauled her against him. There was barely enough room between them for her to push his jeans out of the way. She managed though. He sucked on her lip and the sensation was so damn erotic, it drove her insane…

Tearing her mouth away, she gasped, “Bed.”

“Fuck the bed,” he growled. He lifted her up.

And then, without waiting another second, he pushed inside.

Oh…hell…

Groaning out his name, Dakota gripped his shoulders, sinking her nails into his shoulders. Her head fell back and dimly, she found herself thinking, it was damn good thing she didn’t have to breathe…because she couldn’t.

Strong hands gripped her hips, dragged her up. “Look at me.”

Forcing her eyes open, she stared at him, into those beautiful eyes that had haunted her dreams for the past two years. Curling arm around his neck, she pressed her brow to his. “I love you.”

“Yeah?” A slow, heated smile curved his lips. “I love you, too…”

His hands curled into her ass as he turned and took a few steps, until she had the wall at her back. “I’m not going to break a wall, am I?”

Dakota laughed. “If you do, you won’t be the first…” She gripped his hips with her knees. “Now stop talking. Make love to me already.”

“Bossy…bossy…” His eyes glowed as he pulled back.

Then he surged back against her, deep, hard. She cried out, arched her back. He did it a second time, a third, as he worked a hand between them and stroked his thumb over the hard knot of her clit. Hot, liquid delight burst through her. Her heart ached for him and the pleasure, even as it tore into her, it remade her.

“Mine…” he muttered against her neck. “Finally mine.”

“Always. I always was, sugar.” Arching her neck to the side, she pressed him closer…she needed…

As he sank his teeth into her neck, they both exploded.

Fuck…

“I bit you.”

His head was still reeling. Shuddering, he lifted his head and stared at Dakota’s neck. Then he gaped at he realized the holes were closing. “I…fuck. I bit you. And you’re healing.”

“You bit me…and I loved it. Now take me to bed,” she said, her low, raspy voice smug and pleased. “And maybe this time, I’ll bite you. Later on, we can have that talk…”

“But…”

She pressed a finger to his lips. “Later. We have plenty of time to talk, sugar. We need a night just for us…”

Dazed, stunned, he looked back at her neck. Then into her eyes. She was smiling. Didn’t look worried at all. Shit. She was right.

“Yeah.” Dipping his head, he whispered against her mouth, “You know what…yeah.”

Table of Contents

- Think You Know Fairy Tales? Guess Again
- Copyright
- Title
- Dedication
- A Time for All Things
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- Chapter Eleven
- Chapter Twelve
- Bio
- Get Grimm

- Bonus Story

- The Hunters
- Copyright
- Title
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six