Yeah, sure. “So, Mr. Ryan. You got a first name?” Or a last name? Or should I just call you yummy?

One corner of his mouth curled up slightly. “Just Ryan, sweetheart. Short for Orion."

What a moniker. And if you stick around we're going to have to talk about that “sweetheart” bit. “Orion. The Hunter.” She tried to nod sagely, winced as her neck reminded her she'd been thrown against a Dumpster. “You made breakfast?"

He shrugged, dropping his eyes and finishing his ministrations to her knee. “Yeah. Needed a protein load after last night. I can pay you for—"

"Pay me? You saved my life. We're pretty even.” I must look like I've been hit by a truck. Nice first impression, Chessie the Demon Hunter, who goes out in her jammies to fight the denizens of the dark side. Crap. “So you… you know about them."

"About what?” He capped the jar deftly, tendons flickering in his wrist as he tightened the lid.

Um, are we even speaking the same language? “About… demons."

The half-smile dropped from his face. “I'm Drakulein,” he said sharply, as if she'd just insulted him. “I'm a hunter. The question is, what the hell are you? How did you get that knife? And what the hell have you done with my Malik?"

She blinked at him owlishly, and Ryan was suddenly shaken with the urge to grab and shake her. He was in a fine stew of frustration. His Malik was gone, and he'd spent a further five worthless days trailing this skin, who didn't seem to have the faintest goddamn clue what he was talking about. And that meant Ryan had miscalculated. Paul's disappearance was linked to something else, and while he'd spent days shadowing this woman he'd probably lost track of his Malik for good.

It didn't help that he'd shown his hand too soon. He'd felt the Dog tracking her as she went on her round of work, gym, grocery store, and home; the house she'd visited turned out to obviously be her family. Then, seeing the wards crackling and smoking after repelling the demon's initial attempt, he'd simply flung himself thoughtlessly down after it, causing a whole hell of a lot of noise and attracting the attention of the authorities.

The trouble was, he hadn't stopped to rationally consider any of the consequences. Thinking of her inside the apartment while that thing came for her had damn near blinded him with red rage. He'd heard her bail out of the building behind him with that damn Fang, pain blurring and buzzing into his nerves, and he'd moved to protect her instinctively. The demon in his head hadn't fought him; as a matter of fact, the hard fiery alien part he'd inherited as a Drakul had snarled with possessive rage, spurring him on.

And then he'd lingered here and taken care of her, as if she was his Malik and not Paul, who at least deserved a Drakul who would look for him. But he had no goddamn leads, the sheela that the head librarian worked with was too damn scatterbrained to be any threat. Not to mention the fact that Ryan had tracked down Paul's dinner reservation at a tony North Side restaurant. A few careful questions had elicited the troubling news that the sheela had shown up, waited for three hours for his feckless partner, then left in high dudgeon. The head librarian had looked like his best bet… but she was obviously clueless. He had shaken her awake every hour, checking her pupils’ dilation and working what limited healing sorcery he had possession of, and the worst part of it was, he'd actually been…?

Well, frightened. He was getting awfully attached to this librarian with her obvious love of books and her practice with the heavy bag, not to mention her habit of dancing while she made dinner. Watching her for so long had given him a much better sense of her, and she wasn't like the usual brain dead skin. For one thing, she had fantastic taste in music. He hadn't heard a bad song yet.

Now the way she was staring at him told him he'd made a mistake.

"My Malik,” he said tightly. “Tall guy, wears glasses, asked you about Delmonico's Demons and Hellspawn. You know him. He had a dinner date with your friend, and didn't show. Didn't show at the rendezvous either. Where the fuck is he?"

Her eyes were extraordinarily large, and very dark. He could see the flecks of gold and green in the hazel as she stared at him as if he were speaking a foreign language, her pretty mouth ajar with shock. Her hair fell over her shoulders, tangled and rumpled, and her torn T-shirt and boxers had been soaked with rainwater. He hadn't tried to get her into anything dry, but he'd wondered if he should. She stared at him, one hand creeping out to touch the hilt of her knife. He was fairly sure he could fend her off, especially in her injured state, but he wanted information and her help, and the best way to get that was by being… well, charming.

Too bad the charming half of this partnership was gone.

The thought of Paul charming his way around this woman called up a hot nasty flare of emotion he didn't want to examine more closely. Ryan decided to try again. “Look.” He tried to make his tone as soft and cajoling as possible. “I don't want to hurt you, and I don't want to frighten you. It's very important that I find my partner, and you seemed like the best bet I had of finding him. You have no idea what kind of trouble could come down if I don't track him.” The Malik will eat you for breakfast, sweetheart. You won't know what hit you if they decide you're a threat.

"You've been following me.” She reached out, and he controlled the urge to twitch away as she plucked the jar of ointment from his fingers. “Get out."

"What?” She didn't just say that, did she? Not very grateful. But she's smart, she's put two and two together and come up with me following her. Probably even suspected it, she's been edgy for days now. That was a stupid move, leaning against her wards like that.

"I don't know what books your partner was talking about, and I don't care.” She was lying, and if she hadn't been so hurt she might have actually pulled it off. Her pupils dilated, and her fingers curled around the hilt of the knife. She had turned deadly-pale, the bruise on her forehead stretching up into her hair suddenly standing out heavy and glaring against the chalky tone of her skin. That alarmed him more than he liked to admit. “Get out. Get out."

"I saved your life,” he reminded her. And you don't know it, but I'm going to save your life again. The Malik will kill you if you don't join them. They will follow you until you slip up, and they'll find wherever you've hidden those books, and they will take them. If you're not part of the Order, you're part of the problem, and they are very good at solving problems. “You could at least hear me out before you do anything hasty."

"How do I know you didn't sic that thing on me?” She tensed, putting her hand with the jar down as if she was about to push herself up to standing. “Get the fuck out of my house or I'll—"

He grabbed her shoulders, shoving her back down on the battered, rose-patterned couch and wincing inwardly when she flinched, letting out a soft sound of pain. Great, you big dumb Drakul. Just perfect. Scare her even more. “Or you'll what? Call the cops? Tell them I'm a big bad demon hunter? I saved your life, and I'm Drakulein. I don't sic demons on people.” He felt his lips pull back in a wide, humorless smile; she had no idea of the depth of the insult. “I am of the Order of the Dragon, a knight of the Balance, and it's because of people like me that ordinary skins can walk around safe at night. You found a cache of sorcerous books, you're relatively bright and you have some talent. You've started messing around with things you don't understand, fine. But if you don't start listening to me you're going to end up in a world of hurt. You can take that to the bank, sweetheart."