She smelled coffee.

Well, now she knew he was in her apartment. Bless him. And then she remembered his body pressing against hers, and his mouth; he'd kissed her. Shoved her up against the wall and kissed her, real he-man style. I should be furious over that. Okay, I'm furious. We're going to have a little chat about how to treat a woman like a human being instead of a china figurine. Or a rubber doll. Or something like that.

"Now you stop that right now,” Em's voice fairly crackled. “You haven't taken a day off for good behavior in three years. No wonder it took Chinese to do you in. Grady won the office pool, his bet was two years."

Grady? Oh yeah, the volunteer with the thick horn-rim glasses. There was a betting pool? “I don't want to hear this,” she mumbled. “Thanks, Em."

"Go back to bed.” Emma was actively giggling by the time she hung up. That was Em, always sunny.

Except for those three days a month, that is. She laid the phone down, collapsed back into bed, holding the journal. She coughed, closed her eyes, and blinked again. The sunlight falling across her bed was welcome, very welcome; the rain had stopped for a while. The coffee-smell got stronger, and she began to hear little sounds of someone moving, as if he was making noise for her.

Just as she thought that, he appeared in the door, his eyes half-closed against the bright light. His hair stood up in soft blue-black spikes, and his eyes seemed to look right through her. He'd managed to repair his original T-shirt, and his jeans were clean, looking like they hadn't been all ripped and bloody last night. “How are you feeling?” His tone was soft, conciliatory. He leaned against the doorjamb, hunching his shoulders as if he wanted to appear smaller.

Fat chance. He was too damn big, and now that she knew how fast and strong he was, no amount of hunching his shoulders could fool her. Not when she could still feel his mouth on hers and taste the night sliding against her tongue.

She held up the journal, sinking down into the warm comfort of her familiar bed. “Your friend Paul stopped by the library. He left a phone number.” Now you can go rescue him. And stop manhandling me. And maybe I can start to forget what it feels like to be trapped underground with a troll. Or forget what it's like to lay in the dark and listen to screaming.

And just maybe, just maybe I might forget what it's like to have a half-demon hunter kiss me. Although I might not want to forget that. That was, I daresay, the only good thing about this whole damn chain of Twilight Zone events.

The room turned utterly silent. His eyes fastened on the journal. “When?"

"Yesterday, Em said.” She dropped the pen and tore the page out of her journal, dropping the small book next to her on the bed. “You want this?"

He shrugged. Muscle moved under his shirt, she wondered how he'd mended it. “As soon as you're ready, we'll go collect him."

What? “What? I thought you wanted to go get him. He's your partner."

Ryan folded his arms, his jaw setting. He looked dangerous in the weak sunlight, muscle moving under his T-shirt. “You're coming with me. We'll collect Paul and call in, and—"

"Wait a minute. I found you your partner. That means you can keep him and your Order off my back. Right?” And keep them away from my library.

Though how much I want to keep this up, I just might have to re-evaluate. Stinky things in sewers are one thing, but trolls in tunnels under Jericho and demons that feel like I'm in an ice bath are something else. You guys hunt these things, and I just got shown how much of an amateur I am. I need to reconsider this. She stared at him, not liking the way he was looking at her. “Right, Ryan?"

"We have to talk.” He peeled himself away from the door and paced softly across the floor.

No shit we have to talk. Chess struggled to push herself up to sit, pulling her knees up. “Can it wait? I want a shower. And about a gallon of coffee. And some fresh clothes wouldn't hurt either."

"Just a second. There's something I need to explain to you before anything else.” He lowered himself down on the end of her bed, his profile presented with harsh lines, his nose a bit too long, his jaw too strong. But still… she liked the look of him. “I frightened you last night. I'm sorry."

Well, goddamn, he apologized. Miracles do happen. Though you didn't exactly hurt me. You just shoved me up against the wall and kissed me. As a matter of fact, you kissed me so hard I can still feel it in my toes. “You need to stop pushing me around,” she managed. Come to think about it, he hadn't ever hurt her, unless you counted when he'd shoved her out of the way in the alley, throwing her up against the Dumpster. “I don't like it."

"I'm sorry,” he repeated. “Look, I'm Drakulein, I'm part demon. That means I… I have a set of very strong instincts, most of which help to keep me alive.” His eyes were fixed on his upturned palms, held loose and cupped in his lap.

"Protective instincts,” she supplied. Her mouth tasted like morning and her eyes were sandy, and she felt muzzy as she always did after sleeping too long. But hell, she'd needed it.

"We're segregated from women with sorcerous ability because we can… we can become attached. Very attached. The longer we spend with them, the more… cemented the instincts can become. They're triggered by scent, mostly; and if I go off I need your help. If you scream, or struggle, or become afraid, I might drown. There are a couple things you can do—"

Wait just one goddamn cotton-pickin’ second. “Hold on just one second. I don't even know you, I'm not even—"

His fingers twitched. “I'm sorry,” he repeated, cutting her off. “The Golden usually have one or two Drakul bodyguards. It's not as bad as it seems. I'll be careful, I just need you to understand a few things."

She opened her mouth to protest and stopped, a curious thought occurring to her. She'd asked him to help her get rid of Robert. He'd screamed her name in the dark when the awful cold had spilled through her body. And let's not forget the thing he got away from my window. Just tore it—and the fire escape—away. He carried me up here and took care of calling work and the police. And he was here in the dark last night, all bloody and beaten-up. Waiting.

And all she'd been able to think of in the troll-tunnels was, what's happened to Ryan?

It was official. She was about to do something really stupid and girly. Oh, God, I'm going to regret this. “Like what?” Her tone, flat and ironic, surprised even her. I have the worst taste in men. What is it about this guy? I like him, even if I don't understand half of what he talks about. This is so goddamn crazy.

"Like when I ask you to stay still, it's because it helps me stay calm. If you're frightened or hurt, it may make me unmanageable. If you stay calm, move slowly, it will calm me down. If I hold you still, it's because I want to make sure I don't hurt you. It… reassures me."

"Stay calm.” I sound like an idiot. “Calm you down. Reassure you.” What if I'm half out of my mind with fear because I'm being chased by a fucking demon, huh? What about that?

"Just imagine I'm a big wild animal. You don't want to give it a reason to get nervous, do you?” His fingers tightened again, curling into fists. “I'm sorry. Really, I am. I shouldn't have allowed it to happen."

"You're not an animal.” For a moment she wondered why she said it so fiercely; then she realized that it bothered her, the way he seemed to consider himself such a second-class citizen. What he'd told her about this Order pissed her off. And the way this Paul had treated her hadn't impressed her either. “You're not an animal,” she repeated, a little more softly. “You're a human being, dammit. So you have these instincts. Are you saying you're going to… do what? Hurt me? Try to… um, eat me?"