"No.” His eyes squeezed closed, but the tension left his shoulders bit by bit. “It means you have your own Drakul. I have something else to tell you, too."

He looks like he's expecting me to start screaming. Chess reached out, her hand very pale and visibly shaking. She touched his left hand. His back was to the window, and the sun brought out blue highlights in his hair and the shadow of charcoal stubble on his jaw. He was a very nice-looking man, now that she looked at him.

Her fingers touched his knotted fist. She curled her hand around his much larger one, as far as she could, that was. He was pale as she was, but his skin was a different texture. Rougher. If you're part demon do you have the same equipment men have? She bit back a ludicrous giggle. Shut up, Chess. Quit it. Sure, your hormones are all in a stew, he's a nice guy and he smells good, but for God's sake. He's part demon. And you don't know a damn thing about him. “In a minute. First of all, are you going to try to take my books?"

"What?” Now his eyes opened, he turned his head and looked at her as if she'd just made an embarrassing bodily noise. “Of course not. I'm telling you I've thrown away my entire fucking life and tied myself to you. If the Order finds me before I can explain to them you're a potential Golden, they'll put me down like a rabid dog. They can't have Drakul getting territorial, we're the muscle of their war. We start protecting only our homes and families and pretty soon the Inkani will pick us off one by one, and the skins won't be able to play at having their nice safe little world—"

That's the biggest load of crap I've ever heard. “Nonsense.” Her fingers tightened, she would have driven her nails into his hand but didn't dare. “That's bullshit. I think you'd fight even harder and find ways to cooperate, especially if the women had anything to say about it. My mom wouldn't stand for any territorial crap, you can be sure of that."

"It doesn't matter if you see it that way. That's the way the Malik see it.” His shoulders slumped.

"And I can't say I'm too impressed with them.” She heard the sarcasm in her own voice, sighed. “All right. So what do you have to tell these guys to make them leave you alone?” And not so incidentally, leave me alone?

"That you're a Golden, Chess. You're damn close to a full Phoenicis already, unless I miss my guess.” He kept his eyes closed. “I should have recognized it, Paul should have recognized it, but we didn't. There hasn't been a potential for five hundred years; Melwyn Halston was the last one to achieve full power. When he broke with the Order he retreated here from Vienna and his squad of Drakul kept the Inkani out for a good half-century—"

Halston? Like the Halston who built my library? “Century? Melwyn Halston was borne in 1826 in London, he moved here in 1851 and—"

"Paper. Paper to mislead people. Melwyn Evrard Halston was the last Phoenicis. When he was finally killed by a Viperi Inkanus he was nine hundred fifty three human years old—"

"You're crazy.” She let go of his hand and pushed the comforter back, struggled free of the sheets. She must have thrashed during the night. “I need a shower and some coffee before I can deal with this. Just… try not to hold anyone up against the wall while I'm in the bathroom, okay?” Chess stalked around the bed, patting at her hair and feeling the tangles in it, wincing each time her fingers found a fresh one. I'll have to douse it in conditioner and spend some time working everything out, dammit. And he's not done yet, he'll probably have some new and stunning news to give me. Perfect. Wonderful. Lovely.

His hand shot out as she paced toward her dresser, closing around her wrist with warm, hard fingers. Chess stopped, looking down at him. His eyes were open, his face shadowed by the sun coming through the window on the other side of the bed. “I'm Drakulein,” he said quietly, but with a harsh edge she'd never heard in his voice. His dark gaze never left her face. “Are you afraid of me now?"

She tugged against his hold, gave up. “Of course not,” she snapped. “You got that thing away from my window, you nursed me through a concussion and dragged me to the weirdest bar I've ever seen in my life, then held me up against the wall and kissed me. Not to mention you got rid of Robert. All in all, if you can stop calling me little nicknames and shoving me around, I think we'll get along just fine.” Her breath caught in her throat as his thumb drifted across the underside of her wrist, a gentle touch, his calluses scraping. “Let go of me."

He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes turning even darker. “You treat me like I'm…” He sounded like he had something caught in his throat too. “Like I'm not… tainted."

Oh, God. “You don't have any control over who your parents were,” she managed in a curious husky voice that sounded nothing like her usual brisk self. “And you're… I mean, you're not very polite, but you're on the right side. Aren't you?"

A single brief nod, his chin dipping. He needs a shave. Why the hell am I thinking of that?

"From now on, it's your side I'm on. Trust me.” He looked absolutely serious. “Please?"

His fingers loosened, and Chess pulled away. “We're partners, remember? I'll get ready and down some coffee, and then we'll go collect your dude. You're probably wanting to bring him back here, right?"

"Maybe. Depends on what shape he's in when we find him.” There was no levity in his tone.

"You know, you have a really comforting way of putting these things.” It's the funniest thing. I don't sound amused either. She took a deep breath. Okay, first things first. Shower. And coffee.

He called the number on the scrap of paper she'd left in her bed, but nobody answered. He recognized the number, of course; it was the cheap room Paul had gotten for them, the rendezvous. It simply rang endlessly. The sound of water running in the shower—and her occasional breaking into tuneless singing—mocked him.

You're a human being. We're partners, remember? And she'd said it so lightly, as if it didn't matter at all.

Sunlight came weak and weary through the windows, clouds massing in the north. He could smell more cold rain on the way, and her entire apartment had started to smell like him, too. Like a lair, his scent mixed with hers, a powerful calming weight in the air. He'd just told her the worst thing most Malik women could think of—a Drakul's possessive instincts tied to her, him shadowing her footsteps and tainting the air—and she acted like it was no big deal.

And she was a skin, for all her potential. Just a skin. And yet she'd trained herself, going out to hunt a skornac and dealing with his presence and the Inkani attack with far more presence of mind than he'd seen in plenty of Malik trainees. And now, she treated him just like anyone else.

Just like one of her skin friends, maybe. But that's good enough for me. Better than I deserve.

She would need food, and he still had things to tell her before they set out. It was already past noon, they might be out past dark if Paul was out chasing tail instead of staying in his bolthole and waiting for Ryan to find him.

But I've already wasted time following her around. Only I can't really call it a waste of time, I was here to protect her and that's what matters. Paul will be impossible, but once he understands he'll do his best. He might even try to charm her.

He had to breathe deeply through the red flare of rage that called up. If he was even thinking of attacking his Malik, it was further along than he'd thought.

Why had Paul not answered the phone any other time he'd called in? Why hadn't Paul been at the rendezvous? Was it just coincidence, them missing each other, or had the Malik been holed up somewhere else, waiting, unable to go back to the rendezvous?