"I'm sorry,” he repeated, as if she hadn't heard him the first time. “Really, I am."

"It's all right.” She got the idea he was apologizing for more than scaring her, and that she was agreeing to more than she'd bargained for. “I'm glad you're okay."

"I'm very far from okay,” he said calmly. “But you're alive. I'll be fine. Now who the hell is this, and where the hell have you been?"

Charlie took a whiff of the luminescent blue goo in the glass jar and wrinkled her nose. “What the hell is in this? It smells like Wrigley's gone bad."

"Rotten Juicy Fruit? I never thought of that.” Chess, standing in the bathroom doorway, scrubbed at her hair with the towel. She was beginning to feel a little more like herself now that she had taken a short, hot shower. God bless whoever invented indoor plumbing. “It's good for bruises and scrapes, and I think it healed a concussion."

Paul was at the window, looking out into the alley. He was extremely quiet, and Chess found out she liked him better that way. He kept glancing back over his shoulder at Ryan, who seemed much calmer now. But still, there was a gleam in Paul's eyes she didn't think she liked.

"Concussion?” Charlie had brushed her hair and found her shoe. She eyed Ryan uneasily as she capped the jar; he sat across the table from her, loading a clip with bullets Paul had produced. “Did he do that?"

Charlie was not convinced of the advisability of letting two armed men stay in her little sister's apartment, but even she had to admit that Ryan didn't seem like a threat. And that it was, after all, Chess's house, and Chess got to say who stayed. A full half-hour of discussion had brought them that far, at least.

"Indirectly. He pushed me out of the way when a demon came for me. I fetched up against a Dumpster pretty hard.” In fresh jeans and a T-shirt, with her bag on the table and her knife safely sheathed—even if blue light did glitter out between the hilt and the sheath—Chess thought she just might be able to handle this. “It wasn't his fault."

Ryan glanced at her. It was a short look, somehow managing to convey gratefulness. She found herself smiling back at him, an expression that felt natural. Even unshaven and obviously tired, he still looked extremely… attractive. In a stubbly, dangerous, dark-eyed sort of way.

Stop it, Chess. He killed someone. And you still haven't asked him about those bodies in the room. Who were they?

Charlie yawned. She had probably been at work since six and was a little punchy. “You still coming over to spend the night? I'm famished, Chess, in case you've forgotten. I need food."

Chess was dying to ask her where the gun had come from, decided it could wait. I haven't forgotten. Christ, I only took a ten-minute shower. “I'll go for Thai with you. I don't know if staying here is a good—"

"Staying here's safe,” Ryan interrupted. “I'll stand watch.” He finished loading the bullets into the clip and examined his work, satisfied. The bullets themselves looked odd, silvery and more slender than any other ammunition she'd seen, which granted wasn't a lot. Guns made her nervous.

"That's very nice of you,” Charlie said, politically enough, “but you're not on the lease, and Chessie hasn't invited you. And I can't say I'm impressed with your behavior either.” She sounded like Mom. “Chess, can I raid your closet? These shoes are killing me."

Chess waved a hand, picking up a comb and starting to fight with her hair. “Knock yourself out. But you leave that black cashmere sweater alone."

"You're no fun.” Charlie hauled herself up from the table, gave Ryan one of their mother's patented I-Know-You're-Up-To-No-Good looks, and whisked away into Chess's bedroom, pointedly closing the door behind her.

Ryan met Chess's eyes. “Staying here's safe,” he repeated. “I'm sorry."

Boy, this is turning into a situational comedy. All we need is the wacky gay friend and a laugh track. She sighed, dragging the comb through her hair and leaning against the door. I feel like I could sleep for a week. “I want to ask you something."

"What?” He didn't look toward the window, but she felt his attention shift all the same. Paul had been extremely quiet. Too quiet, as a matter of fact. It didn't take a genius to figure out he wasn't happy with this chain of events, despite being rescued. Wonder of wonders, though, he hadn't made a snotty comment since she'd gotten home. Instead, he just kept glancing speculatively at Ryan.

"Those… in the room. Who were they?” It bothers me, you see. It bothers me a LOT. Chess yanked a tangle out of her hair, wincing.

Paul piped up. “Businessman.” He sounded flat and bored, but something in his tone told her he wasn't as blasé as he wanted her to think. “They rented the room out from under me, and I had to stay away, the Inkani were everywhere. I guess they thought he was me. And the hooker—"

"Woman,” Chess corrected. “Woman. Not hooker.” You arrogant son of a bitch.

Paul's shoulders stiffened. “Woman,” he echoed, tonelessly. “Sorry. They might have thought she was you."

Not fucking likely. I'd never be alone in a room with you. Chess dragged the comb through her hair, dropped her eyes. “And the… the boy.” The boy. The one who grew like Michael Jordan on crack. The one who stretched out and produced big-ass claws that looked like his phalange bones were popping out through his fingertips. That one. What about him? “He…"

"He bargained his life to the Inkani for something. In return, he got a soldier demon in him. He was an assassin, Chess. He was coming for you.” Ryan slid the clip into a gun, chambered a round, started in filling another clip. His hands moved easily, habitually, as if he did this all the time.

Maybe he does. “I…” You killed him. You killed him, Ryan, and acted like it was no big deal. I'm not sure how I feel about that. Killing demons I can handle, but people… no. No. “So you've found your partner.” She half-turned, tossed the comb so it landed on the counter, an accurate throw that didn't delight her as much as it should have. “So what now?"

"Paul's called in,” Ryan said steadily, his eyes on his work. “In a couple days the city will be full of Malik. They'll get the Inkani under control and start apprenticing potentials to you, with your permission. The sooner we get more potentials awake and on the track to becoming Golden, the sooner they can start spreading out to other cities and taking them back. The Inkani will try to take you for their Rite of Opening, but they won't get close enough to touch you. If we can get through the next week, it'll be smooth sail—"

"Hold on. I told you, I don't want anything to do with your Order.” They're after my library, dammit, and I won't let them have it.

"They won't take your library,” Ryan said softly. He still stared at the clip, loading it with quick fingers. “I won't let them. And you have to play ball with them one way or the other, Chess. It's a good way to protect yourself. You're not just a skin hunter, you're a Golden. They'll behave themselves. Besides, if you play ball with them they won't hunt me down like a rabid dog."

"Ryan—” Paul's shoulders hunched. He was looking more miserable by the second.

"No.” Ryan's tone was soft but utterly inflexible. “Don't sugarcoat it, Paul. I just broke Rule Number Two for a Drakulein. They'll retire me, and I might as well be dead. I'll be shunned, and I'll die. Separated from the woman I've tied my instincts to, I'll die. I've seen it happen, two Drakul who got too close to Malik researchers. They faded.” He finished loading the clip and examined it, racked it into another gun, chambered a round “Unless she makes a point of retaining me as her bodyguard, I'm doomed."

If my jaw drops any further, it's going to fall off. Doomed? Fade? Die? When was I asked about this? “You're kidding me,” Chess began.