The sister lived in a tony high-rise on Vaskell Street, on the fringe of downtown, an apartment that probably cost more a month than Chess made in two. She was a real barracuda; she'd nailed Paul in the nuts and held a gun on him. For a Malik to be held down by a female skin was embarrassing, to say the least, even if Paul had been trying to be careful and not kill anyone. Even if Paul had been wounded and tired, too. Ryan was beginning to think that toughness ran in Chess's family.

The older sister drove her silver BMW like a bat out of hell, and they stopped at a hole-in-the-wall that apparently produced good Thai food, from the smell and the steady stream of customers. Emerging with takeout cartons, they had piled back into the BMW—and it had been a load of fun keeping up with them and dealing with a Malik's speed constraints at the same time. If he hadn't taken the precaution of checking Chess's address book, he might have had to track them on the ground, and that wouldn't have been pleasant. As it was, he'd barely managed to keep the silver car in sensing range as it sped through the streets and disappeared into the parking level of the Vaskell Arms.

Ryan hunched next to the HVAC unit, on the roof of a Chinese restaurant across the street from the sister's apartment building. All looked calm, except for the persistent rain—and Paul, huddled in the lee of the unit, with a turn-aside charm carefully applied to keep him dry. They were in their fourth hour of watching, and Paul was starting to get the fidgets. As usual.

Ryan's shoulders were wet, and rain dripped in his eyes. It took effort to keep his voice low. “I don't know. I don't think she understands. I tried."

"Christ. A potential, and she doesn't have the sense to stay where a Drakul can keep an eye on her.” Paul was on his fifth repetition. “Women, eh? Nothin’ like ‘em. Little spitfire, isn't she? And her sister. Both pretty. What a pair."

I didn't notice her sister, Paul. I was too busy being glad she was alive and unharmed. Ryan ignored the persistent drip of rain down the back of his neck, soaking into his scalp. There was only so much a turn-aside charm could do if you were right in the path of the wind. He'd given his Malik the sheltered place, as usual. Just leave it alone, Paul. Let me brood in peace, dammit.

He could see her even now, standing with her chin tilted just so and her hair lying wet against her shoulders, the vulnerable pulse beating in her throat. He should have argued harder, done something, distracted her… but he'd been fighting the damnable need to grab her shoulders and shake her, not to mention kiss her forehead and her cheeks and a few other places, just to prove how happy he was to see her.

I need to get away from this. I need to be normal for a little while. Her lower lip had trembled just a little, the circles under her beautiful eyes taunting him. She probably didn't know how her hands shook just a little, and how the persistent iron-copper smell of adrenaline and fear hung on her.

That was the exact point Ryan had realized he was in deeper trouble than he'd ever thought possible. Because he'd realized, as she twisted her wrist free of his hand, that he would rather stand guard on a rooftop or in a dingy alley than destroy her peace of mind any further. And if he couldn't do what was necessary to protect her, what use was he to anyone?

"Women.” Paul shook his head, a slight movement Ryan could sense even in this darkness. It was the long, deep time of early-morning dark, when old people succumbed and the streets seemed bare and empty of all but the homeless and the criminal.

And, of course, the demonic.

"I thought she was an ice-queen.” Paul's voice was a bare murmur. He still smelled of fear, but not so badly. Ryan didn't blame him, this was one fucked-up situation. “She played it really well, acted like she didn't even know who Delmonico was. Goddamn."

If he says that again, I am seriously contemplating throwing him off this roof. Ryan filled his lungs. Her scent still clung to him, a faint soothing reminder. She was beginning to smell like sunlight, and he was beginning to feel faintly nervous when she wasn't in sight. Faintly nervous? No, really nervous.

When I come back we'll hash everything out. As if she was really coming back. As if she thought he would let her spend the night unguarded anywhere.

Her sister apparently had no trouble believing that demons were after Chess. That was odd; most skins literally wouldn't believe the proof of their own eyes when it came to sorcery. He wondered what she'd done to convince such a hardheaded left-brain type of the existence of demons. Then again, the sister was by all appearances very close to her. The Barnes were probably a hell of a family.

I don't think she'd take me to meet her parents. He sounded bitter even to himself, but he wasn't the type of guy a girl brought home. Just a big, dumb, brainless Drakul, and he'd scared her just when he was doing so well. She trusted him, she wanted to be partners… and Paul had to open his big mouth. It was the wrong time to tell her.

Christ, you mean there could be a right time? The thought was amused and sour in equal proportion. He was in a hopeless situation, and the sooner he learned to live with it, the better. If the Malik didn't tear him away from Chess and sentence him to a slow, lingering fade, the Inkani would get him—and while he might die defending her, he might also die without being able to do even a quarter of what he wanted to do to her.

The demon part of him fixed its gaze unblinkingly on the building. Go find her, it whispered. Find her. Touch her. Make her see.

He wasn't an animal. He was human, as she had reminded him. What would a human man do?

I don't have a goddamn clue. And who am I going to ask, Paul? Yeah. Right. Like he can keep a woman around for more than a night.

The rain kept coming down, smacking and dripping, a hundred cold, wet kisses. He scanned the dark empty streets, listening with half an ear as Paul began again. “Can't ever predict what the female species will do. And a potential too. You certainly know how to pick ‘em. Hey, Ryan?"

Oh, for Christ's sake. “What?” He pitched his voice loud enough for human hearing.

"Can I ask you something?” Paul shifted his weight, maybe glancing uneasily at the corner of the HVAC unit. He was thankfully out of the wind. If the Malik caught a cold, there would be no end of bitching.

"Ask away.” You will anyway. At least Chess knows when to shut up. Or maybe I just don't mind hearing her voice.

"Was it my fault? I mean, I should have known she was a potential, then I ran across the Inkani. I'm goddamn sorry, Ryan.” And he did sound sorry, for once. The Malik might have been hidebound and anachronistic, but they were fighting the good fight. And while some Malik were actively sadistic to their Drakul, the majority of them were decent guys. And the nasty Malik were generally eased out into research instead of on the front lines—any Malik who lost a few Drakul due to stupidity was investigated. They weren't all bad. And the rules were there for a reason, they were good rules and had stood the Order in good stead.

"It wasn't you, Paul.” Again, he pitched the words loud enough for the other man's hearing. I saw her sitting at her kitchen table crying and that was it. I fell in love peering through her window. Like a goddamn voyeur. “Really, it wasn't your fault."

"Then what was it? She's a librarian, for Chrissake. I mean, she stacks books for a living and probably hasn't had a date since the last presidential administration. She's a brainy type. I would have figured you for someone a little earthier, you know.” Paul warmed to his theme. “She doesn't seem too well equipped to handle demons. Probably break a nail or something and start screaming. You know how women are."