She shook her head, as if he was too dense for words. Dug in her purse for her knife, jammed it back into her demon-hunting bag. Ryan hoped she wasn't planning on going out again tonight. Spending the night on a rooftop with a complaining Malik was never fun. He had no desire to crouch outside in the rain again, even if it was to protect his Golden.

"You followed me. For how long? To Charlie's? All night?” Chess's tone could have broken glass.

"We spent all night on a goddamn roof, and we've spent all day in alleys, freezing our asses off and waiting for you. And when you come out, you prance right up to an Inkani dog—"

"That's enough, Paul.” The flat tone of finality in his own voice startled Ryan. It startled Chess, too. She gave him another, longer glance before capping the ointment jar and setting it with a precise click back on the table. Was that gratefulness in her eyes? If it was, he'd bottle Paul's mouth physically, if he had to. “Leave her alone."

"I told you guys to wait here,” she muttered darkly, swiping her tangled hair back out of her eyes. “I distinctly remember telling you to wait here!"

"Would you have preferred to face the Inkani on your own?” He had the small nasty satisfaction of seeing her shudder, her cheeks white as paper. “The nice thing to do would be to thank me.” I am, after all, fucking covered in blood. Not to mention with half my clothes shredded. But that's okay. I don't mind fighting, if you're safe.

Her hands curled into fists. “You know, I was actually feeling charitable toward you when I left the library."

Well, that's something. “Thank you.” If I sounded any more sarcastic I'd probably choke on my own words.

She stared at him as if she couldn't decide whether to scream or throw something, and finally settled for stalking toward her bedroom. “Get cleaned up, get bandaged up. Then we're going to have a little talk about what stay here means."

His mouth threatened to curl into a smile. “I sit and heel like a good boy. But I don't play dead very well.” Oh, Christ. Did I just say that?

Chess stopped so quickly she almost overbalanced, staring at her bedroom door. Her tangled dark hair fell down on either side of her face. Her eyes glittered, and her hands were clenched so tightly he was almost afraid she would hurt herself.

She was so goddamn beautiful his heart threatened to stop.

"I don't want to do this anymore."

He doubted Paul heard her. She merely whispered, as if she thought she was speaking but couldn't get together the air to do so. Ryan's mouth had gone dry. She smelled of paper and dust, and the night outside drenched with rain. She smelled of the adrenaline of recent danger and of the clean gold that was her, the same woman who sat at her kitchen table and sobbed into her hands, quiet and alone.

The woman he had fallen in love with.

And over that smell, the sharp spike of fear and anger, taunting his control. He was vulnerable to her fear. Be gentle, Drakul. Be as gentle as you can, she's not used to this. She should never have had to see any of this.

"Don't want to do what anymore? Hunt demons?” His voice sounded strange even to himself. Paul glanced up from the table and just as quickly looked down, his cheeks flaming with embarrassment Ryan could smell, as well as the persistent tang of fear. I could have lost you. “That's a profound relief to me, really. Because you're going to get yourself killed, Chess."

She all but vibrated with tension, and it teased at his control. The demon in his head stirred, tested the air, and subsided, secure in its strength. Soothed by her presence, even though she was strung tighter than a tripwire. But if she became much more upset, the demon would wake. This time, he wouldn't be able to put it to sleep without her body, without the oldest tranquilizer known to man.

If she pushed him too far over the edge he wouldn't be able to stop when she said no. And there was only one word for that, not a pretty word either.

"I don't mind the demons.” She swallowed, her throat moving. Stared at her bedroom door. “It's the dead bodies I can't handle. You killed people, Ryan. People are dead. I don't want to do this anymore."

Paul spoke up. “Then come with us. We've got to get you out of town. It's too dangerous. In a week or so, when the Malik have arrived in force, we can—"

"No.” She shook her head.

Goddammit, Paul, rabbit-talking again. We're staying here where it's safe. “Chess—"

"No."

Ryan was fast losing the battle with himself. “Goddammit, Chess—"

"No!” She all but screamed, rounding on him, her eyes burning with gold and a faint golden glimmer crackling in the air around her. Ryan's jaw threatened to drop. A mantle. She's producing a mantle.

Holy Christ. He'd been told about mantles, the etheric force of the Golden taking on the shape of a full Phoenicis, golden wings and golden proportions, the beauty of a bird made of sunfire. But he had never dreamed he'd ever see it. The wings trembled, furled close to her body, not yet ready to spread. Few demons could stand even a weak mantle. And not even a High One could stand a full-grown Phoenicis with a full mantle. That's why they killed potentials. If he could just keep her alive long enough to train her, she still would be fragile—but not nearly as easy to kill. She would have a chance.

For a few moments it glimmered, and a hot wind seemed to slide through the room, touching every surface with a golden flush. The smell was unutterably sweet, as if Chess had been distilled down to her bare essence and tinted with amber. He took a deep breath, even as the golden light threatened to spear through his eyes and strike pain into the cold darkness of his demon-bred bones.

He took another deep breath. Held her eyes, squinting to see through the shield of golden light that drained away, swirling as it dissipated. We'll be lucky if nobody notices that, she's pulling on all the etheric strings around here, making a big disturbance. Christ. “Chess.” His voice was flat, level. “I'm on your side, remember? Nobody's side but yours. You're upset. You've had to deal with something no rational person should have been forced into dealing with. Just relax a little."

"Relax? Relax? People are dead. Grady's dead. They're dead!"

Who the hell is Grady? “If you're talking about the Inkani spiders, they were dead the second they signed their souls over to the demons. If you're talking about the civilians… yeah, they're dead.” No reason to sugarcoat the truth. “My job is to make sure you don't join them. And, if I can, to keep any more people from dying. I didn't kill them. The Inkani did.” Come on, sweetheart. See reason. Help me out here. Use that fantastic wonderful brain of yours and figure this out.

Her fingers loosened, her shoulders slumped under the now-dry T-shirt. Had he gotten through to her?

"Get cleaned up.” Her voice was toneless. “Then get out of my goddamn house."

I don't think so, sweetheart. Nobody in this apartment is going anywhere until I decide it's safe. “I am not going to let the Inkani kill you.” Just as toneless. “You're not getting rid of me. That's final."

"It's my house."

That doesn't mean shit to a demon, sweetheart. “And I'm your Drakul. Have the sense to listen to me. Go change. Paul will cook you dinner."

"I could call the cops. I could call Charlie. I can have you evicted. You can't—"

He met her glare with one of his own, peeling his shoulders away from the wall and drawing himself up to his full height. “Try me.” He heard the growl rattling in his chest. “Just try me, sweetheart. Give me an excuse.” If you don't stop this I'm going to drag you into your bedroom and undress you. After we get a few things straight about who's in charge when there's a city full of Inkani and no goddamn help in sight.

She whirled away, stamped toward her bedroom, and slammed the door. The bathroom light came on, and the shower started. It was no use. He could still hear the sound of her sobbing.