The Demon's Librarian

CHAPTER 8

He heard the sound of the key in the lock and made himself a shadow, unbreathing, almost unthinking, melding with the darkness. It was the long, dead time of early morning, right about half past two, the dark thick and absolute before false dawn began to creep up through the cracks of night. The knife was steady in his hand, and the beginnings of combat-sorcery tingled on his other fingers. Blood dripped into his eyes, warm salt stinging; his shoulders both hurt and his wrists were bracelets of agony. His knee was destroyed too. He'd taken a bad shot, and the shirt she'd given him was going to be a rag, useless, slashed, and bloody. He felt bad about that.

Another lock unlocked, the faint sound loud to his Drakul senses. He heard only one heartbeat, as familiar to him as his own by now.

The door opened, a slice of golden light from the hall outside appearing. “Hi, honey, I'm home,” she whispered, and stepped inside, closing the door and locking it. Two deadbolts, thudding home, then the lock on the knob. The smell of stonekin hung on her, stonekin and Inkani; she still smelled of the demons that had attacked the Shelaugh, the demons he'd thought had taken her.

Rage brought him to his feet, the knife thudded into the wall in the kitchen as he went through the arch into the hall. His fist slammed into the wall over her shoulder, the combat sorcery spending itself uselessly, his body pinning hers. He dropped his head, inhaled deeply, taking in her scent. Yes, there was the taint of the Inkani, but she hadn't been touched. The smell of stonekin was much stronger. Under it, the smell of her shampoo and the taint of demon, his own smell, very strong; another Drakul would recognize it on her. The smell of Inkani was just a faint fading tang under the smell of the night outside. She was safe, they hadn't gotten close to her.

And under it, the fresh golden smell starting to wear through her human camouflage. He should have noticed it first off, but he'd been confused. It was true.

Holy God, it was true.

She screamed and struggled, then he had his bloody right hand clamped over her mouth, glad he'd gotten rid of the knife. “Stay still,” he rasped. “Just fucking stay still, woman, if you know what's good for you.” Because if you don't I'm going to drag you into the bedroom and add another reason for you to fear me.

She went limp, leaning against the wall, and he inhaled the smell of her hair again. It calmed him as nothing else could. Mine. She's mine, and here. Her lips moved slightly against his palm—was she praying? Gasping for air? The sharp chemical smell of fear smashed through her scent, his body tightened one last time, pressing against her. She probably couldn't breathe, he had her pinned. She was alive.

He buried his face in her hair. Calm down. You're scaring her. Calm down, Ryan. Come on. You're better than this. You can calm down, you can calm her down, check to see if she's wounded, find out where the stone took her. And above all, just fucking calm down. A deep breath, all the way down into the bottom of his lungs, a soothing, pleasant burn working into his skin as the wounds started to heal, now that he was relaxing. Now that he was sure she was still alive.

"Are you hurt? Tell me, are you hurt?” I sound just one short step away from murder. What a coincidence. I feel just one short step away from doing something very, very bad. If they hurt her…?

One slow shake of her head, very slow, as if she was afraid to move. No. He didn't smell any blood on her, either. That was good. If she was hurt he might become unmanageable.

Christ, she doesn't have a clue how to manage me, either. Have to teach her, and soon.

"Good,” he murmured. “Very good. Now, were you followed?"

She shook her head, slowly. Then, deliberately, she shrugged. The movement made her breasts move, pressed against his chest, and he swallowed a hot flare of desire. You're frightening her. Stop it. Calm the fuck down. “I'm going to take my hand away from your mouth,” he said softly. “And you're going to be quiet. I'm on a hair-trigger right now, sweetheart. I won't hurt you, but it could get very uncomfortable for both of us if you set me off. I am not thinking clearly right now, I was out of my fucking mind worrying over you; I've become very fond of you in my own little way. You don't mind, do you?"

A hot wetness touched his right hand. Tears? Was she crying?

Christ, if she's crying I've really fucked up. “Forget it. Now, you're going to be quiet, right? No sudden moves, no screaming. All right?"

There was a long pause, she took in a small shuddering breath. She was so soft, he wanted nothing more than to touch her skin again. More of her skin, more of her. Wanted to press forward and press his mouth on hers, wanted to feel her breath against his as her lips opened, wanted all sorts of things. And he was very close to simply taking what he wanted, instead of keeping his self-control.

It's official. I'm a danger to the Order. But she's not just human, is she? That doesn't make it right, won't stop them from trying to put me down before I can explain. If they can catch me.

She nodded slowly, her chin dipping. Yes, the wetness touching his hand was tears. She was weeping.

The discovery broke the shell of rage, introduced something softer, something better, even though it broke his heart. He relaxed a little bit, his hand loosening. “I'm sorry. I didn't want to scare you. It's been a rough night.” He tried to speak softly. He relaxed further, peeled his hand away. She sniffed, a slight hitching movement. “You okay?"

Her voice was so calm he almost missed the trembling of panic underneath. “No, I'm not okay. What the hell happened back there? I woke up underground. And there were more—more of them—"

"Inkani?” His left fist relaxed a little, fell away from the wall, but he still leaned into her. She couldn't wriggle away. “Are you hurt?” She's not hurt. Thank God, she's not hurt.

"N-no. T-t-trolls.” It caught in her throat. “They l-let me go. The t-troll said I was being f-followed, that he would t-take me a safe way, without being f-followed."

"Trolls? Oh, stonekin.” There were Inkani there; they pulled back because of a stonekin counterattack. That makes sense. A stonekin brought you Below.

"Big g-green t-trolls.” Her voice broke. “He said I was f-f-followed."

"Maybe you were.” By who, though? And the stonekin took you Below. Bless them and their worship of the sun. “The Inkani was there at the tavern. My Malik's gone and I haven't reported in. I've been a bad boy."

"H-he said black s-smoke.” She swallowed dryly. He heard it, and he had the sudden incomprehensible desire to bury his face against her throat and taste the salt of the sweat springing up on her skin. The trembling in her and the harsh chemical spill of her fear tore through his control, left him shaking too.

He did, did he? And so he took you down Below. I thought you were already trussed in an Inkani cell, sweetheart. “They don't like Inkani.” He pushed himself back, away from the wall, his body aching with the need to press against hers. “They were hunted in the dark days; the Inkani put them in slave coffles to build the dark castles. There are still places underground where the blood of stonekin can be seen on the walls."

"That's horrible,” she whispered. “The d-d-demons… I thought they'd killed you, I thought you were g-gone—"

I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart. “Tell me everything. Everything.” If the Inkani followed her, they're watching this place. But I sense no other demons here, all is as it should be. Did the stonekin cover her tracks and buy me some time? That's most likely. I owe them.

"Can I… can I turn the light on? And get changed?” The fear in her voice hurt him somehow. Did she think he was going to hurt her?

I might without meaning to, if I get clumsy. And I'm covered in blood and guck. “I don't look so good. I ran across some trouble.” I went fucking insane thinking they'd taken you, sweetheart. Relief unloosed his muscles further. She was alive, she was here, and nobody else had touched her. Everything was fine, for right now at least. “I think I've ruined this shirt.” He reached over, flicked the light switch. She flinched, blinking up at him, and the horrified expression on her face was equally gratifying and frustrating. I know I look like hell. You don't have to look like that.

"My God,” she whispered. “What happened to you?"

"Inkani.” He shrugged. “They attacked the tavern. The stone must have dragged you out while I slowed them down, exactly what he was supposed to do. Only I thought an Inkani had taken you. I went crazy.” He was still standing too close to her, could feel the heat from her body brushing his. He was on the fine edge. It wouldn't take much to push him over. “The thought of them hurting you…” Christ, I'm in deep.

She blinked. Her hair was mussed out of its sleek braid, but she was otherwise unharmed. There was dampness on her shoulders and her hair, from the rain that was now beginning to sweep restlessly against the window. The gold flecks in her eyes glowed as her gaze went down his body, taking in the blood and the ripped clothing, the dark stain over his smashed knee that was starting to twitch as it healed. Strangely enough, right now the pain didn't matter as much. He tried to pull himself up straighter under her scrutiny, as if she was a Malik choosing a new Drakul. “Good God,” she whispered, her lips shaping the words, and he stared at her mouth. “You look awful."

"Thanks.” One corner of his mouth tilted up slightly. He stared at her lips. I'm about to do something I shouldn't. But if I'm going to be damned, I might as well earn it.

"You said to come back here and wait for you. What were you doing sitting in the dark?” She shifted her weight, as if she wanted to slide along the wall away from him. He put out his left hand and braced it next to her shoulder, stopping her.

"Waiting. For the Inkani to come rifling through your apartment, looking for the books. I was going to trap one, make it take me to you.” I didn't think you would come back. I thought they had you and when the red haze cleared I was standing in the middle of a bunch of dead Inkani and had to jump to get away. Never dreamed a stonekin had you. Bless them and their worship of the sun.

"They want my library too?” That sparked indignation. But she was still trembling, and her eyes were wider and darker than he liked. Shock. She was in shock. Just because she was so calm outwardly didn't mean she was dealing well with having most of her assumptions about the nature of the universe whacked away from underneath her.

"Not anymore.” His voice hurt his throat. “If they find out exactly what you are, they'll want you, and not just for party games. They have a use for you, sweetheart."

"Don't call me—” Her eyes flashed, and he lost the battle with himself.

He leaned forward. His mouth trapped hers, his tongue sliding in. She tasted like sunlight, the harsh light that hurt even as it warmed him. She also tasted soft, and of the mint toothpaste in her bathroom, still lingering in her mouth. Her breath mingled with his, the flavor of night and stonekin and some taste that was uniquely hers. Fire slid down his back, roared through his nervous system. He was damn close to dragging her into her pretty blue bedroom before he finally broke away, pulled her away from the wall, and closed her in his arms, smelling her hair again. “I can explain,” he said into her hair. “I can explain, but first I need you to tell me exactly what happened. Everything, all right?"

She didn't say anything. She simply shook as she cried into his shredded shirt. He stroked her hair and shifted his weight, easing his shattered knee as it healed. He should have questioned her, demanded to know exactly what happened, pushed her until she told him everything. Instead, he held her. Everything else could wait. Nobody's going to take your library, sweetheart. And they're sure as hell not going to take you, not if I can stop them. The Order has no goddamn idea how important you are. They might not listen to the stonekin, or the stones won't tell them. And if the Inkani find out, they will take you and use you for their Rite of Opening, and you'll beg for death before they're through. It's up to me to keep you alive until we can show the Order what you are.

Later, as the gray of false dawn began to take its first breaths in the east, he watched her. The strength of nighttime began to fade as the demon inside him went to sleep with the sun's rise.

Chess lay on her side among the scattered pillows, breathing deeply, the flush of sleep high in her cheeks. Ryan smoothed the blue comforter down, glad he'd washed his hands at least. He didn't want to get blood on her blankets. He stood by the side of the bed, staring down at her long dark hair spread over the pillow, one small hand flung out, loosely cupped and holding only darkness.

She hadn't been happy, repeating over and over that she just wanted to go to bed, that she was finished with it. But she'd told him enough that he'd heaved a sigh of relief. The stonekin knew what she was, and had saved her, not even requiring payment for passage Below. Ryan had been seen publicly with a woman right before all hell broke loose, and he'd run in time. The Inkani might suspect what she was… and if the Malik caught wind of Ryan with a woman all hell would break loose.

Doesn't matter. She's a potential Golden. There haven't been any surviving potentials for five hundred years, why now? And why did Paul not notice? His fingers itched to touch her hair, smooth it away from her face. She'd actually clung to him, wrapping her hands in his shredded shirt and refusing to let go, sobbing. All things considered, she was a lot more resilient than a lot of civilians faced with their first Inkani attack. Crying was better than screaming and beating your head against the walls, as sometimes happened when a skin came face-to-face with the night side.

He closed his eyes, breathing her in. I am in a deep hole, and it's getting deeper by the second. She's one of the Golden, and I'm attached to her. Too attached to her. I let my instincts get involved, but what the hell was I supposed to do? The image rose, again, of her sitting lonely at her kitchen table, crying into her hands, dealing with facing a skornac, something she should never have had to even see. There was so much lonely bravery in that image a lump rose in his throat. She was far braver than any of the Malik he knew. What had it cost her to know these things existed and bear that knowledge in absolute quiet, going out to defend the children of her city with only a Fang and her wits to protect her? Then to mislead Paul, and face a Drakul with her chin held high and her eyes flashing?

I have to call in. Tell them what she is. They'll send a whole division to protect her if need be, bring her in and give her anything she wants. She'll be as safe as it's possible to be.

Especially with him protecting her. Would they let him stay with her? Not bloody likely… but if she insisted, maybe, just maybe…?

You're only fooling yourself. His fingers itched, ached, he wanted to touch her. You're a liability, you've broken Rule Number Two for a Drakul. But your duty as one of the Order is to protect the Golden.

He had to call in. The chill voice of logic told him the more Malik around her, the safer she was. She shouldn't have to deal with this alone. She should be watched, taught, protected, allowed to fully come into her own as a Phoenicis. Call in. Tell them I'm protecting her because she's something we haven't seen in five centuries, a way to drive back the Inkani and reclaim some of the cities. Call in and tell them I'm obeying the precepts of the Order, protecting her. Don't mention that I've let myself get tangled in a knot over her and abandoned my Malik. But someone saw Paul, the stone said as much. And now I've been linked to her, and the stones know she's… God. What a mess.

She made a soft sound, curling more tightly into herself. And damn him if he didn't want to shuck off his coat and his torn-up shirt and sink down next to her, share her space, slide his arm over her and hold her. Share her warmth like the animal he was.

More trouble than you need, Drakul. Call in. Bring in reinforcements. Take your punishment if you have to, but call in. Keep her safe.

He let out a soft, frustrated breath. A thin edge of light from the nightlight in her bathroom gleamed in her hair, showed the curve of her cheekbone. Why did that make the inside of his chest feel like it was cracking?

He stood there for a long time, struggling with himself. Call in? Of course. In a minute. As soon as he could pull himself away from standing here, watching her sleep. She looked so peaceful, and she needed her rest. She wasn't like a Drakul, able to go without sleep or food, using inhuman endurance. He'd handled her clumsily from the very beginning, accusing her of having something to do with Paul's disappearance and generally behaving like a big, dumb, brainless Drakul. It would be a wonder if she wanted anything to do with him after that little display in the hallway—

The phone shrilled.

He actually jumped, adrenaline smashing through his entire body. Chess muttered and rolled over, the T-shirt she hadn't bothered to change out of pulling down and exposing pale flesh. What the hell?

She reached for her bedside table blindly, and grabbed the phone as it started to squawk again. It was a pink plastic Princess phone, he felt grimly amused by that as she fished it up and struggled with the receiver. “Mph.” The sound of her voice, slurred with sleep, brushed against his nerves. He should have been there on the bed beside her.

Down, boy. She doesn't understand, just do your job for right now. We'll figure everything else out later.

"What?” She sounded irritable, and exhausted.

He heard it, coming through the phone, tinny and eerie, stretched out by distance. “Francessssssca…” Her name, spoken in a long, tinkling, dragging whisper. “Franceeeessssssca…."

"Oh, for God's sake,” she muttered irritably, “find someone else to prank call. I'm busy."

His knee pressed into the bed, making the springs creak. He ignored her soft cry of surprise. He grabbed the phone, lifted it to his ear, and felt his throat swell as the subvocal growl escaped him. He heard a faint tinny squeal, then it disconnected and a dial tone echoed. Ryan dropped the phone back in the cradle. He was suddenly aware he was right next to her, she pushed herself up on her elbows, blinking at him as he lowered himself down to sit on the edge of her bed. The framed print of Buster Keaton watched them both with sad, knowing eyes.

"Does that happen a lot?” He pitched his tone low, very soothing, the last of the growl dying in his chest. “Chess?"

She slumped back onto the bed, pushed her hair back from her face. “Guess so. Couple times a week, since I found the books.” She sighed, a long sleepy sound. “I didn't know you were there."

Poltergeist activity. She must be breathing sorcery into the air. She's farther along than I thought. “Was watching you sleep.” That was, at least, the absolute truth.

"Aren't you tired?” Her eyes were closing, he could see it in the dimness. Of course, he was a night creature, wasn't he?

And she was a Golden. The Halston books had triggered her potential. She had been breathing in an air freighted with another Golden's sorcery, and using the books he had collected. No wonder. Even if she'd had only the smallest shred of potential that atmosphere would have strengthened and triggered it. He would be willing to bet, though, that there wasn't just a small shred of potential in her.

"Not tired.” I have to tell her. As soon as she wakes up tomorrow. “Go to sleep, Chess."

"'Kay.” And she turned over, the blanket pulling away from him.

Her breathing turned deep and even again, as she dropped back into slumber without any trouble. He thought about it, then reached over and clicked the switch on her alarm clock to “off.” She didn't need to get up in the morning, she needed her sleep.

Ryan braced his elbows on his knees, hanging his head. Someone knew about her. The Inkani would find out soon. And he had to call in, report what he'd found to the Malik and get them looking for his skin.

And he had to face the fact that he'd let his instincts attach themselves to a woman who had not the faintest idea of how to handle a Drakul, let alone her own potential as a Golden.

Christ, what am I going to do?