Asmodai stood on one side of her, while Tara came to stand on the other. She slipped her hand in Roz’s and squeezed. Piers and Christian stood in front—the not-very-welcoming committee. Tension radiated from them, and the air thrummed with suppressed power.
The figures glowed with a pale luminescence that faded, revealing two men and a large gray cat. Beside her, Tara let out a small cry, tugged her hand free, and ran forward. She scooped up the cat and rained kisses down on its face. A low growl trickled from Christian, but Tara merely tossed him a grin.
Roz had almost been scared to look. Now she forced her attention to the two men. They could almost pass for human: tall, slender, both with silver-gilt hair down to their shoulders and long faces with pale skin and sharp cheekbones. They were hauntingly beautiful, and the air around them filled with a sweet subtle scent.
They were also almost identical, but she knew immediately which one was the Walker. She recognized him from those long ago memories, and she took an instinctive step forward. Asmodai stopped her, a hand on her arm. She threw him a filthy look but held herself still. Piers glanced back over his shoulder, and she nodded once. An expression of sympathy filled his eyes. He really didn’t like her father, and she was guessing the feeling was mutual.
Christian and Piers moved forward.
“Hey, Walker,” Piers said, “nice to see you’re still trying to blend in.”
Both the fae wore tight black pants tucked into long black leather boots and loose white shirts, and both wore swords at their sides.
The Walker ignored the comment. His crystal green gaze moved over their small group, not pausing on Roz, but narrowing when they settled on the demon beside her.
“Aren’t you going to introduce your friend?” Piers waved a hand to the second fae who stood silent, his gaze fixed on Tara.
“This is my brother, Fallon, the leader of our people and the girl’s grandfather.”
Tara stopped cuddling the cat and stared.
“He wished to see her for himself.”
Fallon stepped forward. “I would talk with her while you conduct your business. Only if she wishes it.”
Tara nodded, and the two stepped away.
“Don’t go out of sight,” Christian said.
“She’ll be safe,” the Walker replied. “Now for this business. Why have you summoned me? And why is he”—he gestured toward Asmodai—“here?”
“Well, he is sort of family now,” Piers said. “And he is involved in this.”
“This?”
“We might have a small problem,” Christian said.
“A huge one, actually.”
“Speak it then.” The Walker’s tone was impatient.
So far, Roz wasn’t impressed. She could feel the fear rising inside her. But she wasn’t sure what she was afraid of. That he wouldn’t recognize her, that he wouldn’t acknowledge her. Or that he would, and he would hate her, want her dead…
“Andarta has the Key of Solon,” Piers said.
The Walker had been pacing the rooftop, but now he swung around to face them. “That can’t be. The Key was destroyed as part of the Accords.”
“Not exactly. It seems that the fact of its destruction might have been exaggerated.” Piers glanced back at Asmodai, who shrugged.
“I lied,” he said. “The Key was never destroyed, merely hidden.” He stepped closer and spread his wings, blocking out the starlit sky. “What are you going to do about it?”
“What is the Order going to do about it?” the Walker snarled, his hand resting on his sword.
Christian and Piers stepped closer to the two.
There was way too much testosterone on this rooftop. The air throbbed with power until Roz felt as though it must explode.
The Walker glanced across to where his brother stood with Tara. They were close together, but were looking their way. Fallon made a cutting motion with his hand and some of the tension eased out of the Walker.
“Much as I’d like to make my displeasure a little more concrete, I won’t risk a fight where my brother might be hurt.”
“How about if we promise not to touch him?” Piers said.
“Piers,” Christian snapped.
Piers shrugged. “Okay, no fight.” He glanced over his shoulder at Roz. “Probably for the best anyway, under the circumstances.”
“Circumstances?” the Walker asked. “Is there something else I should know?”
“Later,” Christian said quickly.
“So, do you know what Andarta plans?”
“Same old,” Piers drawled. “Take over the worlds, enslave all other races, wreak havoc and destruction.”
“And have you a plan to stop her?”
“We haven’t quite worked that one out yet. This meeting was more in the way of a heads up.”
“Then I should get back and warn my people, prepare them for invasion. Thanks to your incompetence.”
“We think they’ll attack Earth first,” Christian said.
“So?”
“We’d like you to help.”
“And why would I do that? Why would I lift one finger to help? I’d stand by and watch all humanity die with a smile on my face.”
“Why do you hate them so much?” Asmodai asked.
“None of your business, demon.”
“I have a few theories. Well, only one actually, but it’s a good one.”
The Walker clamped his lips together and whirled around, heading toward where his brother still stood with Tara.
“You blame them for the loss of something you loved,” Asmodai called after him.
He stopped walking but didn’t turn back. “You know nothing.”
“I know more than you think.” Asmodai turned to her and held out a hand. “Rosamund?”
The Walker’s back stiffened, every muscle locking tight, then he turned. His face was expressionless. Roz took the demon’s hand and allowed him to pull her forward. She reached up and pushed the hood from her face. She still had no idea how this was going to go down, had no clue what he was thinking.
She bit her lip, tasted blood, and saw Piers turn toward her. He stepped closer, grabbed her free hand, and pulled her away from Asmodai.
She wasn’t sure whether he was aiming to comfort her or staking a claim. It didn’t matter; at his touch, strength flowed through her. She stood up taller, not that it would do much good. Among this lot she was a midget.
“Rosamund?” The Walker’s voice was soft, disbelieving.
She nodded, and Piers’ hand tightened on hers.
“You’re alive?”
“Obviously.”
He appeared dazed. “All this time, I believed you dead.”
“And I believed you had abandoned us. Left us to die. That you didn’t care.”
“I cared.”
“Then why?” All the old resentment rose up inside her and the words came out almost as a scream. She pulled free of Piers’ hold and squared up on the fae, hands on her hips. “Why did you leave us? Why didn’t you come back?” She’d always tried not to think of her father, tried not to remember him, as his betrayal carried too much pain. Now the suppressed rage of all those years came spilling out. “She died screaming your name.”
