Claimed by the Demon

mention how they’d first come to find this place, or any of the other details they’d discovered here.

Not yet.

Trust only went so far.

Natalie gave her an even look. Gwen had the sudden impression that she wasn’t fooling anyone—and suddenly she had no more patience for waiting. She stabbed a finger at the warehouse. “He’s in there! And he needs help!”

“He’s in there,” Natalie agreed, her gaze distant as if she could perceive something that Gwen couldn’t. “And he’s in agony. But he hasn’t lost yet.”

Gwen couldn’t stand it. She turned on her heel, heading for the warehouse—only to find herself restrained, a single slim hand on her arm.

Damn, the woman was fast.

Calling her might not have been such a good idea after all.

Natalie stepped back. “Did he send you away?”

Slowly, Gwen nodded.

“Then that’s what you can do for him right now.” She touched the pocket of her tailored slacks. Gwen suddenly thought to notice that for all the sleek lines of Natalie’s clothing, the cut gave her room to move. “Baitlia would tell me if he had lost his battle.”

“Would it?” Gwen wanted to know. “Why?”

Natalie’s expression was somber in the bright sunshine. “Because then he becomes a danger to us all. Including Baitlia.”

Gwen looked away. “Translated—because then you will try to kill him.”

In lieu of an answer, Natalie put the folder in Gwen’s hands. “Take a look.”

Gwen was surprised by how steadily she glanced at it, how casually she opened it. Like someone else’s hands, going about their own business. Finding, inside, a sketch of her pendant. Her gaze snapped up to Natalie’s; she touched the pendant, back at her throat. “How—”

“I told you I have resources.” Natalie responded quickly, but she’d taken a step toward the warehouse, her head lifted slightly. Her hand flexed, then slowly released—and then she was suddenly completely there again—with Gwen, outside the building. “Sorry,” she said, not pretending it hadn’t happened. “He has heart. I hope he stays with us.”

Then Gwen’s hands shook. She swiped an errant tear off the paper and held it out to Natalie. “Suppose you just tell me what this is all about. Because I never showed this to you.”

“I saw it,” Natalie said. “Baitlia saw it, too. Do you know what it is that you carry around?”

Gwen felt the stubbornness of her own chin. “My father gave it to me.”

“Did he?” Natalie studied her. “I don’t imagine he’s alive, then.” She held up a hand to fend off Gwen’s response. “Never mind. I won’t play this game with you. The information is yours to keep and study if you’d like, but this is what I know—the pendant is Demardel. Don’t ask me what that means—the language isn’t one I’m familiar with, and for the moment I’m cribbing off of other people’s notes. What I’ve gathered is this—that pendant started out as a medallion, and the medallion was made with power as much as it was with smelting—long enough ago that it should be copper or bronze or just some lump of star metal, because no one had the technology for that.” She nodded at the pendant, still hidden as it was. “There’s no indication that it binds a demon as the blades do, but there are hints of...well...something.”

Gwen resisted the urge to pull the pendant free and study it. She’d do that later...running her fingers over it, seeing it with new eyes...

If she had the chance.

Instead she said, “Just like that. You know so much.” And then made a face and waved away the rejoinder. “I know, I know. You have resources. I don’t suppose the resources know what this thing is all about, then. The why of it.”

“In fact,” Natalie said, “my resources are divided over whether it’s even real. But they agree on what it’s supposed to do.” She made a little bit of a face herself, then—skepticism escaping. “The bond between blade and wielder is lifelong. You learn to live with it, or you die. And then generally you die early anyway—although I hasten to add that I have no such intent. But that pendant of yours is supposed to provide an alternative.”

Gwen forgot to breathe for a moment—knowing what the pendant had done for Mac, even with their fumbling ignorance. Knowing that her connection with it had strengthened these past few days.

Natalie didn’t fail to notice. “Ahh,” she said. “More true than not, after all.”

Gwen nodded. “Maybe. Keep talking.”

Natalie shrugged. “That’s pretty much it. There’s a procedure, but I don’t know it.”

“No, I mean—” Gwen gestured impatience. “Is it for good? Can it be permanent?”

Natalie returned a blank look. “That’s the whole point. It severs the bond. It frees the wielder without allowing the blade to control the circumstances or transfer to a new wielder.”

Hell, yes. She could help Mac. She could give him just what he needed.

Had her father known what it was when he’d given it to her? When he’d let himself go too long, slipped so close to the wild road and then over? Had he simply miscalculated, trying to hang on to the blade long enough to...

To what?

What could possibly even have been so important? When he could have saved himself, saved her childhood, saved her world?

It hit her hard enough to hurt. To twist her heart and clamp down in her throat and take her breath away all over again.

Her mother had been killed, and her father had never been the same.

Right. It had been his version of Mac’s night outside the bar. He’d been unable to save her mother but he’d ended up with the blade...and then he’d spent his time seeking retribution. A personal crusade that had somehow become more important than anything else. Anyone else.

Including his daughter.

Wrong choice, Daddy.

“Gwen?”

Gwen sent her such a fierce and sudden look that Natalie took a step back. “Can you figure it out?” she asked. “What needs to be done?”

From her new distance, Natalie said, “You look like you already know.”

Gwen frowned. “Don’t get coy with me now. I’ve seen some...effects. They weren’t permanent. I need to do better.”

“It’s awake, you know,” Natalie told her, glancing at the slight ripple in Gwen’s shirt where the pendant fell. “Last night it wasn’t. What have you done?”

Gwen laughed, more loudly than she’d meant to. “What haven’t I done?” she said. She held out her hand, now bandaged in what was left of the stretchy pink first aid wrap. “I fed it blood, apparently. And I fed it—”

She couldn’t quite say it. But it seemed she didn’t need to.

“Ah,” Natalie said again. And then, thoughtfully, added, “Baitlia is aware of it in a way that it wasn’t before. And really doesn’t want me anywhere near it.”

“You can tell Baitlia that Demardel and I are no threat. I have no idea what I’m doing.” But I will.

Natalie lifted her head again. “There,” she said, and if she breathed a sigh of relief, her face had nonetheless found an expression that seemed bittersweet. “He’s made it, your unnamed one. For now. And he’s probably got a bit of a lull period to work with.” She glanced at Gwen. “The blades tend to lick their wounds quietly.”

Gwen jammed the folder in through the open Jeep window. “I still have questions—”

“As do I.”

“But they’ll have to wait. I’ve said what I’m going to say for now. Can you take the dog to the vet?”

“About that—”