A grim little smile tipped up the corners of his mouth. “Last night with you was intense, luv—but not quite as intense as a shotgun blast through the chest. I’ll try to mind my table manners.”
I nodded, mostly satisfied by the reassurance, and started to turn away before another thought struck me. “Is it safe for me to, you know...” I gestured at the restaurant down the street.
“The Fae aren’t watching the entire city around the clock. We’re no place near your father’s home, government offices, or any travel hubs. It’s fine.”
With that, he peeled away and approached a skinny kid who was lounging in front of one of the makeshift tarp tents. Rans crouched in front of him and after a brief conversation, the kid called to some of the others nearby. Rans shot a glance over his shoulder at me, as though wondering why I hadn’t left to buy the food yet. His blue eyes were glowing.
I pivoted and marched down the street to buy hamburgers. Or possibly breakfast sandwiches if it was still too early for the lunch menu. Should this be bothering me more? I wasn’t sure. The feeling in my chest might possibly have been distaste. It also might have been burning, territorial jealousy at the idea of Rans’ lips closing over someone else’s neck... his teeth piercing someone else’s skin.
I stood in line, resolutely not examining the feeling any closer. When I reached the counter, I bought breakfast sandwiches and hash browns—muttering something under my breath about picking up food for the office when the cashier eyed the hundred dollar bills curiously.
When the order was finished I hauled the ridiculous, oversized bag back to where I’d left Rans. Apparently, the grisly part was already done, because he was lounging with casual equanimity against a wall, chatting with an old guy whose beard was stained yellow.
On the one hand, I had no particular desire to watch Rans drink blood from random people. But on the other hand, I had a vague impression that I was being managed. That he’d sent me away specifically so I wouldn’t make a scene while he was doing the dirty deed. Or deeds, since I gathered he’d intended to drink from more than one. None of the people around him looked upset. Had he mesmerized them into forgetting what had happened? Probably, I thought, remembering those glowing eyes glancing back at me as I’d left.
More importantly, though, none of them looked weakened or debilitated. Maybe I shouldn’t have worried. Rans had seven freaking centuries of practice at this, after all. I took a deep breath and strolled up.
“Hey,” I said awkwardly. “Who wants breakfast sandwiches and hash browns?”
Within moments, I was the most popular person on the block—surrounded by people in thrift store clothing and ragged military surplus gear. They helped pass everything around, making sure everyone got a fair share.
Almost everyone, at least. When the crowd cleared, I noticed an elderly woman hanging back in the shadows. Her short, iron-gray hair stood up in wild wisps pointing every which way, and her cheeks had the sunken look that came from missing too many teeth.
“Hey, Alma,” called the skinny kid Rans had been talking to when I left. “You okay back there? Come get some food.”
But Alma only scowled at him.
Not wanting the poor old dear to miss out on a hot meal, I rummaged for the last container of hash browns and approached her, pasting on what I hoped was a non-threatening smile.
“Hey, Alma. I’m Zo—” I caught myself and substituted my fake name. “I’m JoAnne.” God, I was still appallingly bad at this whole thing. I extended the styrofoam container. “I’ve got some hash browns left—”
The container and its contents went flying as Alma knocked it out of my hand with unexpected viciousness. I gaped at her in surprise as her lips peeled back, revealing gums populated by a few rotting teeth.
“Demon girl!” she hissed, pulling a makeshift blade out of her jacket and plunging it toward my face.
SIX
I STUMBLED BACK, but a hand appeared unexpectedly in my vision, catching the old woman’s wrist in a grip like iron. She shrieked in Rans’ face, her expression unhinged. Manic.
“Well, bugger,” Rans said as he caught her other arm, restraining her. “Maybe I should have expected something like this.”
“Alma!” The skinny kid and a couple of other people were hurrying toward us, alarm clouding their faces.
I scrambled out of the way, feeling my heart thudding against my ribcage after the unexpected jolt of adrenaline. Rans twisted the shard of sharpened metal out of Alma’s hand, and caught her again when she tried to go for his eyes with her nails.
“Jesus, Alma—what are you doing?” the kid cried, skidding to a stop in front of her. “You need to calm down... you’re gonna bring the cops down on us!”
A fresh sliver of fear pierced me. My last couple of encounters with the cops had taught me that the old maxim, ‘Always trust a policeman’ didn’t hold true when you were a fugitive succubus hybrid on the run from a bunch of pissed-off faeries. If law enforcement did show up, there was a damned good chance the Fae would find out I was here—and Rans, too.
“Filthy hell-spawn!” Alma was screeching. “Abomination!”
Rans’ eyes pinned me. “Go to the car. She may calm down once you’re out of sight.” He rummaged in his pocket one-handed, the other hand still holding Alma’s wrists trapped. Keys arced through the air across the short distance separating us, followed by his phone. I caught both items as he spoke again. “I’ll take care of this. If I don’t catch up to you in ten minutes, call A.C. from the contact list and let him know what’s happening. A.C. is for Atlantic City... got it?”
“G-got it,” I stammered, realizing that must mean Nigellus.
“I’m really sorry, ma’am,” said the skinny kid. “Not sure what’s gotten into her. She’s been pretty calm lately, for the
