Dangerous Games

'Demon.'

I blinked, not sure I heard him right. 'What?'

'Demons. Creatures from the vaults of hell itself.' He paused. 'These particular demons were low-class demons—good for following and harassing, but not much good for killing anything more than humans. I'm actually surprised they were sent after me at all.'

I stared at him, wondering if whoever it was in the alley had hit him over the head and loosened a brain cell or two. 'Demons don't exist.'

'As angels don't exist?' He snorted softly. 'You have lived a sheltered life, indeed.'

I stepped forward and touched his arm. 'I think you'd better sit—'

He shook my touch off irritably. 'I'm not crazy. Demons are creatures of mist and malevolence, and if two are lose in this city, we need to know who summoned them, and why.'

'So let's get our asses into the car and start investigating.'

'I will. You will be going home.'

'I believe we have been through this already. The answer is still no.'

He stared at me for several seconds, and a chill ran over my skin. There was suddenly something very old, very deadly, and decidedly unhuman—in a way that went far beyond being a vampire—in his eyes. Something I'd never seen before.

'Don't make me force you, Riley.'

I opened my mouth to refute the statement then closed it again. What was the use of saying no way, when it was more than probable he could force me? We'd shared blood once, and if there was one thing I was certain about, it was the fact that it would have had more consequences than he'd actually mentioned. And I really didn't want to know if it was possible for him to make me obey him completely or not.

Because once I knew for sure, that would be the end of us. I couldn't be with a man who could—would—use psychic force against me in a relationship.

'Fine.' I waved a hand irritably at the car. 'Piss off and don't bother coming back for a while.'

'Riley, please, just trust me that I have no choice in this.' He reached for me again, and again I stepped away.

'Don't,' I said. 'Because right now, I'm angry with you and I may say something we both regret. Just go.'

He did.

Without a backward glance.

I, however, swore like an old sea dog as I watched the limousine's taillights disappear into the night. Part of me hadn't actually believed he'd go.

One of these days, that stupid, romantic part of me was going to learn not to get her hopes up. Either that, or I was going to have to stop saying things if I didn't actually mean them.

I stomped a foot, then spun around and glared at the alley. I still couldn't see or feel anything in that shadowed, misty darkness—and yet, something was there. Something that teased the outer reaches of my senses, like an itch I couldn't quite scratch. I needed to investigate. Whatever it was Quinn had seen and spoken to was still in there. And while he might have believed whatever it was wouldn't speak to me, could I actually trust he'd been truthful in that?

What if it was just another ploy to keep me in the dark?

What if it was a ploy to keep me safe?

I shivered and rubbed my arms again I was getting soaked by the softly falling rain, but at least my sweater was wool The majority of me was warm, even if wet.

But it wasn't the rain or the wetness that caused the shiver. It was the thought of facing whatever was in that alley.

Because it was definitely waiting for something or someone.

And considering I was the only something or someone in the near vicinity, that meant, by default, it was probably waiting for me.

I lightly chewed on my bottom lip, contemplating my options, then forced my feet forward Fortune favored the brave—and the very foolish The latter classification had fit me often enough in the past and probably would here, as well. But it didn't matter, because I just had to find out what—or who—Quinn had been talking to.

The closer I got to that alley, the colder I became. It wasn't the night, nor was it the fact that I was soaked. This particular coldness came from deep inside, from the place where the very essence of my wolf soul rested, and it flooded outward, making my steps more and more reluctant.

Whatever hid in the darkness, the wolf feared it. And if that instinctive part of me did, then I certainly should.

As I neared the alley's entrance, mist began to gather in the darkness, stretching ethereal fingers in my direction. Without thought, I stepped back. Quickly, and in fear—though of what, I have no idea.

The mist hesitated, then began to recoil.

I drew in a deep breath and blew it out slowly. This was no way to get answers. I had to meet the mist, had to go on.

Had to.

I licked my lips, wondering why the hell I was so afraid of something as harmless as mist, and stepped forward. Again the ethereal fingers formed and reached for me. This time, I ignored them and kept on moving. Their touch was almost exploratory and yet, at the same time, pressing, as if they intended to halt me gently. I'd expected the mist to be cold and clammy and, in some ways, it was. And yet it burned against my skin, like the sting of lemon juice against a cut. And the farther I tried to go into the alley, the fiercer that sting got.

It was that, more than fear, that stopped me.

And still my senses could feel nothing, see nothing. There was just that itch, telling me it was there, that it was watching.

'What are you?'

My voice came out croaky, and the mist in front of me stirred gently.

No answer came from the darkness of the alleyway beyond the mist. I tried again. 'I know you're there. I can feel your presence.'

The little wolf has courage.

The voice was male, and came from everywhere and yet nowhere. It hung on the misty air and yet reverberated through my mind. Was gentle, and yet, at the same time, harsh.

Weird, to say the least.

'The little wolf is scared shitless, but she also wants answers.' I could see no harm in admitting the truth in this instance. Besides, something told me anything else could be dangerous.

Amusement rolled across the night, in much the same manner as the words had.

I can see why he likes you.

'Quinn? Oh yeah, he just loves ordering me around, and trying to make me do things I don't want to do.'

We were protectors born, little wolf, and that instinct is hard to shake.

I raised an eyebrow. 'Meaning Quinn is somehow connected to you? In more than an employer-employee mode, that is?'

That is a question I am not free to answer.

'Why not?'

Because you do not ask the right person.

'Well, it's next to useless to ask Quinn. He never tells me anything.'

Vampires live a long time, and there is fun to be had in taking time to unravel the mystery.

'Sorry, but patience has never been a virtue of mine.'

Again the amusement swam around me, but this time it was accompanied by an odd sense of approval. Why was anyone's guess.

'Okay, so if my first question was the wrong one, will you then tell me who you are?' What, who, where—the basic questions of interrogation, as defined by the Directorate. Of course, they rarely asked so politely.