Chapter Two

The walk back to her apartment wasn’t a long one, so Iliona decided to give herself a break from the mad crush the subway would be this time of day and turned right when she walked out of the café.

She shoved her hands in her pockets and wove through the crowds with the ease of long practice. She’d lived in the city all her life until her job had taken her elsewhere. Her lips compressed. She wasn’t proud of that period of her life.

A convoluted career path had somehow ended up with her working with a “paranormal observation and control unit” attached to the military. A hit squad in effect. They’d tracked what they’d been told were dangerous paranormals and put them down. At first, she’d thought they were doing good. Keeping the main population, human and paranormal, safe and all that jazz.

Until they’d tracked down a mother basilisk in her nest, killing her and capturing her babies. Babies who had been ripped from their dead mother’s scaled body and shipped off to research facilities all over the world. Only . . . they weren’t. Always good at investigation, a half glimpse at an email had named those “research facilities” as buyers instead. In between legitimate missions, her bosses had been targeting innocents for sale on the black market.

Iliona’s shoulders crept up at the memory of that event and those that had followed it. She’d not only challenged her crooked bosses but brought the whole network down. At the cost of her career. Forced from the service, she’d ended up back home with no job and references that couldn’t be relied on.

So she’d done the only thing she could. Taking the bull by the horns, she’d set up her own business. Part security service and part private investigations. Tracking down cheating husbands and bail jumpers had kept the money coming in until things had taken a surprising turn. Taking on a case for a witch had gotten her name out among the paranormals in the city, and slowly, they’d started talking to her. Then one day a wolf had turned up looking for work . . . and the Paranormal Protection Agency had truly been born.

Looking up as she turned the corner, she flicked her hair out of her face and continued walking. Night was coming in thick and fast now, but walking the streets at night had never bothered her. Not with the Glock nestled under her arm.

Her cell buzzed in her pocket, and she fished it out. The text was short and sweet. Stone was undercover on a surveillance job. As the family dog of the house opposite. Sure did help having a bodyguard who could infiltrate a location so easily. One slipped lead and he was in, sniffing around and making mental notes about everything he saw. Good thing he had a photographic memory. Wasn’t like he could take notes with his paws.

Ignoring the still unread message from Kenneth, she flicked the screen off and slid the phone away in her pocket. Which was when the skin on the back of her neck prickled. Someone was following her. Making sure to maintain the same pace and rhythm in her walk, she moved to cross to the other side of the street, using a quick glance up and down the street for traffic to spot her little friend.

The street was still busy, so it took her a second or two to filter through the crowds to try to spot anyone out of place. She’d always had a sixth sense about these things. It was one reason she was so good at what she did.

Movement a hundred paces or so back caught her eye as a figure in a hoodie and jeans slid into cover behind a doorway, covering his face as though to light a cigarette. Smiling, she continued across the road, that split-second glimpse telling her all she needed to know.

Gotta get up earlier in the morning than that, handsome, she quipped mentally, taking the next right and ducking into an alleyway. A quick sprint took her to the end and into cover.

Holding her breath, she waited in the shadows, Glock in her hand like it was an extension of her body. Silently, she counted. She hadn’t reached five before the sound of boots running toward her reached her ears. Male, about five eight but with a lean build, she decided, waiting until he was almost on her.

Would he be garden-variety human or something a little more exotic? She didn’t care either way. Silver bullets mixed with normal ones in the magazine, and a pocket full of iron shavings would deal with anything fae in nature. She was loaded for bear, boar, and the fairy king himself should he show up.

She made her move as soon as the male stepped around the corner, blindsiding him and slamming him up against the dirty brickwork. The lamp overhead fizzled and popped into life, casting an erratic strobe onto the face of her tail, one side mushed up against the brickwork as she shoved the muzzle of the Glock behind his ear.

At the pressure of the cold, hard steel, he froze, hands up. Human, she realized, and let out a slow breath of relief she hadn’t known she’d been holding. Not that going up against anything paranormal bothered her . . . well, actually, most things paranormal scared the shit out of her and would any sensible person. But that didn’t mean she was going to back away from a fight.

“Wanna tell me what you’re doing following me, sweet cheeks?” she hissed into his ear, pressing a little harder. He whimpered in response, a bead of sweat rolling down the side of his face.

“I’m sorry, lady. I thought you were . . . were . . .”

“You thought I was an easy mark, you mean. Didn’t expect to be looking at the business end of some hardware you can’t handle, eh?”

She grabbed his jacket, spun him around, and slammed his back against the brickwork with enough force to make the air leave his lungs in a rush. She stepped back, gun still aimed.

“Oh, jeez, kid . . . how old are you?” she exclaimed, looking him up and down.

Her arm didn’t waver. Finger still curled around the trigger, she could easily put two bullets between his eyes within a heartbeat. But just because it looked like a duck and walked like a duck didn’t always mean it was a duck.

He still held his hands up in surrender, wriggling against the brickwork like he could slither out of view. Even so, something flashed in his eyes, and male pride reasserted itself as he stuck his jaw out. “Eighteen.”

She chuckled. He didn’t look old enough to shave properly. The bum-fluff on his cheeks was probably a couple of weeks’ worth of careful growth. “Yeah, right. If your balls have dropped then I’m a monkey’s uncle.”

Sighing, she slid the Glock away in a smooth move. “It’s your lucky night. I don’t feel like running you down to the local PD. But I never forget a face. Don’t let me catch you out here again, or I’ll make you regret the day you were born. You reading me?”

“Yes, ma’am. Loud and clear. Thank you!”

Before she could change her mind, he was gone, the sound of his running footsteps ringing in the air. By the time she emerged from the alleyway, he was nowhere to be seen.

Shaking her head, she continued her journey. The crowds on the streets thinned out the farther from the city center she got. She turned down a side street to take a shortcut and sighed when the hairs on the back of her neck prickled again.

“Really?” she muttered to herself. “Again?”

Turning, she looked around to see if she could spot whoever was following her, expecting a couple of thugs intent on a mugging. Looked like they’d be having a conversation with Mr. Glock, and then she’d be spending the night filling out paperwork at the local police department having hauled them down there. Her patience had run out with the first kid, so this lot were about to get the full force of her wrath.

But the street behind her was deserted. No, not just deserted . . . empty. Isolated. Devoid of anything. Even the pools of light cast by the streetlights seemed to crowd tighter to their posts as though squeezed in by the darkness all around. A shiver rolled up her spine, and she took a step back before she could stop herself, her eyes widening as she tried to take in every detail of the scene in front of her. Something was wrong, very wrong.

“Who’s there?” she demanded, fingers itching to go for the pistol under her arm again. Instead, she thrust her left hand into her pocket, closing it around the iron filings loose in the bottom.

Her breathing rasped loudly in her ears as she withdrew her hand, holding it loosely at her side as she backed up slowly. Half of her brain screamed about looking like an idiot, walking backward as though the darkness were dangerous, while the other half screamed at her not to take her eyes off anything in case a shadow manifested fangs and claws to rip her throat out.

One step became two, then three and four as beads of sweat joined the cold chills running down her spine. Her heart pounded in her chest, all but drowning out every other sound, and suddenly she wished she were safely behind a barred door like superstitious villagers of old. Hell, right about now, she’d be happy hidden under the bed, an all-protective duvet wrapped around her like a burrito.

The shadows in front of her moved, and she screamed, throwing the filings from her pocket in a hail of metal in front of her. They hit something, sparking in midair, and she bellowed, gun in her hand as she fired blindly at the . . . whatever it was forming in the blackness in front of her.

There was a growl, and the gun was slapped out of her hand, flying across the road to skitter across the opposite sidewalk. With a yell, she dove after it, but the blackness was faster, grabbing her around the waist and hurling her the other way. She slammed into the wall, the rough brick scraping her cheek as she slid down its unforgiving surface. A malicious growl kicked her survival instincts into high gear, and she shook off the blackness trying to claim her. If she passed out now, she was a goner, pure and simple.

Scrabbling backward, she pulled more filings from her pocket and hurled them into the air. They sparked again, and she made out the shape of her attacker. It was big and man shaped. Gathering her strength, she got her legs beneath her and lurched forward, ducking under its “arm” as it swung for her again. Whatever else she did, she needed to make sure it didn’t land another blow and knock her out. Who knew what it would do to her then.

She darted to the side, trying to sprint across the road to where her Glock was. But less than three steps later, something hard wrapped around her ankle and yanked her off her feet. She hit the asphalt, the impact driving the air from her lungs in a rush.

“No, no, no!” she heard herself moan as she was flipped over again. Kicking and punching, she tried to break the grip of whatever had her in its hold. Two eyes manifested out of the darkness above her, red pinpricks that grew and spread into rings of flame around pupils blacker than midnight and fixed on her with hatred.

“Huuuuuuumman,” it growled, the deep voice reverberating through her very bones and bringing stampeding terror up from the depths of her soul. Demon. She’d never seen one before, but she recognized it instantly. Like it was encoded in her very DNA, in the DNA of every human that had ever lived, passed down through the generations in case anyone ever should encounter one again. The only problem with that? Recognition was fine and dandy, but genetic memory didn’t give her any clues on how to fight the damn thing.

She. Was. Screwed.

She was gone.

Disappointment rolled through Cal at the sight of the empty table by the window. He hadn’t been out in the alley long, just a couple of minutes, but already one of the waitresses had cleared away the mugs and plates and was wiping down.

The need to find her filled him, a sharp pang in his chest as he fought back the urge to race out the door and try to spot her out in the street. Quickly, he cut a glance to the clock on the wall.

Ten past six.

In other words, past the end of his shift. Usually he hung around a bit, not talking so much as being around the other staff. Interaction kept him more human and stopped him sliding back into the laconic manner of most gargoyles. Not tonight, though.

He grabbed his coat off the hook behind the kitchen door and was shrugging it on as he passed Frankie at the register.

“Gotta run tonight, boss lady. Catch you tomorrow.”

“Whoa! Someone must have a hot date,” she quipped as he headed toward the door. Hand already on the metal handle, he threw her a small smile over his shoulder as he pushed it open.

He hadn’t missed the small note of wistfulness . . . maybe even jealousy. It was no secret Frankie had a bit of a thing for Gran, his “twin,” but Gran wasn’t fond of humans . . . not even para-friendly ones like Frankie.

Then the warmth and light of the coffee shop was behind him, the cold air and darkness of the night street wrapping itself around him. He paused, looking up and down the street. Which way had his little human gone?

Centering himself, he drew a breath in and rolled it over his tongue. He tasted it, filtering through the myriad of scents to isolate the one he was after. His nose wrinkled in distaste. Seriously, half these humans needed to learn about soap. And deodorant. Good thing they had dull senses. They’d disgust themselves.

Then he caught it. The scent of strawberries and jasmine he always associated with her. Quelling the growl of triumph that wanted to escape the back of his throat, he turned to follow it like some sort of freakish stone bloodhound.

Her scent was easy to follow now that he was locked on. Hands deep in his pockets, he kept his head down as he walked and allowed himself to indulge in a small fantasy of what being on a date with his mystery lady would be like.

He’d dress up, wear a suit, and take her to one of those fancy restaurants humans liked. Buy a rose and give it to her when he picked her up. She’d smile and thank him, the rose in her delicate hands as she grabbed a shawl.

She’d be dressed in something slinky and fitted—a dress that showed off her curves and the breasts he longed to see but had caught only a glimpse of under her jacket and shirt. Heels with delicate little straps around her ankles . . .

A bolt of lust hit him broadside, and he bit back his groan. Crap. He wasn’t even imagining her in lingerie, and already he was rock-hard. He was a goner, pure and simple.

Pulling himself back from his little daydream before he embarrassed himself out here on the street, he concentrated on following her scent. Not a moment too soon either. Halfway down the street, she’d turned into one of the dark alleys between buildings . . . with a male.

Cal’s eyebrows snapped together into a deep glower. Why would she head into the darkness with a man? He’d pegged her as a professional woman . . . just not that sort of pro. Had he read her all wrong? A bad taste in the back of his mouth, he ventured down the alley, wariness rolling through him at what he might find.

He needn’t have worried. As soon as he turned the corner into a sort of courtyard that serviced the businesses around it, the scent of male fear blossomed on the air along with the scent of gun oil. His sharp gaze easily cut through the darkness and read the signs of a struggle written into the dirt and broken asphalt.

She’d drawn her gun here, held it on her . . . would-be assailant? That was the only thing that made sense with the clues he was seeing. Cal’s expression cleared. Then the guy had left, followed by his lady.

He quickly returned to the street with its lights and bustle and picked up her scent going north. Speeding up to a jog, it wasn’t long before he spotted her just ahead of him, her dark hair like a cloak over her shoulders.

His gaze slid down and pleasure filled him as he appreciated the curve of her ass in the fitted jeans. Then a shadow above her caught his attention, and every cell in his body snapped to attention. Crawling across the front of the buildings above her was a soul-sucker demon, its fiery eyes locked onto her.

“Shit . . . no, no, no, not happening, asshole,” he hissed and broke into a run. He hit the corner at an all-out sprint, grabbing the rough brickwork to swing himself around. The scene that met his eyes was one that would haunt his nightmares for years to come.

The demon had the human woman pinned down in the middle of the road, crouched over her with his fanged face hovering mere inches from hers. She kicked and screamed, but the demon held her fast, her blows ineffective against a creature wrought from shadow and malevolence.

Cal saw red. Fury filled his voice as he roared and charged. The demon looked up, surprise in its red eyes a second before Cal slammed into its side with all the force of a freight train. The human might not have been able to hurt it, but he could. Answering the call to release the feral force within him, he let his real form rip from within the mask of a man he wore day to day.

Elation and relief exploded through him as his body grew, bones lengthening and skin toughening to living stone. Wings tore through the skin of his back, tail whipping free as he grabbed the demon and hurled it at the nearest building.

“Mine!” he roared, voice distorted by the heavy fangs that suddenly filled his mouth. There was a reason gargoyles didn’t talk much, and it wasn’t because they’d spent centuries locked into stone. With fangs, a bitten lip or tongue was no laughing matter.

The demon hit the wall with a crack but flipped bonelessly to glare at him. With a snarl, it launched into an attack again, using the wall as a springboard as it tried to get past Cal to the woman behind him. He met it at a run, taloned feet scoring the asphalt as he clotheslined it and slammed it into the ground. Seriously, didn’t these guys watch any MMA?

Clawed hand around its throat, Cal spun in place like a discus thrower and hurled it down the road away from the woman. It didn’t land as far away as he’d have liked, using the shadows that made up its form to stop itself and snapping them out like a parachute to halt its progress. With an earsplitting bellow of rage, it threw a fire bolt right toward them.

Cal yelled a warning, turning and enfolding the human in his arms as he covered them both with his wings. The fireball hit, splashing over his stone skin in a lick of heat that would have seared human skin from the bone.

“Stay down,” he managed, getting a glimpse of her pale, frightened face. Blood tracked down the side of her temple, making his gut clench. She was hurt and looked terrified, but he didn’t blame her. Not many humans survived a demon attack, even a lower level demon like a soul sucker. As a species, humans had no natural defenses against . . . well, pretty much anything. Even brownies and imps could take down humans if they caught them off guard.

“Stay down!” he ordered when she tried to get up, spinning around to take on the demon again as it charged them.

But she didn’t. As the demon slammed into his chest, gnawing on his arm, she danced to the side and threw something. Firecrackers sparked all over its skin, and it screamed in response, pulling its teeth from him and pushing off to go after her.

He managed to grab it by the scruff of its neck, hauling it back against his chest to wrap his arms tightly around it.

“Not helping,” he grunted as she kept throwing whatever it was she had in her pocket over the demon. It tracked her every movement, trying to squirm from his hold with screams of fury and frustration. “Really not helping!”

Finally, he felt something crack within the shadows that made up the creature’s body, and it screamed, dissolving into shadow to stream up and away into the night. Its wails cut through the night sky as it beat a hasty retreat, no doubt worried he’d go after it.

He breathed a sigh of relief. Battling a demon, even a lower level one, was no mean feat. Every part of his body ached, some more than others, particularly where the damned thing had tried to bite him. All that faded, though, as he turned around to check on the human.

Quickly, he flicked an assessing glance over her, making sure she was okay before meeting her gaze warily. Not all humans reacted well to the sight of a gargoyle’s real form. His brother had learned that to his cost. Rescuing a young woman years ago had resulted in a lynch mob with sledgehammers and chisels. Cal had almost been too late to save him. Gran’s heavy scarring and dislike of humans were permanent reminders not to trust them.

But there was nothing more than curiosity and interest in her dark eyes as she stood in front of him.

“Thank you. You saved my life,” she said softly and then swayed a little on her feet, her skin pale.

Instantly, he was there, his arms around her to support her weight. She jumped a little, small hands curving around his muscled upper arms as she looked up at him. The spark there, the life, reassured him that the demon hadn’t gotten what he’d been after, and Cal breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thank you,” she murmured again, her eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks as she leaned into him for a second. “I guess I hit my head harder than I’d thought.”

“No problem. I got you,” he rumbled in a voice that even to him sounded like a rockslide. But even that reminder of his inhumanity didn’t make him let her go, a sense of rightness so complete it stole his breath away filling him. He’d never felt anything like it before, not for anyone. Twin impulses, to both protect and possess, filled him, battling for supremacy for a moment before calling a truce. He wanted to do both, in equal measure.

If he were a dragon, he’d have said he’d found his treasure. He wasn’t a dragon, but he knew he’d worship her for the rest of his life. He knew instantly that he’d lay his life down for her in a heartbeat. Worse. He’d kill for her without a second thought, and that scared him more than anything else. The sobering thought had his stone form retreating into his softer human one, and within a few seconds, he was standing in ragged clothing, her still wrapped in his arms.

“What’s your name?” he asked, tilting her head up so he could check for signs of a concussion. Her pupils were even, though, reacting as he turned her face toward the lights above.

“Iliona. Iliona Graham.” Her lips quirked. “Are you going to ask me the date next? I don’t have a concussion. Had enough to know what they feel like.”

He gave her a small smile in return, careful to keep his teeth hidden. His fangs hadn’t receded fully yet—they wouldn’t for another couple of hours—and he didn’t want to scare her.

“Fair enough. I’m Cal.”

“Cal what?”

He shrugged. “Just Cal. Calcite if you want to be formal.”

“Fair enough.”

Frowning, she lifted a hand to her head, her fingers coming away smeared with blood. She focused on them for a second, but then her attention shifted to his knuckles, torn and bloody because he’d shifted back to human too quickly.

“You’re hurt!” Her beautiful eyes, chocolate flecked with caramel, focused on his in concern. “Come with me and let me patch you up. My apartment isn’t far from here.”