Harrison Sinclair scratched George under the chin as he walked down 4^th Avenue South alongside Duncan toward the courthouse. They still had half a block to go, but could already hear the shouts of the protestors who lined the street out front of the old Superior Court building.

The old man hadn’t said much. Yet. He seemed to be warming up to his topic, which meant whatever he had to say was bound to be long-winded.

Harrison wasn’t much in the mood.

Street lamps, emitting a colicky yellow light, lit their way and made the wet streets gleam. A steady Seattle mist floated down to bead on his clothing and hair, not quite heavy enough to seep in.

“I need you to be careful, pup.”

Here it came. “All right.”

Duncan heaved a sigh and stopped walking. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Scrubbed his hand over his jaw. He wasn’t the handsomest of males. He kept his hair shorn tight to his scalp, maybe to hide his high hairline. His nose had been broken and sat crooked on his face. His neck was damned near as thick as his head. He was huge and he looked mean as hell.

He had a lot of memories of Duncan. The one thing he never remembered seeing was the big male at a loss for words. “What? You’re freaking me out.” Duncan stared down the street one way. Then the other.

“D. Come on, man. This is no big deal. It’s a job. With humans, for Christ’s sake. Everyone’s going to be toeing the line . . . at least for a while.”

“Maybe.” He sighed again. “Look, you need to keep your eyes and ears open. I don’t trust this. There’s a lot of unhappy people protesting this alliance. Considering that, this has been far too easy.”

Harrison tipped his head to the side. “Yeah.” Humans had known about daemon kind all of a week before they’d abandoned the old Seattle Supreme Court building with a mind to establish the DDC.

“I’ve got a bad feeling I’m sending you into a hornet’s nest.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

The last thing he wanted was for Duncan to change his mind. He had plans for the DDC. Now that most all the Guardians were dead, someone needed to take their place.

The Guardians had maintained the balance between humans and daemon kind since the beginning of time. Julius Crowley and the Watcher had destroyed all but two. The DDC would have to take their place, fighting off the Nephilim and keeping rogue daemons in line. He had one particular rogue daemon he wanted put down permanently. Adia. She’d threatened everyone he loved and he had to find and destroy her before that happened. He had some time. She’d gone to ground for now but eventually she’d reemerge.

The DDC would have the resources he needed to find her and ash her.

They walked in silence for a while, slowing as they approached the protestors. George sat up on his hind legs, placing one of his front paws on Harrison’s head as he stretched up to get a better look.

“I’m thinking the government is doing what they have to do to appear competent.” Duncan shook his head. “But if they can turn things pear-shaped and make it look like we fucked up . . . .”

Harrison snorted. “They wouldn’t risk a war with daemon kind.” He pulled George from his head and placed him on his shoulder again.

“Wouldn’t they?” Duncan arched his brow. “You think humans are a peace-loving race? You think they will bow easily, just because there’s something else out there stronger and more powerful?”

The portals between Machon—the daemon realm—and Earth had been closed for three centuries. In those three hundred years, the U.S. alone had been involved in almost a hundred wars. Daemon kind? None.

“Yeah, I guess I see your point.”

Duncan pulled out a set of sheathed Guardian blades from one of the deep pockets in his Mackintosh and held them out.

Harrison took them.

“They’re thigh sheathes.” He shrugged. “I can get something else made.”

Harrison shook his head. “Nah, these are great.”

“Whatever other equipment they give you, insist that these are necessary.”

“Yeah. All right.”

“No blades.” Duncan pointed. “You walk.”

He nodded. Smiled. “I promise.”

Duncan yanked him forward and hugged him, overwhelming him with conflicting emotion. Embarrassment—the old man was acting like a dad sending his kid off to school. Claustrophobia—he hated being touched. And warmth—the old fart was the closest thing he had to a father. He hugged him back for the barest of moments, but as soon as that old, familiar choking sensation came over him, he pushed away. “All right. Come on. I gotta get to work.”

Duncan patted him on the shoulder. A week ago, that pat would’ve damn near taken him off his feet. Tonight, his body didn’t budge. A lot had changed.

“Mason’s waiting for you.” Duncan jerked his chin up toward the courthouse doors. An older man with salt-and-pepper hair stood just outside, his hard features bearing the weariness of a man who’d seen too much. His quick, assessing brown eyes gave the impression he didn’t miss anything. He nodded to Duncan.

“James sent a guy named Will Wear, a lycan. Keep an eye out for him, he’s an ally.”

“What about him?”

“Mason? Trina said he has good ‘vibes,’ whatever the hell that means. He’s kept his promises so far, but I don’t know how much say he has in any of this. It’s all political.” Duncan grinned. “You’ll do good. Wouldn’t’ve picked you if I had any worries on that count.”

Harrison’s face warmed.

“If he asks about Crowley, tell him he’ll have him by the end of the week.”

“Right.” Harrison snorted. “We don’t even know where he is.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Trina doesn’t seem worried about it, so neither am I.”

If you asked him, Trina had been acting strange for the last couple of nights. Everyone in the coven had. Hell, he hadn’t even seen Kat since the night they exorcized Crowley.

“See ya, D.”

He headed toward the courthouse . . . the DDC, and the new boss he may or may not be able to trust. He pulled George off his shoulder and tucked him into his jacket as he crossed through the protestors. No reason to let them see George. The lot of them would freak out.

“Tell Mason we’re coming by tomorrow to check in.”

“All right.” He waved a hand over his head.

“Ten o’clock.”

“Yep.” Harrison grinned.

“You say my name if you need me.”

Harrison laughed. “Go home to Trina before she thinks you’re cheating on her.”

He pushed open one of the heavy gold-trimmed glass doors and walked inside.

“You Harrison Sinclair?”

Harrison nodded. “Mason?” He offered his hand.

“Scott, when we’re alone.” He shook his hand. “The way your people have this set up, you and I are pretty much on a level playing field.” Scott was the director of the DDC, but the daemons would only take orders okayed by Harrison.

“Except no one but us knows it.”

Scott nodded, his gaze jerking down as George crawled out from his jacket. The minion walked across his chest and back up onto his shoulder. One paw landed on Harrison’s head as George stood on his hind legs to look around.

Scott’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “No pets.”

“He’s not a pet. I don’t feed him.”

“No? What does something like that eat?”

“The tears of my enemies.” Harrison grinned. “Think of him as an extension of me and we’ll get along fine.”

“I guess I can mark him down as a daemon equivalent of a K-9 unit. What about Crowley?”

“You’ll have him at the end of the week.” Hopefully.

“What are you getting out of this deal?”

“James and Duncan are the only Guardians left and they’ll never be able to keep up with daemon crime. It’d be like the humans trying to curb criminal tendencies with two cops. We need the DDC just as much as you do.”

“So it’s not personal.”

He could lie, but something told him Scott would see right through him. “There’s one rogue daemon in particular I want to see brought to justice.”

“Well, we have to get the DDC up and running first.”

“I know.”

“And get the Nephilim under control.”

He blew out an impatient breath. “I know.”

“But we’ll go after your rogue.” Scott nodded. “Come on. I cleaned my office.” He lifted his hand palm up, revealing three tiny metal devices. Bugs? “We can talk there.”

Well, shit. Duncan had been right, he was walking into a hornet’s nest.