The priests are not lost. They are destroyed.
That one in the alley didn't look very destroyed to me.
You did not see him. You only heard him.
True. I considered the circle for a moment, then tossed some water toward it. The stones didn't react, allowing the water to arc right through the middle of them. The stream hit one edge of the pentagram, where it began to sizzle and steam.
The holy water passed through the warding stones.
Ah. Good. That means she's set the wards to react to flesh and blood, not inanimate objects.
Then why did it react to the demon? They aren't real and living in the human sense of the word.
They are when they're in flesh form. Sprinkle the salt liberally across the pentagram, then use the water to form two circles around the warding stones. Make sure there's about five feet between each one.
Why? I began to spread the salt around, making sure my hand didn't actually go anywhere near the flickers of red lightning.
Because evil might be able to step over one circle, but it can't step over two.
I couldn't see why not, but then, I didn't know a whole lot about magic, holy water, and demons. Nor did I really want to learn anything more.
I finished spreading the salt, covering as much of the pentagram's surface as I could, then did the two circles. The water sizzled like acid as it hit the floor, burning a light trench in the wood and filling the room with whitish steam.
With that done, I got the hell out of there. Quinn pulled off his sweater and offered it to me as I closed the front door.
I looked at the sweater, then at him. "You don't like me half naked?"
"I love you naked, but you can't drive home like that because the cops will pull you over."
He shoved the sweater my way again. I crossed my arms and pointedly ignored the offer. I had clothes in my car if I wanted them. I didn't need his, no matter how deliciously warm they might smell. "Why would I be driving home?"
"Because you need to shower and rest."
"And what will you be doing while I'm showering and resting?" I knew exactly what he'd be doing. I just wanted to know if he'd actually admit it. Admit that he was mollycoddling me yet again. I mean, hell, yeah, I was bloody and sore and in desperate need of a bath, but it wasn't the first time and it probably wouldn't be the last. And it certainly didn't stop me from doing my job.
It was scary to think I now actually considered being a guardian my proper job. Lord, how things had changed.
"I'm going to be taking care of our magician." He placed the sweater on my shoulder.
I shifted my shoulder and let it slip to the ground. "Not alone, you won't be."
His obsidian gaze seemed to be growing darker, deeper, until it felt like I was falling into a tunnel—a tunnel I could so easily, so willingly get lost in. This vampire might not be my soul mate, but that didn't mean there wasn't something good between us. Something special.
An alarm went off somewhere in the back of my thoughts. I blinked, but the sensation of being caught by the darkness of his eyes didn't go away.
"You will go home, Riley," he said softly, "and you will rest."
The tunnel seemed to be getting deeper and deeper, until it was all around me, swamping me, overrunning my will and my mind. All I could see was the coal-dark depths of his eyes and all I could hear was his words. The compulsion to obey them swam through me, beating at my skin, my nerves, my brain. So much so that I actually took a step back before I realized it. It took a whole lot of determination to stop a second step and remain still.
I knew then what he was doing.
Anger hit, fast and furious, momentarily weakening the force of his command. I slammed down my shields and severed the mental connection between us, but it was too late, far too late. The compulsion had already been embedded into my consciousness, a desire that beat at my senses with every rapid heartbeat.
I clenched my fists and resisted the urge to scream and rant and rave at him. It took every ounce of control I had to simply say instead, "Don't do this."
He raised an eyebrow. "Don't do what?"
My hands were clenched so hard my fingernails were beginning to dig into my palms. The pain helped keep my anger in check, and the compulsion momentarily at bay.
"Don't play me for a fool, Quinn. I warned you once what would happen if you ever tried to use your vampire wiles on me, and I meant every word."
He looked away for a second, studying the street behind me, his expression calm, giving little away. If anything, that very lack of expression only increased the fury rising inside me. I hated the fact I could never read him as well as he could read me.
Hated the fact he was forcing me to a decision I never wanted to make. And an action I never wanted to take.
He looked back and said, "I'd rather have you angry and alive, than dead." His fingers touched my cheek, his skin so warm against mine. "Be sensible. Go home and be safe."
I resisted the urge to press into his caress and jerked my face away instead. "No. And all you're doing is proving you still don't trust me."
"I trust you. I just don't believe you or the Directorate can handle these people."
"You can't go after these people alone."
"I destroyed them once. I can do it again."
"Quinn—"
"No," he interrupted tersely, "I have lost too many people I care about in the past to evil such as this. I will not lose you as well."
His command still beat inside my brain, growing in intensity, until every muscle trembled with the need to obey. I wouldn't be able to resist it for much longer, and we both knew it. "Even at the cost of never seeing me again?"
He smiled. "You're a werewolf. You can no more deny great sex than you can the moon change."
I stared at him for several seconds, shocked that he could even thinly that. And at that moment, I not only hated what he was doing, but I hated him.
It wouldn't last long—couldn't last long, because it was really only anger, not hate itself. But the words hurt, regardless. Did he really think so little of my integrity that he thought a good fuck could cure me of all concerns? Did he really think I wouldn't go through with my threat? "You have a whole lot to learn about werewolves, matey. Or at least this one."
"Go home, Riley. Rest and recover from your wounds. I'll see you in the morning."
"No, you won't fucking won't see me in the morning. Or any other morning."
"Riley—"
"Fuck off."
With little other recourse left, I spun and walked away. His gaze just about burned a hole in my back, but I didn't look around. I strode up the street, around the corner, and across the road. I didn't see the car, only heard the screech of tires as the driver swung to avoid me. A beer-fueled male hung out the passenger window and made several crude comments.
I swore at him too, then shifted to my wolf shape. I wasn't in the mood for male attention of any kind right now—which just went to show the depths of my fury. The moon was riding high and the fever should have had some influence over my reaction to the comments and the man.
I walked on, wishing I'd parked closer. My nails clicked on the concrete, a soft tattoo that echoed in time with the anger beating through my veins. Which is probably why it took me several more minutes to realize the compulsion to go home was nowhere near as strong as it had been.