A Perfect Blood

“But you are a demon.”
    Arms wrapped around my middle, I looked up into the misty rain.
    “That comes with responsibilities and expectations, but it also gives you a way out,” Trent was saying, but my gut hurt. “My God, Rachel, you have an arsenal of abilities you’re ignoring, weapons that can be used to minimize the damage your existence creates. You’re forcing others to pick up your slack. It’s time to grow up.”
    He had me until his last words, and my head snapped down. “Stop it. Just stop,” I said, and his shoulders slumped as he realized he’d gone too far. “Thank you for coming over here and rescuing me from my bodyguard .”
    Trent’s posture shifted to one of belligerence, his hair dark in the misty rain. “Tell me that again when you mean it, and I’ll buy you dinner,” he said, and my jaw tightened.
    “I appreciate that you want to help me screw up my life even more,” I said, heart pounding, “but with all due respect, Mr. Kalamack, when I want the damn bracelet off, I’ll ask you.”
    “Is that so?”
    His words were clipped, and I desperately wanted to say something different, but he was right and I was scared. And when I got scared, I got stubborn. “Yes,” I said, chin lifted.
    For a long moment he looked at me, unknown thoughts making his own jaw clench and a dangerous light catch in his eyes. “Mr. Benson can’t keep you safe from HAPA.”
    I stood up straighter, hoping he didn’t see me shaking. “I’m only going out to secure sites. I’m making up some earth-magic charms later. If I’m prepared, I’ll be okay. It’s not as if I’ve never been under a death threat before.”
    Trent’s lips lost their hard slant, and he almost smiled. Head dropping, he stepped closer to say something, but behind him, Wayde moved, his knee scraping on the cement as he sat up.
    “Damn,” the Were breathed, his head still bowed as he felt his chest. “What the hell hit me?”
    I’d never find out what Trent was going to say because he bent to help Wayde to his feet. “Sorry about that,” he said, and I swear I saw a faint glow as he did some healing magic and Wayde blinked fast. “I thought you were taking Rachel against her will.”
    “He was,” I said, ignored by both men as I fidgeted at the open door.
    Wayde squinted up at me in the dark before he dropped his head again and rubbed the back of his neck. He was wet from having been on the cement, and still dazed. “I was trying to prove a point.”
    Trent nodded, that same tight look about his jaw. “It would have worked except for one thing,” he said, and Wayde looked up.
    “What’s that?” he asked blearily.
    Silent, Trent stared at me while my heart hammered, once, twice, three times. “She’s got friends,” he finally said. His head cocked in challenge, Trent turned his back on me and paced quickly to his car, his steps light and almost silent.
    Wayde groaned softly, hunched over as he felt his middle. “Are you okay?” I asked him as I put a hand on his back, then watched as Trent drove away, his wipers going and his brake lights shining on the damp pavement.
    “Yeah. Can we go now?”
    I nodded, taking his elbow to steady him as we went down the steps. Sure. We could go now. Damn it, I was going to get a tattoo. Swell.

Chapter Six

    D avid put his heater-stuffy, gray sports car into park in front of a deserted shop front, and I stared out the front window, the misty black adding to my stellar mood. Even the familiar, pleasant scent of Were mixing with David’s expensive cologne didn’t help. There were no cars here, no pedestrian activity, the rain having emptied the usually busy Inderland neighborhood. It was one in the morning in a bad part of town, but seeing that I was sitting next to an alpha Were with an angry bodyguard in the back, I’d probably be okay, even if David’s car was likely on three chop-shop lists. I’d been in worse neighborhoods on my own.
    David looked across the street to a trashy storefront, its windows plastered with old band posters. It looked like a cross between a beauty parlor and a motorcycle outlet, and I suddenly realized that it wasn’t abandoned, but closed. EMOJIN’S was stenciled in faded gold letters on the door. They’re closed, I thought, seeing the dark windows. Thank you, God.
    “Thanks, Rachel. I appreciate this,” David said, and Wayde, in the back and nursing a massive headache, snorted.
    “They look closed,” I muttered, not looking at