The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance

direction.
    “Shant,” she whispered. Before I could deny it, she added, “You should have told me, Dutch.”
    I looked away from her. “There’s nothing to tell.”
    “You’re protecting him.”
    My turn to shrug.
    “If you love him, you should tell him.” Houri sounded definite and, when I glanced in her direction, she looked adamant too.
    I wanted to beat her up again - only, I’d never quite succeeded in that pursuit. “I’m not protecting anything,” I grumbled, going back to my paperwork. “It’s wrong. Talking to him again would be crazy.” Then, quieter, and definitely more honest: “I don’t want anything bad to happen to him.”
    Houri cocked her head like she was trying to process information, which of course made her look totally like a robot Terminator all over again. “And being with you, Dutch Brennan - what makes you think that would be bad?”
Eight
    “This is a rotten idea, Houri.” I pulled the collar of my leather jacket tight against my neck and cheeks to fend off the major mountain breeze making my eyes water. “If he does this, he’ll never be able to come here again. And I have no idea if things would even work out between us.”
    The wind didn’t seem to be bothering Terminator Girl at all. She wasn’t even wearing a coat over her sleeveless tank, and her biceps flexed when she crossed her arms. “There are worse fates than banishment. Like facing eternity without the one who has claimed your heart.”
    Even though my own heart did a little dance in response to what she said, I rolled my eyes. “We spent a night together. I haven’t claimed anything.”
    Houri laughed at me.
    I thought about throwing a punch, but decided if Shant really did come through the sanctuary portal that Houri assured me was located in the Amberd ruins, I’d rather not have a black eye.
    The journey to Armenia had taken us almost a week, her flying me, us resting on various islands, then cities, then towns. It was a major feat that we hadn’t killed each other.
    Mount Aragats was much as I remembered from my childhood: volcanic and full of pits and pocks and craters. Vegetation was sparse this time of year, and a wicked cold breeze whistled between the flat stretch of rocks and grass where we stood and the ruins we had come to see. Sunlight flooded Amberd, and in the background clouds drifted against a crystalline sky. It really was a postcard-perfect scene, and my breath caught as I so clearly remembered standing in the same spot with my beautiful - my angelic — mother.
    Shaddai. Come here to call them. They’ll hear you if you truly need them.
    “Shant,” I whispered, heart aching so fiercely I had to fight sobs as I stared at the ruins of the rounded towers. Part of me wished he’d burst out of the tumbledown rocks and come striding towards me, but the better half of my soul hoped he wouldn’t.
    Houri said that, by coming, he’d be giving up the right to return to Amberd and to function as a protector — though I had no doubt he would protect me with every ounce of strength he possessed. But he’d be losing so much: his culture, his history, his identity. On just a chance, a whisper of possibility. Nothing was set between us, or definite. For all I knew, he’d take one look at me with morning bed head tomorrow morning and fly off into the sunrise screaming.
    I shook my head, blinking to keep back the tears. “I’m not worth that kind of sacrifice.”
    “That, I believe, is Shant’s decision.” Houri sounded distant, almost distracted. “His sense of honour would have forced him to allow you to make the first move towards permanence, but now you have. You are half-angel, Dutch. You will have a very long life. You and Shant could share many, many beautiful years together.”
    “He won’t come.” I studied every nuance and crack in the fallen towers. “He shouldn’t come.”
    When I couldn’t stand the lump in my throat any longer, I turned away from Houri to cry in peace. She caught me by the waist, and I wheeled around, arm swinging to get in the first blow.
    But it wasn’t Houri who had hold of me.
    It was Shant.
    My heart throbbed so hard I almost shouted from the sensation.
    He had caught my arm, mid-swing. He caught my other hand, too, as I raised it to slap him for leaving me without saying goodbye.
    He held me there for an endless moment, his grip firm on my wrists, his green eyes dark with intensity. He still smelled like everything fresh and clean, mixed