The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance

pain passed and she contemplated the darkened stairs, she decided that, at the moment, her crutches were a hindrance. They made climbing the steps to talk to Daemon a bother, so she called his name.
    She waited, looking up, and frowned. An odd blue light shimmered from the room under the eaves, the one Daemon was working in today. A spotlight of some sort? She meant to ask him about it when he stepped onto the landing, but her words died in her throat. For a long moment, she simply stared. She still hadn’t gotten used to the physical impact of seeing him in her home, especially not the way he looked right now. He was bathed in shadow, his dark hair tousled, his jeans slung low on his hips. A white tank top hugged his muscled torso, and she could see dark tattoos on his skin: a dragon on his left shoulder, another on his right biceps, the hint of a third on the bulge of his pectoral where the tank top dipped.
    “You’re working late today,” she observed.
    “Just want to finish this room.”
    Her gaze flicked beyond him to the dark hallway. There was no sign of the blue light now. Odd.
    “I’m heading out to do some grocery shopping. I want to make it to the Shop Rite before they close at nine. If you’re done before I get back, leave by the side door. It’ll lock behind you.” Turning away, she positioned her crutches to make her way to the door. “See you.”
    “Jen.” His voice, low and rough, stopped her. The way he said her name made her shiver.
    “Mm-hmm?” She glanced back over her shoulder. He’d hunkered down at the top of the stairs so he wouldn’t lose sight of her. God, he was gorgeous. And he wasn’t for her. No man was for her. Not right now. Not ever. A different future waited for her and it could never include a mortal man.
    “It’s dark out. Do you . . .” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Do you want me to take you to town?”
    Wow. Chivalrous. “Not necessary. I’m a big girl, Daemon. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time. And, hey,” she laughed, “it isn’t as if I need to watch out for monsters.”
    She was almost at the door before she heard the creak of the floorboard behind her. The air hummed a second before she felt Daemon’s hands on her, his long fingers closing around her upper arms. He steadied her, his body hard and hot at her back. Her pulse slammed into red line.
    How had he made it down the stairs so quickly? How had she not heard his approach?
    He stepped around to face her, his hands skimming the skin of her upper arms, as though he was loath to let her go. Her head fell back and she stared into his eyes, saw something there that made her shiver. Something primal.
    “There are all sorts of monsters in this world, Jen,” he murmured, “and you do need to watch for them.”
    Her breath came in a jagged gasp. She wet her lips, and his gaze dropped to her mouth, hot, intent. She thought he would kiss her. A part of her wanted him to, wanted to know the feel and taste of him.
    He smiled, a dark, feral baring of white teeth. “You need to watch out for things inside your home, too.”
    For a second, she thought he meant himself, that he was telling her he was some sort of monster. Then he gestured to the ground and she looked over her shoulder at a dark lump: the rolled-up rug that usually ran the length of the hall. In the gloom, she hadn’t noticed it there.
    “I moved the rug so I could get my supplies in and out easier,” he said. “You almost caught your crutches on it.”
    And he’d saved her. So she’d been wrong. His actions were chivalrous and necessary, otherwise she’d be on the floor in a pained heap right now.
    “Thanks.” She pressed her lips together, willed her pulse to settle. “My saviour.” She laughed.
    He didn’t. “I’m no one’s saviour, Jen.” A heartbeat, two, then he brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “Drive safe.” His tone was nonchalant, as though he hadn’t just moved faster than he ought to, hadn’t held her close enough that she could smell the scent of his skin, hadn’t made her ache for his kiss.
    A half-hour later, Jen used her hip to bump her cart as she hobbled along the aisle of the Shop Rite on Route 52. Mrs Hambly - an old friend of her grandmother’s - and the high school maths teacher, Gail Merchant, blocked the way.
    “Terrible tragedy. Terrible. Things like that don’t happen here,” Mrs Hambly insisted. She plucked a grape from a bunch, popped it in her mouth,