The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance

any human could be. Calling her newly awakened power, she eased out of the back door into the night. Not that she meant to confront it. Her magic was too new to her. She didn’t dare take on such a creature alone. No, she meant only to protect her property, to set wards and spells. To protect Daemon and keep him safe from the monsters in the night.
    Daemon knew she was gone before he finished searching the house. The trinity twisted and writhed, feeling his fear, feeding on it and straining to tear free. Jen was out there somewhere. Alone. Unprotected. And the continuum writhed and twisted with dark magic, the aura of a powerful demon.
    “Go,” he snarled, and the trinity tore free, rising into the moonless night, wraiths in the shadows, leading him to the one he sought. Jen. He ran flat out for the woods, knowing she was there. In the woods. With a demon.
    He needed to get to her, protect her. He couldn’t lose her, not Jen. He couldn’t be too late.
    The air felt wrong. Tasted wrong. There was a demon out there, and something else. A sorcerer? Perhaps.
    Trees flew past in a blur. Daemon tore full tilt towards the thick miasma of dark magic that oozed through the forest, foreign and vile. Then he saw Jen, backed up against a tree, her face pale, her eyes wide. He took in every part of her at a glance. She appeared unharmed, but her splint was off and her crutches nowhere to be seen.
    Not ten feet from her was a demon - grey, cracked hide stretched over its meaty frame, blackened lips peeled back from row upon row of jagged yellow teeth.
    Everything inside Daemon rebelled. He would lose her. Either way, he would lose her. She would die at the hands of this monstrous, foul beast, or Daemon would summon the trinity and save her and she would see him then for exactly what he was.
    I despise you. A condemnation from centuries past. He couldn’t bear to hear those words from Jen’s lips. But the alternative was worse. She would die.
    The beast stepped towards her, and she drew herself up, closed her eyes, as though she could not bear to see the promise of her death in its obsidian eyes.
    Stepping forwards, Daemon snarled. “Come to me.” His voice echoed through the trees, and the trinity came, swirling around him, through him, searing him to the bone and ramping his power to its highest level.
    Jen’s gaze shot to him and for an instant everything around them ceased to be. She saw him for all he was and all he could never be. Not human. Not mortal.
    I’m sorry, Jen.
    She held his gaze and drew a deep breath, casting her arms wide. Her body jerked and froze. Glittering, sharp-edged filaments of light swelled around her, swaying and weaving until they reached the demon, curling about its limbs as it lunged for her, claws bared. She yet held his gaze as he sent the trinity to their task, his light and theirs spilling through hers in a tumult of energy until the demon began to crackle and fizz, and finally burned away in a curl of smoke. Then she slumped against the tree as though their victory had drained her.
    “You are a sorcerer,” Daemon breathed as he caught her against him, holding her tight, desperate to feel the warmth of her skin, to know she lived and breathed still.
    “With delayed maturity.” She gave a rueful laugh. “What—” A thousand questions raced across her features then disappeared as she shook her head.
    He knew what she wanted to ask, waited for her condemnation. Waited for her to demand explanations when he had none. She was a sorcerer, but what was he? He had no idea. He had never encountered another like himself.
    Then she smiled, dragged his head down until their lips touched, and whispered, “What did you bring for dinner?”

Grace of Small Magics
Ilona Andrews
    “Never look them in the eye,” Uncle Gerald murmured.
    Grace nodded. He’d calmed down some when they had boarded the plane, enough to offer her a reassuring smile, but now as they landed, he turned pale. Sweat gathered at his hairline. Gripping his cane, he scanned the human currents of the airport as they entered the terminal building. His fingers shook on the pewter wolf’s head handle. She’d seen him take out a couple of men half his age with that cane, but she doubted it would do them any good now.
    He cleared his throat, licking his dry lips. “Never contradict. Never ask questions. Don’t speak until you’re spoken to and then say as little as you can. If you’re in trouble, bow. They consider it