Unknown - Scorched

More locks. There should be warding spells, too. Doorway magic sounded like Lore’s department. If the hounds were willing to help him, this was something they could do besides making useless prophecies. Stop fretting.

He looked around. It’s good to be back. He couldn’t help thinking it, even if he had only been gone a few hours. Constance was curled up in an armchair, her feet tucked under her. She was deep into the pirate book, chewing one thumbnail as she read.

Everything about her was at once innocent and unabashedly sensual. Mac’s thoughts were stalled by a hot flood of memory, of the night they’d spent together. Oh, yeah.

“Connie,” he said.

She started violently, snapping the paperback shut. “Mac!”

“Sorry!”

She ran to him, giving a little bound so that she could reach to fling her arms around his neck. “I woke up and you were gone!”

For a moment, he was lost in the soft feel of her—the silky hair, the strong, lithe arms, the soft scent of her perfume. He held her tightly to his chest, not even wanting to release her long enough to kiss her. “You knew where I was going.”

“I was worried.”

That was nice. Nobody had done that for him for a long time.

“Hey,” he said. “It’s all right. I’m back.” He kissed her, long and thoroughly, and then summoned the discipline to let her go.

“Did you find the guardsmen?” she asked.

“Yup.” He pulled the red box from his shirt pocket with some effort. He’d really jammed it in there. The empty pocket gaped oddly; the soft flannel had stretched.

When he looked up, Constance’s expression was marvelous to see. Her eyes had gone wide, her mouth open. Her hands reached forward in slow motion, taking the box from his fingers and cradling it against her breast.

“You brought him home,” she said in a hushed voice. “You brought him back!”

It wasn’t the first time Mac had returned a lost child, but it was definitely the strangest. He grinned. “Sweetheart, I keep my promises.”

Still holding the box, she gave him a wordless, one-armed embrace. After a moment, he realized she was crying, sobbing silently against him. A relieved mother thing. It was normal. He’d seen it before. He’d tried to take it in stride, not let it touch him too much, but, oh, it was always wonderful.

“Shh.” He stroked her hair. “It’s all good.”

God, she smells great. He could feel heat rising to his skin, prickling like electricity. Reynard was right. Emotion drives the heat.

“Did the captain have him?” she said at last, pulling away.

“Uh-huh. Y’know, I don’t think he likes me much.”

She smiled, her eyes shining with fresh tears. “But he kept him safe from the other guardsmen. He did that much.”

That was true. And I nearly strangled Reynard. Or the demon had. Gotta watch that.

Mac sobered, his mood plummeting. The adventure had taught him much, some stuff he didn’t want to face. He’d come within a hairbreadth of carnage. Worse, he’d liked it. The violence had been a whole new high.

His gaze caressed Constance, who was setting the box on the floor.

I’m in danger of turning into a killing machine. Again.

Constance was probing the box, her slim fingers stroking every surface.

That can’t be me. I’m the guy who does what needs doing. I fix things. I save people. I can’t lose that. It’s all that’s left of me. Not even a demon can take that away.

I hope.

The box clicked, the lid springing open. Constance stepped back. Mac watched, curious despite himself. He’d heard of incubi, but he’d never seen one.

Soft light fountained from the box, coalescing into an iridescent haze that shone from within—dust, but different from the smoky black of Mac’s incorporeal form. This cloud was beautiful, neither sparkling nor dull but gleaming with the sheen of pearls.

Mac watched as it grew and blossomed into a solid form of a tall young male. He was pale, his skin almost truly white, with dark eyes and long silver hair that fell to his hips. But what caught Mac’s attention were the wings, beautifully arched, shot with delicate pink veins.

Holy crap. The kid has bat wings. And to think parents complain about piercings.

What happened next was a silent dance. The young demons—Sylvius—reached for Connie, grasping her hand in his. She turned into him, clutching him to her in a movement made smooth by long years of practice. There was no doubt that, in every way that counted, this was her child.

“It’s so good to see you,” said the incubus, and folded his wings around her. It was the oddest and most tender gesture Mac had ever seen. The two, mother and child, were still for a long moment, the candlelight fluttering against the shadows that draped around the pair. A profound silence thickened, making Mac’s breath come loud in his ears.

Let them have their moment.

He was an outsider. This was Connie’s time. Connie’s and her son’s.

Like a dark dream, Mac willed himself away.

October 6, 7:05 p.m. 101.5 FM

“In more news, Fairview’s ad-hoc council of supernatural leaders raised the question of unauthorized immigration, requesting that any undocumented supernatural residents of the area be brought to their attention immediately.”

All right. In the last forty-eight hours, I’ve been transformed to a bloodthirsty barbarian, had hot sex with a vampire, and rescued a bat-winged junior sex demon from a nasty little box. Time for a beer.

As Mac re-formed from dust to demon in his condo, the answering machine was flashing. After weeks with barely a phone call, he had a half dozen messages. Mac ignored them for a moment, pausing to look at the city lights outside his balcony door. The moon’s reflection pooled in the waters of the harbor, a golden, shimmering disk. After watching Connie’s reunion with her son, he felt content. Sated. Masterful.

There were problems, but he’d saved the day and gotten the girl. In the wrong order, but heck, eat dessert first.

A plane flew over, adding its blinking lights to the bejeweled skyline. Connie’s never seen any of this. She hadn’t seen anything except that gloom-fest Castle for centuries. He would do something about that. There had to be a way for her to escape.

The answering machine’s insistent light finally triggered his curiosity. But, when he reached down to push the playback button, there was a knock on the door.

Can’t a guy even take his sword off before somebody wants something?

Mac opened the door. It was Lore.

“A nice old lady let me in the building,” said the hellhound, barging in. Then he looked closely at Mac. “You’re bigger. Again.”

“And you’re still creepy.”

Lore handed him two huge brown bags. “I hope you like chow mein.”

The smell hit Mac like a hockey stick between the eyes, but in a good way. It drove the question of what Lore was doing there into the boards. “Oh, yeah.”

The Castle had turned off his need for food, and now the hunger came stampeding back. He carried the bags to the kitchen and set them on the table. “I’m going to wash up. There’s plates in the cupboard and silverware in the drawer.”

Lore watched him with dark, cautious eyes. “You’re asking me to eat with you?”

Mac scratched the back of his neck, a dozen smart remarks making a log jam in his head. “Do hellhounds eat Chinese?”

The hound seemed to consider his response far too long. “Yes. The food they prepare, that is.” Riiight. “Then grab a fork.”

Abandoning Lore in the kitchen, Mac took off his weapons and washed his hands and face. When he got back to the table, Lore was arranging a mountain of cardboard containers.