Lilith Saintcrow - The Demon's Librarian

Shock. Bodily systems shutting down. Jesus. What the hell—He peered through the glare of light, slowly making out a familiar face, framed by the low ceiling of a Drakul dormitory. He could barely remember being dragged in here while they were setting the dorm up. The Order had probably moved in here in a hell of a hurry.

Chess's eyes were now mostly dark-gold, the hazel that remained merely flecks. She had braced her knees on either side of his hips, and her hair was loose, falling forward over her shoulders. She wore a blue V-neck sweater that made her skin look even more flawless, and she had the fading remains of a terrific black eye. The gash in her forehead had healed nicely. She smelled of Malik healing-sorcery, and of gold, and of female, the familiar scent he filled his lungs with, staring up at her, her wrist trapped in his fingers.

And she was crying. Tears spilled down her cheeks and high color flushed along her cheekbones, she looked frantic.

She was so goddamn beautiful it robbed him of breath.

Life returned in a rush of color and sound. He was vaguely aware of the presence of other Drakulein, watching with bright eyes and reined interest. The Deputy Master also stood by the bed, his arms folded and his dark eyes narrowed. You sadistic bastard… He buried the thought. They'd made Shelton a commander because he had a habit of losing Drakul. What was he doing here? And with Chess?

He blinked again. What the hell's going on? Chess? In a Drakul dorm?

We made it. She's safe. Relief burst inside his chest, exquisite relief. What the hell was going on?

She let out a sound that was half a sob, half a sigh. Her left hand, wrapped in a white gauze bandage, was knotted in his shirt. At least the other Drakul had cleaned him up and dressed him before putting him in a bed to die.

"You idiotic, infuriating, brainless—” She seemed, for once, to run out of words, and tipped her head back, her jaw working. Ryan observed this curiously.

Finally, her chin came back down, and she fixed him with a glare he was exceedingly happy to be alive to see. “Don't you dare die on me!” she finally settled for saying, with barely-controlled violence. “We're partners, remember? Don't you dare die!"

He searched for something to say. His mouth opened. “Your bedside manner could use a little work, sweetheart."

For a moment he thought she was going to try to tear her hand free and slap him again, and he decided he'd let her, if only because the thought of her skin touching his made a bolt of fire go through him. Instead, her arm relaxed. She let out a long, sobbing breath, her shoulders dropping. He was suddenly, acutely aware of her weight against him.

"Don't call me that.” She swallowed. “Are you… they said you were…"

He was acutely aware of other eyes watching. “I'll be all right. Are you okay?” That was the important thing. She didn't smell hurt; but the sudden stinging scent of her fear lashed him into full alertness, smashing at the remaining gray, cottony numbness. The demon stretched inside him, strangely satisfied—of course, he'd let it out. And it had feasted on blood and violence.

She nodded, biting at her lower lip. “Let go, I need to sit down. I spilled my coffee."

What? “What happened?” Clue me in, sweetheart. The last thing I remember is you telling me to stand up since you'd… what? Killed a High One? His skin chilled again, at the thought of her facing that alone.

She let out an unsteady, barking little laugh that it hurt him to hear. “What happened? I had to drag you through blackberry bushes and put up with that SOB—” She tilted her head toward the Deputy Master. “—trying to tell me to just let you die. You can't die, Ryan. Not after I dragged your ass up that goddamn hill."

I never thought I'd live to hear Shelton referred to as a SOB. Ryan made his fingers loosen. His entire body ached, yanked back from shock. He would need a little bit of bedrest and a few protein loads before he was near fighting capacity again. He'd pushed the limits of even a Drakul's strength. He vaguely remembered taking on a High One, blind with the rage of his demon half. “Yes ma'am,” he mumbled, and she clambered off the bed, giving him a venomous look that cheered him up immensely. “No dying allowed.” He sounded hoarse but much more alert now.

"You better believe it.” Someone moved aside for her, and she dropped into a chair by the bedside, then reached over and grabbed his hand, lying discarded on the plain dun blanket. Against the bare white walls and low ceiling of the dormitory, she seemed almost to glow. She darted another glance at the Deputy Master, whose face had settled into an interested, bland expression. “This is my Drakul,” she informed him, tartly. Ryan felt, even if he couldn't see, the sudden attention of the other Drakulein, each of whom held completely still, waiting. Her fingers laced through his. “I'm told the Golden have Drakul bodyguards. So this one's mine. If you want anything out of me, anything at all, you'd better be nice to him."

The Deputy Master paled under the rich tone of his skin. “You're the boss.” He managed to make the words sound sarcastic, at least, even under the pressure of Chess's withering look. “Just be careful. They're not human, no matter how much they like to pretend."

"More human than the Malik who turned us over to the Unspeakable.” She looked back down at Ryan, who almost wished he could be a fly on the wall at the next Council meeting. Her fingers were warm in his, and she squeezed his hand, the feel of her skin electric against his. “More human than supercilious fatheads who treat other men like animals. If you guys want to hang out in my city, there's a few things that are going to change around here. Now get out, before I decide I dislike your face more than I already do."

Ryan winced, but the Deputy Master turned on his heel and stalked away. He waited until the door had closed at the far end of the dormitory's hall to clear his throat. I could get up if I had to. I could. Yeah, sure I could. “That wasn't wise, Chess."

"Wise, schmise.” She shook her head, dark hair falling in her eyes. She blew a strand of it back irritably, and his heart leapt inside his chest. “Well, what are the rest of you staring at? Huh?"

Wisely, perhaps, nobody answered her. Instead, the feeling of presence leached away as the Drakulein slowly, silently, went back to their everyday lives, some leaving through the doors at either end of the hall, others moving to the tables at the far end of the room to clean their weapons and talk in hushed tones.

"Are you really all right?” she asked finally, reaching over with her bandaged left hand to touch his forehead anxiously, as if checking him for fever. The gauze scratched his skin, but her fingertips were warm.

No, I'm not. I feel like hell, and you just opened up a giant can of worms. The Deputy Master's not going to take this well, and he's an enemy I don't want to make. “Better.” He squeezed her hand, too. But gently. Very gently. “You dragged me up a hill? Through blackberries?"

Her chin set, and she scowled stubbornly at him. “I wasn't going to leave you behind."

Oh, Christ. “Chess—"

"Don't.” The color had drained from her cheeks, and she looked close to tears again. “We're going to have to talk about your habit of manhandling me. And that ‘sweetheart’ thing has really got to go. And maybe I should find another apartment, now that the Inkani know where I live. But… I mean, are you really… do you think you could stand to stick around me? For a while?"

Oh, my God. Is she saying what I think she's saying? “Stick around?” I sound like I have a rock caught in my craw. Good one, Ryan.

The blush came back. She dropped her eyes, staring at the comforter and shifting uneasily on the chair. “Well, I suppose this qualifies as dating, doesn't it? In a totally weird, twisted sort of way."