Sharon Ashwood - Ravenous

Alessandro stood close, there if she needed him, but he said nothing. The choice was hers to make.

Holly turned to Omara. "I will be the gatekeeper. I made it, after all."

The queen inclined her head. "Good. That is as it should be, but know that most whom you find in there cannot leave. This is a prison for a reason, and the guardsmen are jealous of their charges. You cannot decide alone who enters through that door to walk in our world. Now that the Castle is but a step away, its affairs affect all of us, human and non-human alike."

Holly nodded, feeling the weight of Omara's gaze on her, then on Alessandro, then on the two of them together. There seemed to be an ocean of distance between them and the fierce, tiny queen who stood utterly alone.

The moment broke, as if Omara, on some level, had given in.

"You have my profound thanks, Holly Carver," she said. "You earned your rest tonight." She turned on her heel, starting toward the gate at the mouth of the alley. "Take her home, my champion. Be happy."

"What are you going to do?" Holly asked. "What happens now that the portal is closed?"

Omara stopped, her honey-gold eyes amused. "As queen, I do not get to go home to a soft bed. I get to tie up loose ends, starting with a search for your missing detective. I want to be sure of him before I lay my head down and rest."

Holly opened her mouth, but Omara raised her hand for silence. "I give you my word: I will call you the moment I find him. As for you, my young witch, you have done enough. You gave everything you had to give. Now let responsibility shift to others."

Omara turned and walked away, the long curtain of her hair swinging as she moved. Holly saw the light of her cell phone as she opened it, calling for a ride.

Holly waited until she was sure the queen was gone. "Alessandro, what did you do with The Book of Lies ?"

"I hid it under the bed. We can go back and get it later."

"Why'd you do that?"

Alessandro looked up at the thin strip of stars above the alley. "I think it's best if the queen rules, but is held in reasonable check. I'd rather hang on to one or two high cards, at least until I am sure she has forgiven me for leaving her service. Absolute power does not become Omara. She has occasional difficulties with impulse control."

Holly felt the beginnings of a grin. "Are you sure you're not a politician at heart?"

Alessandro held her under his arm, the weight of his touch a promise of forever. "I like peace, order, and good government. Omara is the one who enjoys the excitement of power games."

"I'm sorry she is so alone," said Holly. "If she were happy, she might be easier to take."

Alessandro shrugged. "Someday she will find the right sparring partner. Perhaps a large and well-armored dragon."

Holly yawned. "Mmm." She leaned against his chest.

"We need to get you home." He kissed her cheek.

"What's the rush? The night is young."

"Don't you have school in the morning? Tomorrow is Thursday."

"Oh, Goddess, it's calculus. Can I have another demon instead?"

Back in the Castle five friggin' minutes and I'm in the middle of an ass-kicking . Mac wiped a sudden sweat from his face. Same old Club Dread .

Mac circled his opponent, who mirrored his low, watchful crouch. Bran was a huge, bare-armed hulk covered with spiraling blue tattoos. He stank like old leather shut up in an attic trunk for far too long. A black braid swung past the man's hips as he moved, a dark slash against the scarlet and gold silk of his tunic.

Bran was one scary, ugly mother. He was also one of the guards of the Castle prison.

Shadows ate at the ceiling and surrounding passageways, giving the illusion there was no reality beyond the circle of their combat. The solitary sound in the corridor was the shuffling of their feet on the stone floor. Torchlight played along Bran's short sword, reminding Mac the guardian was armed and he wasn't.

Sharp objects mattered, but Mac's pulse roared in his head, drowning out fear with every heartbeat. He felt drunk, high, complete, even relieved. He was ready to pound this grunt and love every minute of it. Kill or die . The shredded remainder of his demon side had finally slipped its leash.

Mac lunged. Bran was quick, blocking him, slashing at Mac's ribs—but Mac was supernaturally fast, dancing aside before the blade could land.

They sprang apart, circling again.

"Nice to see you, too," Mac said with a taunting grin. Without warning, he changed direction, but Bran followed the sudden shift with the poise of a gymnast. Mac licked his lips, his mouth dry from breathing hard. "Interesting tats. Still working the Bronze Age look?"

"Be silent." Bran curled his lip, his white teeth and pale skin making him look more like a vampire than a guardian. "I found you, fugitive. No one escapes twice."

"C'mon, saying that's just tempting fate."

They closed again, grappling and snarling. Bran swept Mac's feet from under him, but they both fell, Mac on top. Mac's vision turned white, then red with bloodlust and rage. With his knee on Bran's throat, Mac smashed the guardian's sword hand into the stone floor. The blade fell loose and spun away.

Bran surged, tossing Mac off. Rolling to his back, Mac brought his feet up just in time to catch Bran in the chest with a satisfying thump. The guardian stumbled, air whooshing from his lungs. Mac flipped to his feet, running two steps to sink a hard, knuckle-bruising shot to Bran's midriff. The man was solid as granite, but no match.

Bran doubled over. Mac grabbed the sword and brought the hilt down with a smack, catching the guardian behind his left ear. Bran dropped like a stone in a facedown sprawl at Mac's feet.

The thud of his fall, like so much dirty laundry, echoed in the cavernous dark. Mac bent, feeling for a pulse. The guardian was still alive but would be out for a good long time.

As he rose, Mac felt the surge of his own blood, the tingle and rush of human life in every limb. Behind it pulsed the demon, gleeful—lustful—at the prospect of even more violence. The weight of the sword was a suggestion, the hilt hard and perfect in his greedy palm. There were so many ways to kill. A quick blade in the spine. The slow agony of a gut wound.

Gritting his teeth, Mac backed away. I'm still too much a cop to kill a man when he's down. Even this one . He clutched at that thought, holding it like a talisman that would preserve his slipping humanity.

But in the Castle, every moment was fight or die. Here, he needed his demon side to survive. Staying human would be a losing battle. I have to get out of here, or lose my soul again .

A flicker at the edge of his vision made him look up, reflexes poised.

Mac glimpsed a face, all wide eyes and pointed chin. It was a woman, barely more than a girl, with a thick fall of midnight hair long past her waist. Every line of her thin body looked startled.

All was silent but for the sound of Bran's faint, slow breathing. The woman just stared, her mouth pulled down at the corners.

She's afraid . He stepped over Bran and toward the woman. With a birdlike hop she whisked around the corner. After a second's hesitation, Mac sprinted after her. Until he knew whether she was running from simple fear or running to get Bran's friends, he couldn't let her get away.

By the time he got to the corner, she was already out of sight, but he could smell a trace of sweet perfume. He followed it, mapping this new direction in his mind so he could retrace his steps.

She hadn't gone far, only down another turning. There she hovered, her back to Mac, peering anxiously around the far corner. He came up behind her, his movements utterly silent.