“That’s why he was attacked.”

  “Yes. Please don’t worry, Traveler. We will relinquish our lives before that happens.”

  “What? No. Rune, we’ll figure something out.”

  “Perhaps. But we will not let Quentin die for us. He has done so much already.”

  She thought about it. If she could talk to this entity like she was talking to Rune, maybe… “Rune, can you keep Quentin here for a little while? Like, under your thrall?”

  “I can, but he will not be happy about it.”

  “Good. Let him sulk.”

  “Traveler, have you ever heard of a demon hunter sulking?”

  “No.”

  “That’s because no one has ever caused one to sulk and lived to tell the tale.”

  She laughed and mentally lowered her head. “Thank you, Rune, for saving his life.”

  “And almost taking yours in the process? Any time, Traveler. Be careful. This demon is furious.”

  “Yes, I could tell.” Amber didn’t know if she rose out of the dive of her own volition or if Rune had released her, but suddenly she was back at the Tavern.

  “Are you getting anything?” Dora asked.

  Amber blinked and glanced around, waiting for her pupils to adjust. Quentin was staring at her, but his eyes were pitch-black. “Son of a bitch.” She patted the jacket and felt the sunglasses she’d found in a pocket earlier. She unfolded them and pushed them onto Quentin’s handsome face—the one that had taken so much abuse—then she looked at Dora. “How long was I out?”

  “Out? What do you mean? You just flipped over two coasters.” She sat back in disappointment. “You’re not getting anything, are you?”

  “Oh, I got tons. Did I ever. If Quentin comes to, tell him I went to the bathroom.”

  Kyle panicked and stood when she did. “Wait, where are you going?”

  “To the bathroom. That way, you won’t have to lie. I’m just going to do it at Dora’s house.”

  “Oh, good heavens.” Dora covered her eyes like that would somehow stop Amber from leaving.

  Amber laughed softly and then remembered what she was about to do. This could be the biggest mistake of her life. And her last chance to do something she’d been wanting to do since that morning. Risking Quentin coming to, she cupped his scruffy jaw, bent over, and brushed her mouth across his. He was warm and slightly feverish, a fact that spurred her into action.

  Sarah brought their food just as Amber grabbed the coasters and turned to leave. “Wonderful, I’ll be right back. Don’t take my plate away. Oh, and Quentin is taking a quick power nap. But really,” she said as she rushed out, “don’t take my plate. I’ll just be a minute.”

  She tore out of the Tavern and ran all the way to Dora’s house, gasping for air when she got there. She went around to the back door to find Kyle blocking it. Literally. He held his arms across the doorframe, clipboard in one hand and pen in the other. “I can’t let you do this, Ms. Kowalski. If anything happens to you, I’ll be out of a job.”

  “Your concern is touching, Kyle,” she said between gasps. “And it’s not like I pay you.”

  “But you do. In other ways.” He pushed his round glasses up his nose then returned his hand to the frame.

  “Kyle, look… Wait, what ways? Have you seen me naked?”

  He bit his bottom lip and shook his head.

  What the hell? “Never mind. You realize I can just walk through you?”

  “Yes, I do. But that’s rude, and you would never…”

  She walked through him and opened the back door. Kyle gaped at her, appalled.

  “Sorry, Charlie. I’m on a mission.”

  “You’re going to get killed.”

  She narrowed her eyes and looked up toward the attic window. “I don’t think so.”

  “And how many demons have you befriended lately?”

  The grin that crept across her face could not be helped. “Hundreds of thousands.”

  He scoffed, then said, “Wait, really?” before dropping his ghost clipboard. It didn’t make a sound.

  Amber stepped into the house, careful to stay inside the black salt lines. She walked to the center of the small kitchen. Having no idea how long she had, how long Rune could hold Quentin, she drew in a deep breath and stepped out of the circle. Then she closed her eyes and waited.

  Her hands shook at her sides, and she almost dropped the coasters. She’d been killed by something from the afterworld once already. She did not care for a repeat performance. When she was still breathing twenty seconds later, and her innards were still…innardly as opposed to outerly, she took a reluctant step toward the stairs. That was when she heard it. The breathing. The raspy inhales and exhales of an injured animal.

  Swallowing hard, she started up the stairs, taking them slowly to let the demon know she was not a threat. Then again, it’d killed at least three people—more if Quentin was correct—and as far as anyone knew, it hadn’t actually touched any of them. It could crush her skull with a collectible rattlesnake paperweight or decapitate her with one of the vintage New Mexico license plates hanging on the walls. Any number of gruesome deaths awaited her.

  When she got to the top floor, she looked around. The rasps were coming from the same corner the demon had occupied before, hidden by shelves of supplies and inventory.

  She sat on the floor, crossed her legs, and took the coasters into both hands. Maybe she could communicate with it, try to understand why it was here, but she couldn’t dive if she couldn’t see into its eyes. Or could she?

  Closing her eyes again, she concentrated on its breathing. She could feel its energies in the room—heavy and full of static. It sent electrical currents flickering over her skin.

  She focused on that. Its energy. Its breathing. Its presence. Then she flipped a coaster and laid it on the floor as time slowed around her. The air thickened, and her shoulders relaxed.

  Its anger washed over her first. Its rage. She let it. Absorbed it and tried to understand it. Why? Why these victims? Why here? Why now? A clicking sounded in the distance, like someone typing on a keyboard. And then faces flashed in her mind like the flickering of a silent film. A rotund businessman in Chicago. A beloved grandfather in Seattle. A pretty senator in Kentucky. Face after face of people it had killed. But it always killed the other, as well. It called its last victims at any given place the other, and part of a face she recognized flashed on the screen of her mind’s eye.

  A gravelly voice registered nearby. It said three syllables as though they were foreign on its tongue. As though it were only just learning to say them. “Tra…vel…er.”

  Her eyes flew open to find the demon inches from her face. She jumped and scrambled back, her gaze darting toward the stairs. But it was so fast. She didn’t think for a minute she could make it down the stairs and into the circle before it caught up to her.

  “Tra…vel…er,” it repeated. Its voice was just as raspy as its breathing. Its eyes almost completely black except for a horizontal green line that ran straight across them. What evolution had in mind there, she had no idea.

  It stepped closer and hooked a massive claw over her ankle to hold her in place. She fell back and tried to pull her foot free as it straddled her, bent, and sniffed. It smelled her hair and her face and her neck where its forked tongue slithered out for a taste, and Amber felt the world tumble beneath her.

  The demon was an odd pattern of grays and blacks with gold splattered about, and smooth, shell-shaped scales covered its body. It looked similar to the entities in Rune but more reptilian.

  It spoke again, slowly, struggling to pronounce the words through its long, needlelike teeth. “What are you doing?”

  “I… I’m trying to find out what you want.”

  Roughly the size of a rhinoceros and only partially solid—it would not fit in the room, otherwise—it was hunched, slender, and agile. Able to solidify parts of its body at any given time, it took a massive claw and ripped her jacket open at the stomach as the blood drained from her face.

  This was it. This was officially the stupidest thing she’d ever done.

  The demon focused on her stomach. Bringing its other talon around, it sank a claw into the T-shirt and split it in two. Then it sniffed some more. Nudged. Licked the sensitive skin as Amber fought the darkening of her vision.

  “Freedom,” it said, its deep voice like rocks being crushed. “And food.” It threaded his teeth into the front of the jacket and pulled her into a sitting position. She almost blacked out when it added, “Not necessarily in that order.”

  It started to walk around her, sniffing her hair and nudging her back.

  She decided to negotiate. “We can help each other.”

  “Doubt it, Tra-vel-er.”

  Why did everyone keep calling her Traveler? Was that another word for clairvoyant or something?

  “Set me free,” it said at her ear. Its tongue slithered out and curled around her jaw for a taste. “I seek the summoner.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that,” she said, her voice more air than sound.

  It growled so loud, the rafters shook, and Amber realized she should have done what she said she was going to do. She should have gone to the bathroom.

  A container above her shook off a shelf and crashed beside her, spraying an industrial cleaner over her pants, but a couple of drops flew into her eyes. She rubbed them, making them burn even more. Shaking visibly now, she forced herself to stay still. She had seen what those teeth were capable of. Those claws. What they had done to Quentin in the blink of an eye. She didn’t move. Didn’t dare give it a reason to attack. But it was certainly capable of rational thought. She could work with that, right?

  When it stopped growling, she gathered her courage and asked softly, “Are you finished?”

  It completed its inspection and faced her again. “Just getting started.”

  She had been afraid of that. Its mouth peeled back, and its teeth elongated, extending another two inches. “Free me,” it said, as though giving her one last chance a microsecond before she saw movement out of the corner of her eye.

  The demon screamed and flew back to its corner as black salt hit it.

  Amber closed her eyes and covered her face against the assault, only to feel herself being lifted off the floor. Quentin pulled her up, and she hugged him, literally wrapping both her arms and legs around him and holding on for dear life.

  They sailed over the stairs, landed in the hall, and were out the back door before she could even fill her lungs to scream. By the time she did, it was far too late. And more than a little awkward.

  Chapter Nine

  This killing them with kindness

  is taking way longer than expected.

  —Meme

  He didn’t stop. While she kept the death grip tight, trying to remain conscious, Quentin carried her all the way to his truck, where he opened the back door and set her on the seat. But she was still clinging on for dear life.

  He let her. For a few minutes. He buried his face in her hair and hugged her back just as hard. Then, as though coming to his senses, he shoved her away from him and pointed to the duffle bag. His eyes were solid black, but the color was shrinking into inky tendrils, the depths of his cobalt irises now showing through. “There are clothes in there. You’ll have to dig through it to find the sweats. They have a drawstring so they should be okay.”

  She looked down. The cleaner had soaked through her pants, the smell pungent and acrid. And Quentin’s shirt had a wet spot where she’d tried to fuse their molecules together. But the jacket and shirt hung open, exposing part of her bra. She scrambled back and tried to cover her embarrassment with the ripped coat.

  A jacket he had yet to notice. The moment his gaze dropped to the gaping hole in what hopefully was not his favorite fashion statement, his eyes began to blacken again, just barely, the reaction clearly controlled by emotion. He pulled her closer again and tore it open. Looking for any injuries. Sliding his hand over her stomach and her rib cage and her—

  “I’m okay,” she said, pushing at his hands and trying to close the jacket. Her cheeks were wet and now burned with embarrassment. And industrial cleaner. And black salt. She could only imagine what they looked like.

  He took her by the arms and asked, “Why the fuck would you do that?”

  She hiccupped before answering. “I was trying to find out what it wanted.”

  He jerked her closer until their faces were centimeters apart. His was the picture of rage when he asked, “Why the fuck would you have Rune hold me like that?”

  She tried to squirm out of his grasp. She failed. “You… You heard me?”

  “I heard you.” He jerked again, but he did it in such a way as to not hurt her. It was more for show. His muscles and tendons corded with the effort, an effort she imagined was born more out of his desire not to hurt her than vice versa. “I heard everything. I just couldn’t do anything about it.” His jaw clenched in anger, he let her go as though disgusted with her. “You had no right to do that.”

  “I know.” She had violated him. Entered his mind without permission. She’d vowed never to do that years ago and now… He had every reason to be livid. Then again, so did she. “I get it. I had no right. But you had no right not to tell me what happened to you. Not after everything we’d been through. You just left.” Her voice cracked, and she turned to go through the duffle bag. She found a T-shirt and a pair of gray sweats with a drawstring and started stripping. “You left me.” She lifted the torn T-shirt over her head, suddenly uncaring of what he saw and what he didn’t. Clearly, she disgusted him. She fought the trembling of her traitorous lower lip as she slipped on his T-shirt. It was tan with the words Blue Sun on it and Chinese characters underneath. “They took you, yes, and I can’t even imagine what you went through, but you decided to write me off without even talking to me.” She kicked off her boots. “Without an explanation. Without even saying goodbye.” She peeled her panties and leggings down over her hips and kicked them off. Her skin had pinkened where the cleaner had soaked through.

  She wasn’t worried about flashing anyone. His windows were so dark, an onlooker would literally have to press their face to the glass to see inside. It was dark and cool and safe.

  He got into the truck and closed the door, forcing her to scoot over. But he had crap everywhere. A medical kit. A crossbow. Books, file folders, and a laptop. She shifted some of the items onto the floorboard as he grabbed the duffle bag, looking for another shirt since the cleaner had soaked through his shirt, too.

  “You decided not to tell me anything. You were just…gone.”

  “It was best for everyone.”

  She turned on him, furious. “No, Quentin. It was best for you.” She found a pre-moistened wipe in the first-aid kit and ripped it open with her teeth. “We’d been best friends for years, and then bam. You just left. The country, as it turned out. So, you can absolutely kiss my ass.”

  Apparently not finding the shirt he was looking for, he shoved the duffle bag into the front seat and sat back. He put an elbow on the armrest and a fist at his mouth as he looked out the window, the blue of his irises glistening in the New Mexico sun. “I didn’t want you to see any of that.”

  She wiped down her stomach and lower extremities then stopped to look at him. He had to change his shirt and possibly the bandages. Industrial cleaners on open wounds could not be good.

  “We need to check your injuries.” She slipped a leg into the sweats. “Did carrying me rip anything open?”

  He shook his head as she slid the other leg in and then leaned back to lift her hips off the seat and pull the sweats on. They were far too big. The drawstring would help, but it had a knot she couldn’t get untied, so she couldn’t pull it tighter.

  “I didn’t want you to see me there. Like that.” The muscle in his jaw jumped as he worked it. “Rune had no right to show you.”

  “If it’s any consolation, I’m not sure Rune had a choice.” And she wasn’t. Her powers of persuasion were pretty persuasive. Drawing the string tighter so the sweats would hopefully not fall, even though she couldn’t tie it, she got onto her knees and started lifting his shirt over his head. He reared back and looked at her as if she were crazy. “We need to check your bandages. Don’t worry. You can still be mad at me.” She tugged the T-shirt over his head, mussing his hair even more. Multiplying his adorable factor tenfold. Damn it.

  He looked down and ran a hand over the gauze. “See? It didn’t even soak through.”

  She sat back on her heels, now recognizing some of the scars. The heartbreaking images Rune had shown her flashed in her mind as she remembered where each scar originated. A line across his chest was from a scalpel. A small circle in his shoulder was from a bullet wound. A patch of marred skin was from an acid burn, though that one was kind of his fault.

  But it was the scars on his wrists that stole her breath. She lifted his right wrist to her mouth and kissed the inside where the scars were. From when he had tried to take his life just to get it all to stop. Rune had healed him. Over and over again. She took the left one and did the same, shattering when she thought about what he had gone through. Then she ran her fingers along some of the other marks as the stinging in her eyes sent a fat drop spilling over her lashes.

  He stilled and watched her with a wary gaze. “You don’t have to feel sorry for me,” he said, and she marveled again at how well he spoke. At how much she’d missed him. At how much she still wanted him desperately, despite everything. That demon could’ve killed her, and Quentin would’ve never known what he’d meant to her. What he still meant.

  She leaned forward and brushed her mouth over a razor-thin scar on his shoulder. Then one on his neck. Then up to the cut on his cheek, feathering a soft kiss along his sculpted jaw.

  He clutched the armrest with one hand and kept the other clenched at his side as though afraid to move.

  Amber tried to remember that she disgusted him. She tried to remember that she hadn’t been worthy of even a salty goodbye. And that he probably didn’t enjoy her ministrations. But her memory seemed to be on the fritz.