t least—was that if I were to be successfully summoned, the summoner would most assuredly be powerful enough to bind me to his will, make me a slave. If I wasn’t simply killed outright, that is.
I really had no idea whether the ultimate goal was to kill me or not. And why did the graa attack me? What was its goal?
I sank into a chair at the kitchen table and clasped my hands together in my lap to hide the fact that they were shaking slightly. Not sure why I was bothering, since the syraza was definitely perceptive enough to see how off-kilter I was. She placed a mug of coffee in front of me, confirming my suspicion that she was well aware of my mental state. I gave her a weak smile of thanks and wrapped my hands around the mug, exhaling in relief as I took a sip of the most wonderful substance known to mankind. No wonder I hadn’t been able to run faster. I’d been practically uncaffeinated. I shouldn’t be expected to function on only one cup of coffee.
“I hate this,” I confessed. Eilahn tilted her head and frowned. “Not the coffee,” I quickly amended. “It’s perfect. I hate this whole stress and worry and always waiting for some sort of attack. I mean, I know I’m not the toughest chick on the planet, and I’m not some sort of supercop…but I am a cop, and I’ve survived a lot of shit, and I really fucking hate this constant nagging fear that I have going on.” I scowled down into my coffee. “It sucks, and I don’t know what the hell to do about it.”
“You are due to summon Lord Rhyzkahl within the next week,” she replied quietly. “I suggest you do so tonight, since the moon is full. He needs to know about this latest attempt.”
My scowl deepened. “Yeah, well I hate that too—the whole waiting-to-be-rescued crap. I’m not some weak-kneed damsel in distress.”
Eilahn gave a low laugh. “No one who knows you would ever accuse you of being weak in any way.” She stood and turned to the counter while I blinked in surprise at the compliment. “But I do understand your sentiment and why it chafes.” She shot me a glance over her shoulder. “Perhaps some comfort food is in order. I can make a late breakfast if you wish.”
I grinned despite my mood. “You’ve only been with me for a month and a half, and you already know me way too well. I could definitely do with some comfort food right about now.”
The sound of gravel crunching under tires pulled my attention. Reaching out mentally to the wards, I couldn’t sense a direct threat, but someone was definitely attempting to come down the driveway and failing. I glanced at Eilahn. She seemed studiously unconcerned which gave me a pretty good idea of who was attempting to get near the house.
Pushing up from the table, I winced at how much I’d managed to stiffen up in such a short time. I hobbled down the hall and grabbed my coat, pulling open the door to see a dark blue Crown Victoria backing up. I closed the door behind me and watched as it backed up to the first curve, then stopped and came forward again. At about fifty feet from the house the car stopped again and began to back up. Laughing, I made my way down the steps and waved my arms to get the attention of the driver. A second later the car stopped again and Special Agent Ryan Kristoff stepped out, sweeping an annoyed and frustrated glare over the house and the environs.
He didn’t look any different. He still carried himself like a federal agent. His hair was perhaps a bit shorter than normal, in a brush cut that couldn’t quite hide the fact that it tended to curl when it got longer. He had on his usual casual attire of khaki pants and oxford shirt, and the black pea coat he wore over them couldn’t hide the broad shoulders that tapered down to a slim and muscled waistline. But I knew he was different. At least, different from what I’d assumed him to be for so long. It felt odd that he looked the same as always.
A sharp and icy breeze dove down my collar, and I quickly zipped my coat up.
“What the hell have you done to your house?” Ryan demanded.
I stared at him then burst out laughing. This, at least, was the same old Ryan. Moody, mercurial, and charming. “Having some trouble?”