I shrugged, still feeling pretty miffed that Warin had stranded me with this stranger. But I guessed she was better than being alone, if I was now a witch-slash-skinwalker target… so long as she kept her fangs to herself. “Sure, I guess. You’re the babysitter, after all.”
While Carina wandered around my apartment, I set about fixing myself a sandwich. Unwanted house guest aside, I hadn’t eaten all day and I was starving. Something about being dragged through the bushes and attacked by wolfmen really did give a girl an appetite.
Carina came out from my bedroom as I sat down by the breakfast bar with my tuna sandwich. “Your security is lacking,” she said as she sat down next to me. “Has the Lord not had any protective measures installed?”
“Uh, no. That would be wildly overstepping—and my lack of alarm system isn’t really Warin’s problem. Also, ‘the Lord’? Really? Please tell me he doesn’t make all his employees call him that.” I frowned when the uninvited thought of what it might mean if Carina actually was the only one to call him that sprung to the forefront of my mind.
Oh, goddess, don’t let this be some weird sex thing.
I wasn’t prepared for the hot stab of jealousy that thought produced.
“The lord rarely demands, but yes… all his subjects call him this.” Carina regarded me with some contemplation. “He hasn’t told you who he is, has he? What he is?”
I frowned. “Yeah, he’s… some kind of vampire cop, right?”
Carina blinked. “He is the Night Lord of Chicago. He rules the city and its surrounding territories.”
I stared at her for a second. Then a laugh bubbled out of my throat. “Get the fuck out of town, no he is not! Night Lord? What, so he’s the vampire king of Illinois?”
She nodded, her face as serious as ever.
My laugh died as I stared at her. “You’re fucking with me.”
“You and the Lord—you are lovers?” she asked.
I nearly choked on my tuna sandwich at the change of subject. “What? No! We’re just friends.”
“Hmm.” She watched me, the doubt clear as daylight on her pretty face. “Is that so?”
“Yeah.” My face flushed hotly up under her scrutiny. “He’s great and all, but it’s not like that. We just talk a lot.” An twinge of something unpleasant in my gut made me ask, “Why? You’re not… Are you his girlfriend, or something?”
Carina’s laugh pearled through the room, light and beautiful. “No. I am merely curious. He has been… different, these past few weeks. I suspect you are the cause.”
“Oh.” My face heated by several degrees, and I returned my focus to my sandwich so I didn’t have to look at the blonde’s knowing smile. “Well, we’re just friends.”
Carina chuckled, and I got the distinct impression her amusement was due to my uncomfortable squirming. “How very… unusual.” Her tone made it quite clear she thought I was a big, fat liar.
Just fabulous.
I wolfed down the rest of my sandwich as fast as I could without choking and decided to go straight to bed. I was tired and aching all over, and I so wasn’t in the mood for any more awkward conversation about my relationship with Warin.
13
I was still a little sore when my alarm woke me up just after dawn the next morning.
It wasn’t too bad, though. I took stock of my bruised body as I lay in bed, trying to find the will to push the covers aside and get up. My muscles ached, and I was pretty sure I had a couple of nasty bruises, but it could have been so much worse.
I shuddered at the memory of knowing I was going to die, and I spared Warin a grateful thought. As irritating as it was that he’d just up and left me with a glorified babysitter while he went off to play lonesome hero, it was nice to know that I didn’t have to face potential skinwalkers on my own.
Even if I’d never had to entertain the idea of men who turned into freaking wolves intent on shredding me like a brisket before I met Warin. No one gave two fucks who I was before him.
Skinwalkers. Christ on a cracker.
I lifted my hands up above my head and stared intently at them in the faint filtering through my curtains. Maybe I’d imagined that green light?
But no. Even now, I could still recall the rush of energy from the deepest part of my being as it burst out of me. It had definitely happened.
I clenched my hands into fists before retracting them underneath my warm duvet. I’d been very close to telling him, before Carina showed up. But… in the clear light of day, perhaps it was for the best that I hadn’t. As much as I didn’t want to play damsel in distress here, it was pretty obvious I was all kinds of fucked if Warin decided he wanted nothing more to do with me.
A mild shiver traveled down my back when I recalled what he’d said about not being lenient with witches anymore. But this was Warin… there was no way he’d actually hurt me, even if he found out that I might-possibly-maybe be some kind of a witch.
And who knew if it was even magic that’d burst out of me? There was every chance this was something else entirely. I mean, you’d think you’d grow up knowing if you were some kind of dark creature… right?
Could have been alien possession, for all I knew.
Deciding against traveling further down that particular road, I finally kicked my duvet off and crawled out of bed. It was my turn for the morning shift at Dark Dreams, and as much as a New Age shop might be the only job that would potentially accept “attacked by werewolves” as a reasonable excuse not to show up for work, I needed to go in.
Since my vampire buddy was off playing Lone Ranger, it was clear I had to take matters into my own hands if I wanted to be in the loop of who was gunning for my life this time around. And the only non-vampire, non-creepy-slaughterhouse lead I had? Witch Supply Central, aka my workplace.
Most of them might just be New Agers, or emo teens, but if Warin’s reaction to my workplace was anything to go by, I might be able to get a hold of someone who could get me in touch with Chicago’s witchy underground.
* * *
I was so preoccupied with my plotting that it wasn’t until I stepped out of the street door to my apartment block—Thermo in hand and gaze locked on my small, battered Fiesta as I huddled against the cold—that I noticed the huge man standing in front of my building.
“Ma’am,” he said when I shot him a cautious glance out the corner of my eye. He was standing with his hands clasped behind the small of his back, like a soldier at attention, and his winter clothes did nothing to hide his bulky form. He had to be at least seven feet tall and built like an ox. Definitely not the kind of guy you’d forget—which meant he wasn’t usually hanging around my apartment block.
“Uh, hi,” I muttered, and scurried toward where my car was supposed to be be. Only the spot where I normally parked was empty.
It was only then I remembered my Fiesta was still in the parking lot by my work.
“Sonuvabitch!” I growled. I was so not in the mood for public transport.
“Is there a problem, ma’am?”