Nikolas cocked his head and one corner of his mouth lifted arrogantly. “Yes, I can see how well you do on your own,” he drawled in an infuriatingly condescending tone. “I’m amazed you lived this long.”

It hurt that he thought so little of me but I refused to let him know that. More than that, it angered me that I should care about his opinion of me at all. “I’m sorry I’m such a trial to you but no one is asking you to stick around here. You can go back to doing your warrior thing, hunting vampires or whatever you do and forget all about me.”

I moved past him but he did that blurring thing again and I found my way blocked by a wide chest. A hand grabbed my handlebar when I tried to go around him and it felt like my bike was cemented to the ground. He leaned down and spoke with deadly softness into my ear. “If I was a vampire, you’d be dead – or worse.”

My breath hitched and for several seconds I was back in the alley, pressed against the brick wall, unable to move. Shaking off the memory, I glared up at him, hating him for reminding me how weak and helpless I’d felt with Eli. Our eyes met inches apart and the Mori in me shifted restlessly, sending a ripple of some foreign emotion through me. I tore my gaze from his, angry that he had the power to affect even a little part of me.

“Does it even matter?”

“What?”

“You said that day on the wharf that you can’t save every orphan. What difference does one more make?”

Nikolas stiffened and I realized I’d probably just insulted his warrior ego or something. I was tired of this overbearing, he-man routine and it felt good to know that he wasn’t as invincible as he let on.

“Do you mind letting go of my bike?” I asked when he did not respond to my question. “Nate will be home soon and it’s my turn to make dinner.” And I needed to get away from him because he made me feel angry and safe and afraid at the same time and I didn’t know why.

Instead of loosening his grip, he growled, “Khristu! Do you not understand the danger you are in? I know you want to believe you are safe here surrounded by your werewolf friends, but someone went to great lengths sending that pack of crocotta to find you. If it is that vampire, he won’t give up.”

His words made the back of my neck prickle and I remembered the hunger in Eli’s eyes when he had been forced to release me.

Nikolas saw me waver. “If you are honest with yourself, you’ll admit I am right.” He let go of the handlebar and laid a warm hand over one of mine. “I can protect you if you will let me.”

I tried to ignore the small tremble that went through me. How was it possible to dislike someone and feel fluttery inside at the same time? His nearness suddenly made it hard to think straight. Pulling my hand away, I stammered “I really need to go inside now.”

This time he did not try to stop me. He stepped aside and I pushed my bike past him. I hurried around to the back door and stood the bike against the wall while I searched for my keys. I did not realize he had followed me until he spoke.

“You can run away from me but you can’t run from the truth. The werewolves can’t protect you forever and eventually, you’ll have to leave New Hastings. What will you do then?”

My hand stilled on the door knob. “When that happens it’ll be my problem, not yours,” I replied without looking at him. I opened the door and pushed my bike inside. “I don’t want you following me around anymore.”

“And I don’t want you to keep putting yourself in danger. Seems like neither of us will get what we want.”

I didn’t reply, I just let the heavy door close behind me.

Chapter 12

I pulled the cloth sack Remy had given me from my backpack and dumped the contents on the storeroom floor. Looking over the two small bundles of ash and elder twigs, the paper packet, the stone bowl and something that looked like a crude artist’s brush, it was hard to believe that these simple items could ward off something like a vampire. But I trusted Remy and the trolls’ magic. If he said this was the best way to protect Nate then I believed him.

I arranged the twigs in a crisscross pattern in the bowl exactly as Remy had instructed then sprinkled the contents of the packet over the twigs. “Il vekk’it zuhh ymen,” I whispered in a poor imitation of Remy’s guttural troll tongue. It was close enough because the twigs burst into flame just as Remy had said they would. The small fire burned quickly, the flames going from white to blue to green before collapsing in a pile of ashes that smelled of burnt sage and basil and charred wood.

Picking up the bowl and brush, I stood and went to the back door. I laid the bowl on the floor and dipped the brush in the ashes then traced the outline of my left hand in the center of the door, softly reciting the words, “Atal’al il, atal’ak.” Loosely translated, it means ‘protect me, protect mine’. I stood back and waited. Seconds later the ash outline of my hand sank into the steel and vanished. There! As long as I called this building home, nothing or no one with harmful intent could come through this door.

Now I just needed to do the same with every door and window in the whole building.

*     *     *

The confrontation with Nikolas bothered me more than I wanted to admit. I hated how weak and vulnerable I felt when he had grabbed my bike and I couldn’t stand being followed and watched out of some misplaced sense of obligation. It didn’t help that the stupid demon in me always knew when he was around, stirring restlessly every time his presence brushed against my mind. If this was how Mori demons connected, it must be absolute sensory overload living among Nikolas’s people. How did the Mohiri live with it?