A Perfect Blood. Ким Харрисон

you son of a bitch!”

      But he didn’t, and I kicked and squirmed, unable to take a clean breath of air with his shoulder shoved into my gut. His grip on me was tight, unbreakable—the strength of a wolf pinning his prey. All right. He was good. But this wasn’t encouraging me to trust his abilities. It was pissing me off. “I’m warning you, Wayde!” I exclaimed as the door creaked open and a cool wash of damp air blew in.

      “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he said, and he shifted my weight until my breath huffed out.

      “Put me down!” I shouted, and Wayde jerked to a halt at the soft scuffing on the stairs.

      “Ah, this isn’t what it looks like,” Wayde said to someone, and I squirmed, twisting awkwardly, and saw Trent standing on the steps, his car running at the curb in the rainy night. Trent’s eyes were as wide as mine, and in a sudden burst of motion, he flung out his hand.

      “Obstupesco!” he exclaimed, turning from businessman to assassin as he crouched on the stairs, his long coat furling, and I shrieked, covering my head with my arms and ducking back behind Wayde.

      The spell hit Wayde square on, and I cried out again when he shuddered—and then dropped like a stone.

      The world spun. I felt Trent almost catch me, dragging me from Wayde in such a way that only my hip hit the cement stoop. Pain shot all the way to my skull.

      “Trent! Don’t hurt him!” I said, dazed, as I spit the hair out of my mouth, Trent’s arms under my armpits as he struggled to lift me. Wayde was out cold, and I found I didn’t care as much as I thought I would. “He’s my bodyguard!”

      Trent’s weight shifted wildly as I struggled to get my feet under me, the smell of wine and cinnamon becoming strong as he grappled for control, his dress shoes slipping on the wet cement. “My God, I forgot how heavy you are,” he said, practically shoving me up and away. “I know he’s your bodyguard. What is he doing carting you out of your church over his shoulder?” Glancing down at Wayde, he tugged his long coat straight, grimacing. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I interrupt some sort of dominance foreplay?”

      His tone was rude, and I leaned against the church’s open door and caught my breath. “No,” I said, frowning at the pixies giggling out of sight. “What are you doing here?”

      Shifting from foot to foot, he tugged his coat straight, trying to find his usual aplomb, but after three days in a car with him, I could see right through to his creased brow and finger twitch. “HAPA is harvesting witches with elevated levels of Rosewood enzymes,” he said, appearing oblivious to Wayde. “Excuse me for being concerned. I thought you should know before you try to apprehend them. Maybe if you returned my calls I wouldn’t have to drive out here.”

      Guilt pricked at me, and I bit back my next tart reply. Whispers of pixies drifted at my back, and the damp night brushed my cheek. Two steps away, Trent stood awkwardly in the mist, rubbing his hand and waiting for my response. It was the one that Al had ripped the fingers from, and it probably hurt when he used it to spell with.

      He looked angry, and I thought back to seeing him earlier today at the park, upset, frustrated, and altogether appealing.

      Seeing me silent, he nodded as if not surprised. Expression becoming dark, he spun on his heel. Panic slid through me, and I didn’t know why. “I’m sorry. I should have taken your call. I don’t know why I didn’t,” I blurted out. “The I.S. already said as much, that they’re going to use me as a scapegoat if I can’t find HAPA, so I think you’ll be okay.”

      He hesitated, his foot reaching to find the next step down. Slowly he turned back, the tension in his shoulders easing. The motion was slight, but I caught it in the dim light from the sign above the door. “I thought that’s why I was out there,” he said guardedly, shifting his weight to his back foot as he found the top of the stoop again. “Though they told me they wanted my opinion as to the possibility that you did it. I told them you didn’t. I was hoping to get to you before they took you out there.”

      “It wouldn’t have made any difference,” I whispered.

      Trent took a steadying breath, glancing down at Wayde as he stepped closer. “That’s not the only reason I came over. Rachel, have you given any thought to taking the bracelet off?”

      I backed up, feeling sick. The church loomed behind me, safe and secure, and yet fear coursed through me like a red ribbon. “No.”

      His jaw tightened as he came closer. “Whatever trouble you’re in with the demons, I can help. I gave the bracelet to you so you could have a choice, but you aren’t choosing anything. You’re letting your fear make your decision for you.”

      “Fear!” I exclaimed, stiffening, and the last of the pixies vanished deeper into the church.

      His head dropped for a moment. When it came up, in the streetlight I could see his anger clearly. I could tell I wasn’t going to like whatever was going to come out of his mouth next. “You aren’t being

      a demon,” he said, actually stepping over Wayde. “You aren’t being a witch. You’re hiding, and that’s not why I gave you the bracelet.”

      Peeved because he was right, I jerked away from him, the silver glinting between us like a guilty secret. “I’m trying to be me, okay? But they won’t let me. I had to take this stupid job just to get my license back.”

      Behind him, Wayde’s breathing quickened, and Trent’s expression became frustrated. “That’s great, Rachel, but do you want to live the rest of your life doing crap jobs to win what is your god-given right?”

      Damn it, I hated it when he was right, but I hated admitting it to his face even more. I did have my pride. “If I take this off, I’m in the ever-after,” I said as I shook the bracelet at him, sure now that Jenks and Ivy were listening. “I’m in the ever-after washing dishes and fending off demon advances for the rest of my life. I don’t like it there, okay?”

      “I said I’d help you,” he said quickly, his frustration probably because I wasn’t being reasonable, but I couldn’t help it. The man was scaring me, and I didn’t know why. He never had before. Help me? Why would he help me? And could I trust that?

      “You need to consider the risk that you’re putting yourself and those around you in by choosing to sever your ability to do quick, adaptive magic,” he finished softly, persuasively, his beautiful voice coaxing me to just … listen.

      My head drooped, and I looked past Trent to Wayde, his face down and his hand reaching for nothing. “I can’t, Trent,” I whispered. “If I start hurting people, then I start killing them. I don’t want to be that person.”

      I looked up and was shocked by his understanding. I blinked, and he hid it by rubbing his hand over the cup of his ear and ducking his head. “I understand where you’re coming from,” he said. “I really do, but this?” He gestured behind him to Wayde. “This isn’t safe for you or anyone else. One good charm could have prevented this altogether.”

      “I know that,” I said, feeling the sting of guilt, but he only came closer, his expression softening more.

      “Instead, you did nothing, letting it escalate until someone else had to step in, and now instead of a sprained wrist, he might have a concussion.”

      “I am not going to kill people!” I said, and he winced as my voice echoed in the rain-emptied street.

      “I’m not asking you to,” he said, his eyes finally meeting mine. “But you are a demon.”

      Arms wrapped around my middle, I looked up into the misty rain.

      “That comes with responsibilities and expectations, but it also gives you a way out,” Trent was saying, but my gut hurt. “My God, Rachel, you have an arsenal of abilities you’re ignoring, weapons that can be used to minimize the damage your existence creates. You’re forcing others to pick up your slack. It’s time to grow up.”

      He