CHAPTER 21

"Margrit." Alban stepped out of an alley, realizing his error when Margrit shrieked and stumbled away. He knew the pair she was with from glimpses through doors and a few seconds of watching them at the ice rink. The slender blond woman with the broad shoulders was Cameron, and she yelped as well, clutching Margrit’s arm. Their escort was Cole, black-haired, shorter than Cameron, and instinctively protective as he stepped in front of the women. Alban opened his mouth and shut it again, startled at his own loss for words. "Forgive me," he said after a few seconds. "I didn’t intend to alarm anyone."

Cole’s belligerent growl died in his throat, stance relaxing a little as he half recognized Alban, though he cast a glance at Margrit for a cue as to how to behave. She said, "Alban," in relieved exasperation as she edged past Cole. "What are you doing here?"

"No one was home at your apartment." He made a small gesture, more to the sky than the buildings. "I waited, and when I heard your voice, I…" Words failed him again, this time because the truth seemed peculiarly ludicrous in the presence of Margrit’s housemates. It was easy to say "I came down from the rooftops" to Margrit, but not when Cole and Cameron stared curiously at him. "Forgive me," he said again, and drew himself up. "I’m Alban Korund. We’ve never quite met." He offered a hand to Cole, wondering if the human male would take it.

Margrit muttered a curse and said, "Sorry," more clearly. "Sorry, sorry. Cole, Cameron, this is…this is Alban. These are my housemates, Cole Grierson and Cameron Dugan. Shit. Sorry. I’ve had too much to drink."

Cole scowled between Margrit to Alban before Cameron inserted herself in front of him. "Hi. I’m Cam. I’m glad we’re finally getting a chance to meet you." She shook Alban’s hand with an unexpectedly firm grip and offered a warm smile. "We’re on our way to get some ice cream, just to make sure Margrit’s really hungover in the morning. Want to come along?"

"Oh," Alban said. "I-"

"Might as well." Cole, clearly outplayed by Cameron, set his jaw, then shook Alban’s hand without making a contest of it. "Sorry about the last time we met." There was little apology in his voice, but Alban inclined his head, in recognition of the form, if not Cole’s sincerity.

"You had cause to be suspicious. It’s good that Margrit’s friends care enough to protect her."

"That’s ancient history now," Cameron said firmly. "Come on. Grit’s out of money, so we have to buy her her drug of choice. Triple-chocolate fudge ripple with brownie chunks."

Margrit smiled tentatively. "That sounds good. Except…what’s going on, Alban?" Her smile faded. "It’s pushing three in the morning. What’re you doing here? I thought you were watching…"

"I was." Alban’s voice dropped to a rumble. "He gave me cause to seek you out."

Margrit drew in a slow breath, nostrils flaring. Her gaze cleared, as though however much she’d had to drink only needed a firm chastisement to leave her system. A single sip of a vampire’s blood offered health, but whether that chased away the ravages of alcohol, Alban didn’t know. From Margrit’s sudden steadiness, it seemed that it might. She said, "Shit," without the earlier enthusiasm. "Guys, can you-"

"Come on, Grit." Cole’s voice had an edge. "You’re not going to go running off again, are you? We can get some ice cream and chips and beer and stay up all night getting to know each other. Won’t that be fun?"

Cameron elbowed him, then slid her arm through his and tugged. "Sure, Grit. Catch up to us, will you?"

"Cam."

"Cole."

"It can wait," Alban said abruptly. Margrit caught her breath and he offered her a cautious smile. "A little while. Long enough for ice cream, certainly. I can’t stay all night," he added, returning his attention to Cole. "I have to leave before dawn."

"All right." Cameron pushed the store door open and squinted at the brightness within. "Everybody break for the freezer section. I’ll get the chips and meet you at the cash register. Go, go, go!" She and Cole went opposite directions, leaving Margrit and Alban at the door.

Margrit offered a brief smile. "I’ve been eyeball deep in your world. Welcome to mine."

Gladness surged through him at the welcome, surprising him with its strength. A smile that felt foolish worked its way into place. "Thank you. I want to be here." That, too, had a more powerful ring of truth to it than he expected, and for a moment he was relieved that stone wasn’t given to blushing. "Margrit, I am sorry for these complications. For my choices that have made things more difficult for you. For-" He broke off.

"Alban, why are you here? What’d Malik do?" Margrit’s eyes and stance had cleared considerably in the time they’d been together, though the scent of alcohol still hung about her. He refrained from asking after her condition, suspecting she was unaware of her own recovery.

Alban cast a glance over her head toward the convenience store. "Nothing yet, and he won’t as long as I’m with you. Explaining can wait until after the ice cream."

"Oh, so you’re back on my watch, are you?" Margrit’s tone was more laced with rue than acid.

Alban lowered his gaze. "I am, if you’ll have me back."

Margrit sighed. "It’s not as much fun running in the park when I don’t trust you’re there to watch my back. Just try not to do the strong silent hero thing again, Alban. I want a partner, not a protector. Can you do that?"

"I can try." Alban looked up to find Cole watching them from the freezer section, arms folded across his chest. "I think the rest of it should wait a while. Your friend won’t like it if I don’t…"

"Play along?" There was a note of pain in Margrit’s voice and Alban frowned, guessing at its source.

"I would have said ‘participate.’ This is your life, Margrit, not a game."

"But you can play at being human. I can’t even pretend to be one of you." Margrit finally stepped through the door and followed Cole to the ice cream.

Not until she saw Alban standing among her friends had it really struck Margrit how badly he might fit into her world. Awkward as it was, she fit into his better. At least the Old Races knew what she was. There was no pretense, no playing a role to make herself part of a society she hadn’t been born to. No matter what Alban did in the human world, he was faced with either a lie or a truth so overwhelming it was almost inconceivable.

"Earth to Margrit. Hello, Grit? Are you that drunk?"

"What?" Margrit looked up with a blink, her thoughts interrupted by Cameron’s good-natured teasing. "That sleepy, maybe. What’d I miss?" They’d retired to the apartment after buying four individual pints of ice cream, then partitioned the different flavors into bowls and handed them around. Alban had eaten his with the incredulous expression of a child who’d never tasted the sweet stuff before, while Cameron kept an easy conversation going despite Cole’s taciturn responses and Margrit’s tendency to fall silent as she watched the human-form gargoyle.

"An argument over whether pralines or chocolate made the superior ice cream. It’s the kind of thing I’d think you’d have an opinion on."

"Job training permits me to have an opinion on everything." Margrit put her empty bowl aside and rubbed her hands over her face, the chill waking her up. "Pralines in chocolate with a caramel swirl would be most superior of all. Does anybody make that?"

"I do," Cole said from the couch. He hadn’t moved since finishing his ice cream, except to drape an elbow over his eyes as he sprawled in the cushions. "Or I could. For a price."

"A place on Park Avenue?"

"I’m not greedy. I’d settle for…" He yawned, then flapped his hand. "Something less showy."

Cameron laughed. "Alban’s the only one awake anymore. I guess night shift has its advantages. You’re really that allergic to sunlight? What about cloudy days? It must suck, never hanging out on a beach at noon."