“I heard that,” came Saul’s voice from the kitchen. “Get out of here, Theron. Go chase some chickens.”

“You’re a fine one to talk, Dustcircle. I’m going.” Theron rose to his feet with the fluid grace of a Were. He leaned down and touched my forehead, smoothing my hair back. His voice dropped. “Peace in your dreaming, hunter. We’ll bring you a head one of these days.”

Then he was gone, and I shut my eyes, curling into the couch, and cried. Saul left the kitchen and half picked me up, held me, we ended up on the floor under the blanket while I sobbed and he murmured soothing nonsense in my ear, until I fell asleep again and woke up in my own bed with him beside me, trying to calm me down as I screamed from the dream of being chained to the cold glassy stone and feeling the thing from outside try to force its way into me.

But Saul was there. And his warmth was enough to keep that thing at bay.

I shrugged into my new leather trenchcoat, my fingers running over the handle of the new bullwhip. Replacing gear gets expensive, but the FBI’s hazard pay was a nice chunk.

“You sure you want to do this?” Saul’s mouth pulled down bitterly. Afternoon sun slanted through the windows, bars of thick gold. Spring was right around the corner, or at least I hoped so.

I held up a hand, watched it shake just a little. Concentrated, and it kept steady, my fingers easing. The scar was warm under the new leather cuff. “I’ve got to tell him I’m going on vacation. Five minutes.”

“You shot him in the head.” Saul folded his arms. His dark eyes rested on me, then slid down to the floor. “He wasn’t happy, kitten. He said some pretty nasty things.”

“He broke through a Sorrows circle and faced down a Chaldean god to—”

“Because he thinks he owns you, kitten. Because he’s hellbreed. He’d rather kill you himself than have another demon touch you. Why don’t we just go?” He’d already loaded the suitcases in the Impala, and I wasn’t due to get a new pager for another three weeks.

Because I have to finish this. I checked the action of each gun before I holstered it; the knives were new too. “I wish we could have found my gear,” I muttered. “Goddammit.”

Then another fit of trembling hit, and Saul was suddenly there, his arms around me. He hunched down a little so I could bury my face in the hollow of his throat and breathe him in, deep. All the way down to the bottom of my lungs.

But still, I smelled ambergris. And a breath of foul reek that seemed to stay on my skin no matter how raw I scrubbed myself.

Andy’s apprentice was staying up above Micky’s, in the apartment kept for visiting hunters. Anja’s apprentice, nearly a hunter himself, was due in on the evening train; Galina would meet him and get him settled. The Weres would come out of the barrio and run regular patrols. But it had been quiet since the demolition of the Sorrows House.

Thank God.

Saul stroked my back, slid his hands under the coat, and pulled my T-shirt up. His palms met my skin, he flattened his hands and pulled me closer, closer. I could barely breathe, but that’s the way I wanted it.

The waves of trembling went down, silver charms shifting and chiming against each other in my hair. Each wave was a little less intense than the last. He murmured soothingly, little nonsense-words, purring in ’cougar until they stopped. Even then he held me.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. Breathed him in. Musk, male, leather, the best smell in the world. Safe. I whispered his name, over and over again.

The fit passed. He rubbed his chin against the top of my head, his heartbeat thundering against mine. “Sorry,” I finally mumbled into his chest. “Sorry, Christ I’m sorry—”

“Mmmh. What the hell for?” He kissed my hair. “I like holding you.”

My eyes were squeezed shut, dampness slicking my cheeks. “Saul?”

“Jill.”

“I did something wrong. I… I’m not a nice person.” That wasn’t what I wanted to say.

I didn’t want you to see what I was capable of. I didn’t want you to know. What am I going to do? I can’t stand to lose you. Oh, God, I can’t stand to lose you.

I wanted to tell him. I wanted to tell him about the little click inside my head, how I could move outside myself and calmly, coldly, commit murder. How I had slaughtered eleven men who hadn’t had a chance, because they were human and I’m a hunter. And not only that, I’d ruthlessly used the advantage of my bargain with Perry not only to get information but also to… to what? I could have gotten the information and left them alive. Crippled, maybe, but alive.

I could have. But I didn’t. I evened the score, my score.

I played God.

“No,” he agreed. “You’re not.”

Silence. His hands tightened, pulling me even closer.

“But.” He nuzzled my hair. “You’re a good person, Jillian. Not nice, but good.”

“I killed them.” The words were dust in my mouth.

“Yeah.” Neutral agreement.

“I killed them because of someone else, what someone else did to me.” Another shudder slammed through my abused body. He steadied me. “Don’t leave me,” I whispered, so softly I wasn’t sure he could hear, even with a Were’s acuity.

He sighed, a heavy movement that pushed against my own ribs. “Not going anywhere, kitten. Count on it.”

Relief smashed into my heart, a pain so sharp and sudden I might have been having a cardiac arrest. “Saul—”

“I want you to meet my people,” he said, slowly and clearly, as if talking to an idiot. “The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can go and get formal. Hitched. Under the Moon. Full ceremony, with a feast afterward. You thinking of backing out?”

“No. No.” I shook my head, rubbing my chin against his shirt. “Good God, no. I just… I’m not a nice person, Saul. I’m not.”

“Hell, kitten, I knew that when I met you. It’s part of your charm. You’re a hunter. Being nice would be a weakness. Right?”

He sounded so sure.

Is mercy a weakness, Saul? Doesn’t killing like that make me worse than what I hunt?

“Right?” he prodded, moving slightly to bump my hips with his.

I wish I was as sure as you sound, catkin. I swallowed the stone in my throat. “Right. You bet.”

“So let’s get this visit to that goddamn hole out of the way so we can get out of town. Okay?”

I firmed my jaw, set my shoulders, and gently slid away from him. He let me. I touched the handle of the bullwhip. “Okay.”

But I sounded more like a scared teenager than a hunter. He didn’t mention it, just picked up the duffel with spare weapons and ammo in it and motioned me toward the door. “Let’s go, then.”

Oh, Saul. Thank God for you.

Chapter Twenty-seven

The Monde was just getting ready for the night. Outside, winter sunlight was slanting thinly toward the end of the day, cold breath of wind coming not from the mountains but off the river, filled with a chemical tang.

There was a new bouncer at the door, daytime muscle, but he just nodded and let me by. Food for thought—or maybe, even as drawn and haggard as I was, I looked like nobody to mess with.

Riverson, his gray-filmed eyes widening, was at the bar. The charms in my hair shifted and rang as he reached behind him for the vodka bottle. The air turned hot and tense, the few hellbreed having crawled out of their holes before dusk suddenly stilling, several Traders clustered around a table near the dance floor looking up, disturbed by this new feral current.

I passed the bar for once and headed for the back, for the iron door behind its purple cord. I heard Riverson call my name.

“Kismet! Kismet!”

Sounded like he was trying to warn me. Nice of him, really, considering we hated each other.

I stepped behind the purple velvet and reached for the doorknob. It was unlocked, as usual. I twisted it, pushed it open, and went up the stairs, stopping halfway to lean against the banister and try to calm my racing heart.