The shadows stirred around me. Wisps of night touched my skin, slivers of silky smoke that made my flesh crawl. If ghosts could caress the living, this was probably what it would feel like. But warmer, deadlier. Whatever hid in the shadows wasn't dead in the sense that ghosts were dead, because there was warmth in its touch. Warmth, and a vague sense of threat.

I had a suspicion that vague sense of threat would sharpen, and become deadly, if I so much as flinched the wrong way right now.

"Put the gun away, Riley."

Misha's voice seemed to come from the walls. I looked around, but couldn't see anything resembling a speaker.

"Not until you tell whatever is in this corridor to back off."

"You can see them?" Surprise was evident in his voice.

"No. But I can feel them."

"Interesting."

"I'm not putting the gun away until you tell them to move away." I stopped at the door and waited.

He chuckled. "Tümu, retreat."

The shadows dispersed, and suddenly the corridor was less oppressive, and much brighter. I held up my end of the deal, and shoved the rifle back in the pack. The steel door slid open.

Misha's office was smaller than I'd expected—rather than being the size of a football field, like most executive offices tended to be these days, it was more like a basketball court. Still big, but at least defendable.

His gaze skimmed my body, lingering a little on the bloody nicks evident on my shirt and the leg of my jeans. When his gaze rose to meet mine again, there was a gleam of respect—or maybe even wariness—in his eyes that I hadn't seen before. "You fought the spirit lizard?"

"Fought him and beat him." It couldn't hurt to keep reminding him I was more than just a wolf. Maybe he'd treat me as something more than a broodmare he needed to possess—though somehow, I doubted it. I walked across the room and stared out of the window. I couldn't see anything suspicious, but then, with the long-range rifles they had out these days, the killer could be half a mile or more away.

Of course, standing here so blatantly might be putting myself in danger—but only if the killer knew it was actually me hiding under the brown hair and green contacts.

I moved to the pillar to the left of the arched window, then crossed my arms and leaned back against it. "Why are you surprised?"

He leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. "Because spirit lizards are the crème de la crème of the lab creations. They are supreme fighters and extremely strong."

"Then the one I fought came from a dodgy mix, because I'm no trained fighter and I brought him down. What is that thing in the corridor?"

"Things," he corrected, amusement touching his thin lips. "And they're my security system."

"I'm certainly glad it's not those two men down at the front door. They wouldn't have a hope of keeping a determined gnat from entering."

"And that is precisely what you are supposed to think." He looked at me for a moment, his expression still that odd mix of amusement and wariness. "The creatures in the corridor are not lab-created, if that is what you're thinking. They are a species known as Fravardin, which means guardian spirits in Persian. I met them a while ago when I was touring the Middle East."

I wondered exactly what he'd been touring the Middle East for. In the time I'd known Misha, he'd shown very little inclination to go beyond Australian shores. If he'd been to the Middle East, it was because he'd been ordered to go. "And were these creatures"—I waved a hand to the door—"what you'd been sent to find?"

He gave a smile. "No."

Meaning, obviously, that what he'd been sent to find was something I didn't need to know. Which was fine—all I really needed was the name of the man behind all this madness.

"Were these things here when Jack and Rhoan raided your office a few months ago?"

"Yes."

"So you'd expected them to investigate, and had allowed them entry?" Meaning he might also have removed vital evidence before the raid.

"It's all part of a bigger plan, Riley."

I raised my eyebrow. "And what might that master plan be? To step into your so called brother's much hated shoes? To take over control of the freak empire?"

He snorted softly. "And here I was thinking you knew me better than that."

"I know you well enough to know that you can be ruthless when you choose to be."

His mouth twitched in amusement. "I don't want control of anyone's empire but my own. I told you the truth when I said all I want is survival—and I think Nasia's demise proves I was right to worry."

If he was at all worried, he certainly had a strange way of showing it. At the very least, he wouldn't be sitting so casually behind his desk, in full view of the windows. "Why would he kill his own sister?"

"Blood is not thicker than water when you are raised like we were. Hell, he'd kill his mother, too, if it meant his own survival."

And so would Misha—only right now he was using the Directorate to do his dirty work. "That being the case, why state that you can keep me safe when it's obvious you can't keep yourself safe?"

He rose and walked toward me, a strange gleam in his silvery eyes. It was the look of a predator on the hunt, a predator who had his prey in sight and no intentions of letting it escape. When that look had been evident in Kellen's eyes, my pulse had skipped with excitement, but in Misha's eyes it only succeeded in raising hackles. Quinn was right—Misha didn't want love, he wanted possession. Wanted to own me, rather than just love me.

But then, given what he was, how he was raised, maybe possession was the only thing he knew and understood. Could someone who has never known love, tenderness, or caring ever really return it in kind?

Watching Misha stalk toward me with that look in his eyes, I doubted it very much.

He braced his hands against the wall on either side of me, and leaned close. I pressed a hand against his chest, not forcefully, but enough to stop him kissing me. Even so, his breath washed warmth across my lips, and his aura wrapped me in heat and desire.

"He knows about the Fravardin. He knows that they are loyal to me, and only to me." He pressed his weight against my hand, testing my strength, my will. "I have warned him that if anything else happens to you, they will hunt him down and they will kill him."

Surprise rippled through me. My gaze searched his, but I could see no lie in his eyes, nor sense it in his words. "Why would you do that? Why not use them to protect yourself in the same manner?"

He moved a hand, and brushed his fingers down my cheek. His touch was icy compared to the fiery lust flaying my skin. "What's the point? I will be dead in five or six years anyway."

"But if you don't use them to protect yourself, you might be dead in five or six days." Or five or six hours.

"While I am alive, the Fravardin will do their utmost to protect me. When I am dead, they will keep watch over you."

The thought of having a couple of ghostly creatures hanging about trying to protect me was enough to make me shiver. "Why would they bother when you're dead and the payments stop?"

His aura went on high, bathing me with a fervor as strong as the sun itself. Sweat began to trickle down my spine. Even though I had my shields up high, it was hard to ignore the assault on my senses.

"Because it is written in my will that they will continue to get a retainer as well as the estate in Gisborne, where the tribe currently lives, provided certain conditions are met."

Spirits being paid? How weird was that? "Can they be killed?"

"All things living can be killed. It's just harder to kill what cannot be seen."

"If your boss knows about them, then he probably knows what can kill them."

"Undoubtedly. Problem is, unlike vampires, they don't show up on infrared, and you're the first person I know who has actually sensed them."