She's No Faerie Princess (17 page)

Damn him to the pit and back.

When his tongue finally finished marking its territoryinside her mouth and his lips finally lifted from hers, Fionaknew she was glowing like a radioactive isotope and

wearing the expression of a three-year-old at bedtime. She didn't even bother to glare at Walker, just spun on her heels and stomped two steps closer to the body, hunkering down beside it to get a better look.

It took a couple of minutes for her blood to cool from aboil to a simmer and for her to remember the simplerevealing spell that would expose any traces of demontaint on the corpse. Taking a deep breath, she closed hereyes and willed the energy from the kiss into the correctshape and brushed it delicately over the dead womanand the ground around her. Fiona figured this poorhuman had been through enough and deserved at thelast to be handled with care.

The indrawn breath and muttered curses around Fionatold her before she opened her eyes that the spell hadworked. She looked up and bit back an oath of her own. The entire body crawled with the sickly green light of thedemon taint. The wounds were the worst, seeming towrithe and heave with the remnants of the demon'senergy. It had desecrated the woman and driven her soulso far from her body that not a shred of the person shehad once been remained. She had become nothing morethan hunks of meat glowing sickly in the darkness.

Fiona shuddered in revulsion at the knowledge of whatshe needed to do. The idea of getting any closer to thedemon's foul magic than she already had filled her mouthwith bile, but she had no choice. They needed to know. Blowing out a slow, hissing breath, she quickly divertedsome magic to shore up her inner shielding and reachedout a hand to touch the contaminated flesh.

She heard a low, strangled groan and wondered vaguely

if it came from her. The demon magic felt like slime and burned like acid. It flared at her touch, and for a few seconds Fiona could see a pattern of symbols burned into the corpse's skin. Swearing violently, she jerked her hand away and fell backward, landing inelegantly at Walker's feet.

"What the hell was that?" he demanded, reaching down

to haul her to her feet.

"Demon marks. And an explanation for why Annie thought someone wanted to make this look like an Other kill."

Graham growled. "That really was deliberate?"

"Absolutely." Fiona looked around and found a stick about as thick as her finger and as long as her forearm. She turned to a bare patch of dirt and began to draw a series of lines and curves that looked like a kind of exotic and obscene alphabet.

"Since I'm not drawing with blood, I can show you the symbols without actually casting the spell. There are five altogether. These," she pointed out the first two, "signify the demon's name. It won't be its full name, and maybe not even part of its real name, but it will be a designation set up by the summoner to use for spell work. Real demon names have power over them. It's how the summoners control them, so the real name is spoken out loud when the spell is cast, but when the sigils are written down, symbols are substituted in their place. There are thousands of naming sigils, and I'm not familiar with what these particular ones translate as. I'll have to do a little research on it. The third and fourth ones are the

command. The third is a death sigil, meaning that's the

third command—to kill."

"And the fourth?"

"It means mimicry and deception. The demon was supposed to make whoever found this body think that an Other had made the kill." Fiona raised her eyes to the alpha. "Whoever did this knows about the negotiations and wants to see them fail."

"Shit," Graham swore.

"What about the last symbol? You said there were five."

Fiona looked back at the dirt instead of at Walker whileshe answered his question. "The last one is the signatureof the summoner, but not the kind of signature you'rethinking," she said before he could ask for a name. "It'snot like it says, 'Bob Smith, Sorcerer, Chelsea.' It's asymbol, like a family seal. It doesn't have a name, justrepresentative images. This one happens to depictpower, death, fire, and air, which could mean absolutelyanything about anybody."

"So then you're saying we have nothing to go on?" Graham shoved a hand through his hair and stalked off a little way, his frustration glowing nearly as brightly as the demon magic.

"No, I didn't say that. I'm not saying I know where to find the demon or its summoner right this very minute, but we do know more than we did half an hour ago, and we do have copies of the symbols. There are places I can look these up and get some more information. Even though the demon naming symbols are unique to each summoner, they do have to follow certain conventions in

order to make them applicable enough that the demon

has to obey. That ought to give us something."

"Barely."

Annie shrugged and peeled off her rubber gloves, turningthem inside out as she did so. "It's better than thealternative, right?"

"Sure, the way steamed Brussels sprouts are better than boiled." Graham gritted his teeth and hooked his fingers together behind his neck. "How much time will you need to trace the symbols?"

Fiona winced. He had to ask. "I don't know. A couple ofdays, maybe. It depends on what sources I can find."

His eyes flashed. "Find them fast. Walker will help if hecan." He glared at the other Lupine as if daring him toargue. "Whatever problems you two have with eachother, you'll just have to set them aside and do yourjobs."

Walker's own eyes flared fiery gold, but he only gave acurt nod.

"Fine," Fiona said. She wasn't sure it would be, but she

was sure that Graham didn't want to hear that.

"Good. Walker, take her home. Both of you need to get some sleep. Annie, I need you to stay here with the body. I'll call Adam at the hospital and ask him to come straight here when his shift is over. He'll have the body brought to the morgue and do a proper autopsy. Maybe he can find something we missed."

"It's worth a try. At least he's actually an M.D. In this

case, that trumps my Ph.D. Both of them."

Fiona glanced down when Walker's hand closed aroundher elbow.

"Come on," he said gruffly. "We're going home."

He didn't sound like he had to struggle to keep his handsfrom wrapping around her throat, and Fiona eyed himsuspiciously. This didn't strike her as the werewolf she'dcome to know and suspect. She opened her mouth tovoice her suspicion, then decided not to look thisparticular gift wolf in the mouth.

CHAPTER 13

The trip back to Walker's apartment passed nearly asquietly as it had the first time. When the front doors werelocked securely behind them, he waved Fiona toward thestairs and followed her up to the living room. He couldfeel her curiosity. She didn't quite know what to make ofhis civility or his lack of hostility, but she seemed reluctantto test the waters and ask him. He was glad of that,because he really didn't want to have to explain himself. Not when the answer made him look like an even biggerjerk than she'd probably already labeled him. Because inthe end, his mind hadn't changed as a result of her well-reasoned arguments or an ethical epiphany or evenbecause the circumstances of being ordered to cooperateby his alpha made his attitude both unwieldy and vaguely

ridiculous. His mind had changed because he couldn't get enough of the taste of her. That last kiss had been a revelation for him. That one hadn't taken him by surprise, and it hadn't been the princess in control. It had been his kiss from start to finish, and now that he'd taken it, all he could think about was taking more.

At the top of the stairs, she stopped and turned on him. He was two steps behind her, but the height differencestill put her just below his eye level. She didn't seem tonotice, though, judging by her glare and the way shecrossed her arms protectively over her chest, as if shecould ward him off.

"Okay, I've been a good little Fae all the way here, but I can't take it anymore. I want to know what in the blazes' names you're up to."

Walker tore his eyes away from the swell of her breastsrising above her forearms and affected a look of wide-eyed innocence. "Who? Me?"

Fiona didn't look like she was buying it. "Yes, you, Mr.

Split Personality. The only times since we've met that youhaven't been either yelling at me or glaring at me havebeen when I was out of ear- and eyeshot. This newrestraint you seem to be practicing is making meuneasy."

"You heard Graham," he said, shrugging and manfully resisting the temptation to lean forward and lick that little furrow that appeared between her eyebrows when she scowled at him. He'd noticed it before, but when had it become so enticing? "We need to work together. I figured that might be a little tough if we kept acting like we hated each other."

"Hey, you were the one hating me, bub. I was just trying to take a little vacation and, failing that, to get back home in one piece. You're the one who had to go and get all aggressive about it."

"What can I say? I'm Lupine. Aggressive is programmed

into the DNA."

Had that little flutter of pulse at the base of her throatalways been there, begging for the stroke of his tongue? He felt his mouth begin to water.

"You're right. It's not so much the aggressive I have a

problem with. It's the bad tempered."

"Right. Bad temper is bad."

His powers of intelligent speech were melting rapidlyaway from him. All he could think about now was thetaste of her mouth, the feel of her skin. The way her slim,naked body had pressed snugly up against his the firsttime they kissed…

The fit of his jeans altered suddenly and he bit back agroan.

"Thanks for clarifying that complex point I was trying to make," she drawled. "Now that we both realize you've been acting like a werewolf with a wounded paw, maybe we can work something out to make sure it doesn't happen again?"

His hormones took that as a direct invitation andexpressed their approval of the idea with a surge ofenergy and a low, rumbling growl. "Okay."

He was on her in one surging leap. Her feet swept out

from under her as 250 pounds of excitable Lupine slipped free from a battered set of psychological fetters and took her to the nearest available flat surface, which happened to be a hardwood living-room floor. Walker thought he heard a squeak, but it barely registered above the roaring in his ears. Besides, he already had her mouth soundly beneath his, thus eliminating the possibility that she might make any sound other than the squeak. Though if he had his way, she'd be adding a few groans and whimpers to her repertoire real soon.

She tasted even better than he remembered, sweet andspicy. Exotically floral, enticingly hot. His tongue swept into gather the flavors, and he felt the top of his headthreaten to lift off like a moon lander. Christ, how had heresisted her for so long? She tasted like heaven and feltlike home, and he must have been out of his mind not tospend the last day and a half with her pinned betweenhim and something solid. Going forward, he wouldn'tmake the same mistake again.

His hands raced over her sleek curves, filling themselveswith the warm, soft weight of her. He found himselfwishing fiercely that he knew magic, so he could do thatlittle trick of hers that had ticked him off before and justwill their clothes away. Since he didn't have that kind ofluck, he settled for grabbing hold of the collar of her shirtand turning it from a pullover to a buttonless button-downin two seconds flat. He felt as much as heard herindignant yelp, and he sure as hell felt the hands thatfisted in his hair and yanked his head back, breaking theirlip-lock and nearly giving him whiplash.

"Just a damn minute," she said, doing a very creditable impersonation of his own snarl. "Are you the same jerk

who all but accused me of rape like three times in the last thirty-six hours? Are you the one currently pinning me to the floor and ripping off my clothes?"

Did she honestly expect him to understand words at thispoint? His overtaxed heart struggled to divert the flow ofso much as a drop of blood north of his waistband,succeeding just enough for him to growl, "You can't tell?"

"Just trying to clarify."

She watched him carefully through narrowed violet eyes,but all he could think about was making them go mistyand unfocused in pleasure. He shifted his weight, settlinghimself more solidly over her, just in case she got it intoher head to try to get away. One denim-covered kneeforced its way between hers, levering her thighs apart tolet his hips nestle snugly against her heat. He rockedthere just a little. Just enough to drive himself crazy andto feel her soften involuntarily beneath him. That was allthe encouragement he needed. Growling, he set his lipsto her throat and let her feel the edges of his teethagainst her skin. They closed delicately over the pale,tender flesh, and he savored the taste of her heartbeat onhis tongue.

"Clear," he grunted.

He felt a shiver chase across her skin and his heartjumped in satisfaction.

"So can I take that to mean you're not going to turn around in fifteen minutes or so and claim that this is all my fault?"

Ignoring the stinging in his scalp from her fingers still

trying—unsuccessfully now—to pull him away from her, he ran his tongue over her skin and felt her shudder. Encouraged, his hands glided up her hips and under the baggy fabric of her torn shirt, brushing the two sides away until he could feel the warm silk of her skin under his fingers. As far as he was concerned, in fifteen minutes he planned to be balls deep inside her and very happy about it, so he managed another grunt to signify agreement.