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She fumbled in her coat pocket, searching for her cellphone “Stop right there, or I’ll call the police!”

The shadow stepped forward.

A boot crossed her threshold, thumping down on her porch. Wooden planks creaked. The air shifted, banishing the chill, swirling into an odd pattern. The man connected to the foot moved forward, striding into the light. Black eyes riveted to her, he halted on the lip of the stairs. Shock whispered through her. She’d never seen a man that size. He was more than big. The guy was enormous. A tall, broad-shouldered, mean-looking heavyweight.

“Shit,” she whispered, yanking her hand out of her jacket pocket. She searched the other one, then patted the back of her jeans.

The guy raised his hand. Perched between his thumb and forefinger, her cellphone winked in the low light. “Looking for this?”

“Double, extra shit.” Truly swallowed past the lump in her throat. The guy had snooped through her camera bag. She’d left it sitting on the hall table. A bad move. The wrong one, given she’d been walking into a strange house in an unknown neighborhood. “The Slayer, I presume?”

Expression set to unhappy, his hard gaze raked her. “Good guess.”

“Yeah, well,” she said, beginning to get angry. Enough was, well,enough. There was, after all, only so much a girl could take. “I’m batting a thousand tonight.”

Her snotty response drifted between them.

He shifted on the top step, threatening to come closer.

Truly stood her ground, assessing, wondering… debating. Should she run or power through the fear?

She took a second to think about it, then decided. Option two, definitely. He was a Slayer. His title stated the obvious. He enjoyed killing things. Making her evisceration fun for him by running was, quite simply, one affront too many on an already bad night. So yeah, might as well stay put. If she died in the front yard of her new house, so be it. At least the neighbors would notice her dead body and call the police in the morning.

9

YOU’VE GOT THE WRONG GIRL

Standing on the top step, Westvane stared at the human, trying to read her. The Door Master gave nothing away. Expression neutral. Body language closed, yet alert. No fear in her scent. Strange and unexpected. Most beings feared him on sight, making immediate moves to avoid him.

Gaze fixed on her, he descended the porch steps to join her on the crooked stone path. He expected her to retreat. She didn’t twitch. Not a muscle. Not a fingertip. No shuffling of feet or the slightest quiver of anxiety.

Westvane frowned at her.

She raised a brow, her expression one of challenge.

He wanted to pick up the gauntlet, grab her, and go, but curiosity got the better of him. Tilting his head, he examined her a little more closely.

Hmm. Interesting. Definitely not what he expected.

He’d anticipated fear. Lots of running. Maybe even some begging. He hadn’t counted on the Door Master standing her ground.

Locked in a staring contest, he crossed his arms, intending to wait her out. But as seconds ticked into minutes, he butted up against her fortitude. She wasn’t going to break. Everything about the standoff suggested long-term resistance. No surrender. Non-negotiable terms. Devil-may-care strategy front and center, her defiance shoved right in his face.

A spark of admiration ignited inside him.

She might be female, but she wasn’t weak. Everything about her said bold, brash, big attitude packed inside a small package.

Mirroring his stance, she crossed her arms, allowed the silence to thicken, bright blue irises boring into his dark ones.

His mouth curved.

Her eyes narrowed.

Taking another step toward her, he held her gaze. His regard firmer, much blacker, the menace he exuded easy for her to see and feel. He intended the added proximity to intimidate her. Even with him looming, the Door Master refused to back down. She widened her stance instead, claiming the space around her, and like any self-respecting magic wielder, flexed her fingers, chilly demeanor gathering more frost.

His admiration grew even more as he tried to decide what bothered him most about her. Her size, maybe. She was slight of frame, short of stature, too fragile-looking to be one of the most powerful mages in two different worlds.

The air surrounding her shifted.