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“Y ou want to be paid under the table? How about this?” Graham walks to the fridge in the huge kitchen and drains a quart of orange juice, drinking from the glass bottle.

I can’t help but notice that he downs it all in two long swallows, then licks his lips. He pushes his hair out of his face as he puts the bottle in the sink.

Mundane things seem so sexy on him.

This is not the time to get interested, Angela!

“Uh, yes. I mean, I’ll need money.”

“For room and board, and to pay the bodyguard, right?”

“Uh. Right. Are my parents—”

“Look, you come to work with me each day and work the register or work in the nursery section. I’ll keep you under my wing—I mean, keep an eye on you. I’ll pay you cash at the end of the day. Fifty.”

“Won’t you get in trouble?”

“No. And it’s not enough long-term, but it’ll be enough for this month, because you’re going to stay here and eat here. My guest.”

Or prisoner. I tense for a minute, then relax. I was going to be a prisoner anyway, wasn’t I? “Okay, for short-term, but what about later?”

“Let’s take this one day at a time, a month at a time. In a month, my brother will come back and work out your permanent pay rate, or you’ll know if you have to keep running.”

“My mom said she’d be in touch by then, too.”

“So, short-term is what we’re working with. In a month, I’ll be back in California.”

“Mm. I wish I could go with you. That’s where I’m from. Where all my stuff is.” I let out a sad little chuckle as I trace the edge of the sparkling granite countertop.

“I know the people you’re dealing with. I’d stay clear of that place for now.”

“I know.” I climb up on one of the stools that surrounds the counter and sit my too-hippy ass on the wicker seat. “You know, last week I just wanted to get into grad school. Now, I’m worried about being some mafia dude’s Stepford wife—only with cheetah print spandex and an eighties perm.” I fold my arms and flop my head into the nest I’ve made. “This doesn’t seem like reality.”

“Yeah, well... Reality is stranger than most people think.” Graham pats my back in passing, and I hear dishes rattling and the pantry opening and shutting. “Eat some cookies and milk. It helps.”

“I’m not Santa,” I snap.

“But you’re going to be on my naughty list if you don’t sit up, eat something like a good girl, and let me go make some calls.” Graham slams a carton of milk down next to my head, and I jump.

“Sorry,” I stammer. “I’m not... I’m not having a good day.”

“It could be a worse one. I’m sorry I was stroppy. I wish I could fix things for you, that’s all. All right, the guest suite is up the stairs, first door along. You get settled, and then we’ll go play about in the flowers.” He gives me a wink and a slight smile.

When he walks away, he sheds his long coat, and the irresponsible urges I’m feeling don’t go away. They get worse at the sight of a tight white t-shirt and slightly slouchy jeans that still show off his ass.

I absently grab a cookie from the plate he set beside me. “Maybe I have low blood sugar,” I murmur to myself. Yeah. That’s it. The racing thoughts about how sexy Graham is and how much I love his accent, and especially the way his voice turns into a growl when he’s irritated...

Totally caused by skipping breakfast.

***

“A RAS.”

“There you are, you scaly fiend.” My boss laughs, and I can picture him sitting alone in his dark office in the back of the bar he owns. Knowing him, some half-drained college girl is lying across his lap or sprawled out on the futon he uses as both his bed and his snack bar. “Did Lawder explain the situation?”

“He did, but I’m not sure he understood it. The girl doesn’t want to be married.” I hold my breath. I know there are a lot of bad guys in the CrossRealms, but there are also a lot of “gray guys.” Guys like me. We lean one way or the other, but we’re not evil. I lean light, Aras leans dark. He’ll take a sip of someone’s soul if they can’t pay back what they borrowed, but to me... Well, that’s fair play, isn’t it? You knew the risk of making deals with demons (and there are some quite demonic humans, believe me). I know he sleeps with willing women. If he saps their sexual energy, I don’t think they mind. I’ve heard the noises coming from his office. Women are more than happy to lend him sexual nourishment in exchange for the multiple orgasms he dishes out.

I think Aras will grudgingly admit that I’m in the right this time.

“I think she’ll grow to appreciate the position of wife. She’ll be spoiled like a Persian show cat.”

“Perhaps, but the man made no effort to court her. He has a mistress and another lover besides. She’s not having it.”

Aras pauses. “That’s tricky. Genovese is getting older. In a few years, his son will have to take over. The old man is starting to show a little... a little trouble with his faculties, let’s say. One of the issues I’ve heard a friend of a friend mention is his sudden bursts of aggression. I don’t need my club shot up.”

“He wouldn’t go that far. It’s not your fault you can’t find a missing girlfriend. They weren’t even dating,” I hiss, looking back over my shoulder.

“You seem to know a lot about it. Was I right when I told Lawder she’d entered your neck of the woods?”

I pause again. “Temporarily.”

“Well, temporarily bring her to Manhattan, and Genovese’s men will escort her to her new home. That’s all you're doing, Graham. Delivering a package. You’re not going to hurt the girl.”

Damn it. “If I bring her there, she could get hurt. You said it yourself, the old man is aggressive. He wants to get his son established as the head of the family with a wife at his side?”

“Exactly. It’s his way of handing over the reins while he can still navigate the road, so to speak. One of his last great acts, one of the final moves on the chessboard before he abdicates.” Aras’s tone is silky, full of poetic imagery.

He’s always been a good salesman. Today, I’m not buying.

“I won’t be handing her over. She’d be forced and threatened into agreeing to a marriage she doesnae want,” my accent slips out as I feel my temper rise. I’m angry at Aras, and at Genovese, and mainly at myself. Should never have gotten mixed up with these characters.

But if you didn’t—who would protect Angela? No one. She’d be wandering around on her own, and who knows who might snatch her up?

My free hand tightens into a fist. The thought of her running to someone else makes my insides droop like a sun-starved rose. The image of someone snatching her up, forcing her at gunpoint into a dark car, holding her mother hostage to force Angela to say “I do...” Rage burns so hot that my vision blurs, and the world is red and black for a second.

“Oh, yes, Graham, how horrible. Forced to live on the Upper West Side in a charming home with a handsome husband who can shower her with jewels, cars, and clothes. She’ll get over it. These little mafia princesses are all the same—meek little mice until they’re wived up, and then they’re breeding stock, getting fat assess and fatter hair. Trust Aras. She’ll adjust. In a few years, she’ll have a little boy to dote over and a little girl to dress up. She’ll forget she ever wanted to say no.”

His voice is thick with thrall, the lulling, soothing tone that’s a thousand times more dangerous than him yelling. For a moment, I sway where I stand, picturing Angela with teased hair and a tight dress, a miniature version of herself at her side, a cherub of a little girl with dark ringlets and pink cheeks.

Another little princess, waiting to be married off to a man she doesn’t love, just to preserve their kind—mafia kings.

“You know,” I breathe out shakily, smoke curling from my nostrils as I feel my horns starting to bud through my scalp, “there are old fairy tales about dragons capturing princesses. Eating them up.”

“Hey, what you do with her is your business, as long as you hand her over in a condition to say ‘I do,’” Aras laughs, a sinister, self-satisfied note in every syllable.

“This dragon isn’t like that.”

The laughter dies at once, and cold steel replaces it. “Oh, lie to yourself some more, Kane. What do you think you are? Some noble Highland knight? Real brave, very valiant, helping me take scared little humans for every penny they’re worth, and their souls on top of it when they can’t meet the terms they agreed to.”

His words sting and slice, all too true.

“You couldn’t protect a fly from a spider—especially since this spider knows where you like to hide.”

“I’m not hiding. I’m protected . And so is she. Tell Genovese to find another playmate for his son,” I spit, and hang up.

I slam my fist into the wall, easing up on my thrust at the last second so I don’t crack the plaster.

“That was probably a stupid call to make, laddie.”

***

“Y OU WERE WISE TO CALL me, Mr. Kane.”

Mr. Minegold’s voice is always warm and yet has this regal note to it. Someone told me he was a teacher once. Maybe he’s used to commanding attention. “I’m afraid someone’s going to try to come into town and hunt her down.”

“We cannot stop most humans from entering, but once they’re in, we can find them and bespell them to leave and never come back. A few years ago, there was a nasty spot of trouble with a violent ex-boyfriend. Alan Wymark cursed him so that he could never set foot in the town again unless he had kind and peaceful intentions. He’s never been back.”

“Can someone come over and bless the house? Ward it up? Put some sort of spell on her?”

“The first two, yes. The third? A protective amulet or charm would be better. Bring her to Madge’s tonight and let her choose something.”

“She doesn’t know about all the paranormal mumbo jumbo.”

“Then say it’s a welcoming present, or buy one for yourself and say there was a buy-one-get-one-free sale. Use your head, young Mr. Kane.”

I snort. Young Mr. Kane. “I’m twenty-seven.”

“And your brother is only thirty, but he acts much older, doesn’t he?” Minegold continues, unperturbed. “You don’t happen to have a lock of hair or a drop of blood from this Genovese fellow, do you?”

“No, and I doubt he’d come to town personally.”

“Pity. All right, well, the Night Watch will patrol in your area and the garden center. The coven will have to spice up their monthly wards, I suppose, to include threats of organized crime. That’s a new one...” he mutters.

“Sorry.”

“Oh, pooh. There’s nothing to be sorry about. You helped an innocent woman. You are the very embodiment of our unspoken code—to live kindly and peaceably among humans, to protect the innocent and drive out the wicked.”

He says unspoken, but I have a feeling the monsters around here speak it quite a lot, despite just carrying on their normal, dull-looking lives most of the time.

Minegold coughs gently. “I’ll need your help, most likely.”

“Name it.”

“Could you spare some scales? Powdered dragon scales are absolutely essential in a good protective spell.”

I wince. The only time shedding scales doesn’t hurt is when I’m in full dragon form, and Angela’s probably going to notice if there’s a big purple dragon sitting in the backyard, scraping at his sides with his back claws like a dog chasing fleas. “Uh. Yeah. Would tomorrow morning be okay for that?”

“Leave them in the mailbox. I’ll collect them before dawn. I’ll go call Ardy and see what the police can do about putting up a ‘speed trap’ checkpoint on the main roads into town. Ooh, and maybe Sera will lend me her grimdaw to watch the train station. He’ll report back if any harbingers of death hop off.”

My head swims, but I’m relieved to have help. I’m almost more relieved than angry that I got myself into this mess in the first place.

“Sounds great. Thank you again. I’ll have those scales for you before dawn,” I promise, and hang up. I rub my temples, then drag my hand across my eyes. This was not how my day was going to go. Not at all. It’s the first full day I’m officially in charge of the family business, and I was there for half an hour. I was supposed to do a quick favor for my boss and ended up getting on his shit list—and someone else’s hit list. I look in the mirror and wince. I’m pasty, with dark circles under my eyes, and my hair... I don’t want to talk about my hair.

I put my amulet carefully on the bed and head to the shower for a quick scrub and shave. “What the hell is a grimdaw again? Someone needs to make some sort of paranormal people directory...”

***

I CAN’T HEAR WORDS , but I hear a lot of “noise” from upstairs. I stay put in the kitchen at first, wondering if I should trust this situation—and I know, if I were going to have second thoughts, the time to have them was right around the time I left the motel with him.

But while I’m here... I take a minute and try to settle myself, try to stop the whirlwind of anxiety by looking around and grounding myself.

A big scroll carved out of wood and painted white and green proclaims Ian and Vanessa, United in Love, and has their wedding invitation in glass set into it. There are pictures on the fridge of Graham and his brother in their wedding gear—and why did I never think men in kilts were sexy before? They completely are.

I slide from the stool and tiptoe through the kitchen, dining room, and living room, trying to get a feel for the people who live here—and if I can trust Graham.

Stacks of gardening books.

Stacks of pregnancy books.

Beautiful photos of a dark-haired man and woman on their wedding day and what I assume is a tropical honeymoon.

A giant silver coat of arms hangs over the fireplace, with a framed parchment sheet beside it. I read it, murmuring aloud as I try to block out worried questions I don’t have the answers to, anyway. “The Kane Coat of Arms. The son of the warrior, anglicized from the names of ó Catháin or Mac Catháin. The name Kane is mainly found in Irish ancestry, but has several Scottish associations and branches, especially around the Cairngorms, where many dragon clans currently reside. After the dragons more closely allied themselves with the Orc clans and the gargoyles of Tulloch—”

Wait, dragons? Orcs and gargoyles? Like the statue things and those guys from Lord of the Rings? Dragons ?

I blink and try to find that section again, but I can’t seem to. It’s like it was never there, and my eyes keep going back to the Kane family genealogy and a long, boring section about how different branches have slight variations on the crest.

“Maybe I need to lie down. Or have a panic attack,” I whisper. I grab my bags from the kitchen and run upstairs. “First door, he said.”

***

“H OLY HUGENESS,” I WHISPER when I open the door at the top of the stairs. The hall is long and has five doors, including one at the very end that stands open. I don’t even have to go in to know that’s the future nursery. It’s so sweet and sunny, some enchanted place. I was almost tempted to pass the guest suite Graham offered and explore the other rooms, but manners kicked in at the last second.

I’m glad they did.

This place is beautiful, done in whites and light blues. Dark violet accents, watercolors of purple irises, and soaring gray and green dragons done in oils give the room just the right balance between masculine and feminine. And the bed! The bed must be two queen-sized beds shoved together. There’s a fireplace and a minibar...

“Luxury,” I whisper, feeling guilty for noticing it. Feeling guilty that I like the memories it brings up. I put my stuff on the bed and turn to face the large mirror over the dresser—and wince.

My hair looks like I styled it with a weedwacker. My skin is starting to breakout on my forehead where my hairline meets my face. Wonderful, stress acne, here we come.

Good. Maybe Vincenzo will say I’m too ugly and tell his dad to throw me back and pick a new one.

I know I’m supposed to worry about things like life and death, but I have a momentary pity party where I think about all the gorgeous stuff I left behind. The little black dress. The flowy pink one. The new strappy sandals. The first set of real pearls I ever owned. Ronnie gave them to me for my 23rd birthday, right after he and Mom met.

With a little miserable cry, I sit down on the bed—and find my hand on a pendant that looks just like Graham’s. It looks like the big silver art piece over the mantle downstairs.

“Oh, it’s the Kane family crest. I wonder if this is like some rich, royal people thing? Instead of fruit baskets, do they give you these family coat of arms necklaces to wear when you’re a guest?” I undo my hair and slide the necklace over my head. “Most people just have a guestbook, but no, they give out jewelry. Nice touch.”

I lay back on the bed and clutch the wide silver pendant in my palm. It’s warm from lying in the sun that streams through the blinds and sheer, soft blue curtains. It makes me feel safe for the moment.

“You really are a fucking princess. You don’t want to cuddle a teddy bear. You cuddle a piece of jewelry. Be better,” I mumble to myself, and feel slumber grab me. I don’t even try to fight it.