Dangerous Games

Though I guess he'd probably say the same about me. And would probably be right.

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to thank you," he said, voice soft and oh so sexy.

"For what?" I flung off the sheet and got out of bed. Qui

"For doing what I could not. Capturing and containing Caelfind."

I picked up a T-shirt from the floor, gave it a sniff to check its freshness, then pulled it on. "We would have all saved time and effort if you'd been honest with us from the start."

"You don't understand—"

"No, I don't," I said, as I stomped out to get coffee. It wouldn't help put out the low-burning fire caused by both Qui

"There's the pot calling the kettle black," he muttered.

I shot him an a

Even his dark eyes were shaded. Wary.

Some perverse part deep inside was mighty pleased about that. The other part, the part heated by the growing nearness of the full moon, just wanted to grab him and shag him senseless.

Because right now, the wolf within didn't really care about hurt or anger or anything else. Not when the moon fever was surging through my bloodstream. But once the full moon had come and gone, she would care. She would hurt, and she most certainly would regret having given in yet again.

I couldn't do it. I had to hold firm, no matter what.

Dammit, I had a wolf who cared for me. A wolf who didn't abuse my trust or my feelings. A wolf who longed for the same sort of future as I did.

That should be enough.

It was perverse—insane—to want more.

And yet, deep down, part of me did.

"Look," I said, my voice holding an edge of anger that was aimed more at myself than him, "if you're here to argue, you can just march right out of my apartment. I'm not in the mood right now."

"I'm not. I'm just here to talk."

"Good." I shoved on the kettle, then reached up to grab the coffee from the shelf. Luckily for everyone, there was still some of my favorite left. "Then tell me about the priest in the lane. Who was he?"

He hesitated. "My father."

Well, that certainly explained the odd questions. The old man had been quizzing his son's prospective mate. "Then I know where you got your orneriness from. Your father was as helpful as you were."

He raised a dark eyebrow. "So you actually did speak to him?"

"Yep. What is he? A spirit? A ghost? What?"

"He is a spirit. Of sorts." He hesitated. "He is—was—the gate master. The priest responsible for ensuring the ways into this world from the spirit world remained locked."

"All the ways?"

"Most of them. The priests are magi-sensitive. They can feel when a new gate is being formed."

"So why didn't you feel this one, if you were a priest?"

"Because I was only an initiate, and not fully trained."

The kettle began to whistle. I flicked off the power and poured the water into the cup. "Is that why you became a vampire? Because you needed eternal life if you were to hang about and wait for your sister's reappearance?"

He smiled, a warmth I felt deep inside rather than actually saw. "Yes."

"And it was Henri who turned you." It was a guess, but one I was fairly certain was correct. After all, he'd been friends with Henri all his undead life, and he'd used and abused all the rules, regs, and me to find his killer.

"Yes. He looked after me through the bloodlust."

I nodded. So many things were begi

"I am—was—human."

"Humans can't fly. Nor can vampires who aren't winged shifters of some kind. You may be part human, but you also admitted a while ago that you were something else."

Surprise flickered in his dark eyes. "You saw me fly? How?"

"I didn't see you, I sensed you. Now answer the damn question—what else are you?"

He hesitated. "The priests were not human in any true sense. They weren't even an offshoot branch of the family, as werewolves and shapeshifters are. They were more an energy force than actual flesh."

"Yet they had to be able to take on human form. I mean, you're here, so they could obviously breed, and human conception has basic needs."

He smiled, and my hormones did their usual crazy dance. "Yes."

"So what sort of form did they take?"

"They were tall, and golden and winged. They were often depicted as angels in ancient texts."

That raised my eyebrows. "So where are your wings?"

"Half-breeds never got the wings."

"Just the powers?"

"Yes."

I sipped my coffee, and considered him for a moment. "Did you banish your sister's spirit after I pi

"No. What you have done is far better. She is trapped in flesh that no longer lives. She can never escape."

"Flesh rots. When it does, won't she be free?"

He smiled again, and this time there was nothing warm about it. Goose bumps ran across my skin. I had to hope that that smile was never directed my way.

"The body will be mummified, then wrapped in silver, and sealed with spells only another priest can undo. She will never escape. Can never return to hurt this world."

Just live in an agony of unlife for the rest of eternity. It was a cruel ending, even for a spirit hell-bent on having her dark master dominate the world. Yet I couldn't work up any sympathy. "Which just leaves us with the dragons and their master."

"Whom I can either banish or seal in flesh, once we flush out his sacrifice site."

"Why is flushing out his sacrifice site important?"

"Because I can use its power to send him back if that's what we decide to do. Then I can cleanse the site to prevent him ever using it to reenter our world."

"I thought your sister was responsible for him being here?"

"She was. But if the gate is not closed, he can come back through."

"Not a good thing."

"No." He paused, then stepped forward, until there was only a hairsbreadth between us. The heat of him, scent of him, flowed over me, through me, filling my lungs, filling my heart, filling my soul. My breath caught, then quickened, and it took every ounce of willpower to remain as I was, to not step forward, into his embrace.

"Be careful in there tonight," he said, his dark gaze on mine and filled with concern. Filled with warmth. "The god of darkness is a very powerful soul, and long practiced in seducing the unwary."

"I could never be counted as one of the unwary." Which wasn't exactly the truth. Otherwise, why would I be standing here, drinking in the scent of sandalwood and man and desire, until all I wanted to do was wrap my arms around him and hold on tight? Why wasn't I ru

Because he was my chocolate. It might be perverse, it might be insane, but he was the one temptation I could never, ever resist.

And yet time and again he'd proven he just wasn't good for my health—my emotional health.

I might want him physically, but it just wasn't enough anymore. Even with the moon in full bloom, even with desire battering at my senses, part of me was just tired of it all.

Tired of the fighting. Tired of his constant belittling of the werewolf ways. Tired of simply trying. If he wasn't at least willing to meet me some of the way—and his actions seemed to constantly prove he wasn't—what was the point of us even being together?