The other demon, the one still in the car, barked an order he underscored with the universal gesture for "come."

The demon Adrian held bared his teeth and stuck out his tongue. The forked marking at the end turned what would have been a childishly mocking gesture into a threat.

"Tell me!" Adrian growled.

His enhanced strength must have been fading, because the demon tore free and sprinted to the car. Adrian didn't follow, just stood there breathing hard, his neck bowed, his left arm propped against the wall while his right held his stomach as if he might be about to throw up. Despite the commotion they'd caused, not a single window opened above the shops, not even the one whose front had been smashed. Adrian didn't seem to expect it to.

He dealt with this every day, she thought, and still loved his job. She was marveling over that when he straightened and blew out his breath.

"You all right?" he said, turning just his head.

Roxie discovered she was strong enough to sit up. "I think so. They gave me some sort of drug, but it's wearing off."

"You want me to find a doctor?"

Roxie didn't hold out much hope for that. "Let's see if I can stand up first."

With Adrian's help, she did, though the ground felt a bit as if she were at sea. She couldn't help being amused by the way he gripped her elbow and led her like an invalid to the circular overlook on the river side of the street. Sweet Adrian. Always the gentleman.

Sitting sideways on the bench, he pulled her back against his front. His muscles shook with the strain they'd been forced through. Comforted all the same, Roxie rested her head on his chest, gazing past him toward the water.

A barge was bearing downriver. Its running lights, a string of lanterns to port and starboard, glimmered like b.u.t.ter in the dark. A heap of coal rose from the deck in a small mountain, three quarters of its bulk pinned beneath a tarp. She watched the barge wallow, then straighten as it forged through the backed-up current beneath the bridge.

She hoped she and Adrian would regain their balance as easily.

"My," she said, striving for lightness, "that was amazing. You tossed that Yama through the window like he was a twig."

"The implants tossed him," Adrian said.

"I'm not so sure of that. You fought off three of them, chased a speeding automobile, then almost overcame a fourth. I thought your implants were supposed to make you as strong as a demon, not stronger."

When she looked into his face, he was squinting sheepishly. "Actually," he said, "when the doctor who put them in tested me, to see how much enhancement I required, I pretended to be weaker than I was. I thought I might need an advantage someday."

"How positively devious of you!"

"Yes, well, it's also true that Yama aren't used to the way humans fight. A straightforward fist to the gut will get them most every time."

"I'm still impressed," Roxie insisted, barely holding back her laugh.

Adrian shifted behind her. "I'm sorry I couldn't find out who hired them, though one would hope there'd only be two choices: your father or The Dragon."

"As opposed to a really enthusiastic fan of my singing."

"Yes," Adrian agreed, his lack of humor quelling hers.

Roxie rubbed his shoulder. "They knew who I was," she said, "and probably you, as well. They wouldn't bother to set three demons on an ordinary human male."

"Which suggests it might be The Dragona""

"But doesn't rule out my father." Roxie shook her head, relieved that most of her dizziness was gone. "What I don't understand is what either could hope to gain by kidnapping me. If The Dragon feared exposure of his experiment on Max, why not just kill me? He has to know no one but me would take the word of a five-year-old. And how would he know Max had told the story? Does he even remember who Max is? On the other hand, if it wasn't The Dragon, but my father, trying to drive me into his company, how can he believe his behavior will do anything but estrange me permanently?"

Adrian pushed his hands down his thighs as if they were sore. "Your guess is as good as mine. Yama's minds work differently from ours."

"We have to confront Herrington now," Roxie said resignedly, the "we" coming a little too naturally. "If only to discover whether he was involved." Her face twisted at the prospect. "Lord, I hate doing that. Even if we escaped this attack, going to see him makes me feel as if he's won."

"He can't win," Adrian said. "Your head and your heart will always belong to you."

Though this was only half true, she appreciated his confidence.

Chapter 22.

For an archaeologist, dawn is the magic hour. Its mix of light and shade reveals what brighter hours hide as effectively as night. Only at dawn does the day tremble with possibility.

a"Welland Herrington, A Memoir The last trolley was a memory and the first cab a futile hope when Adrian and Roxie rose creakily from the bench and turned to watch the sun breach the horizon. Streams of green and gold lit Awar's largest river. Ice crusted its edges now, but come spring, snowmelt from the mountains would swell the Cheske to a tumult. The peace of the scene made their recent encounter seem unreal.

"We could walk home," Adrian suggested, reaching for her hand. "If you're up to it, it's only a couple miles."

"I don't want to stay," she said. "Even if the threat is past, the back of my neck is creeping every time I think back."

"That's probably just nerves."

"Whatever it is, it's making me want to lock the doors and pull the covers over my head." Actually, now that she'd recovered, it was making her want to pull Adrian under the covers with her and keep him there all day. Perversely, her body was aroused by the danger they'd escaped, throbbing strongly with eagerness. She'd have given a great deal for him to pull her into the nearest alley and take her against the wall. Embarra.s.sed, she looked away as they began to walk, hoping Adrian wouldn't spot her blush.

She knew she'd failed when he slanted a look at her and grinned. His fingers squeezed hers suggestively.

"Ah, yes," he said. "Facing death. The greatest aphrodisiac in the world."

"We didn't face death," she protested, though for all she knew they had.

"Speak for yourself. Now that the aftereffects of using my implants have worn off, I've got a c.o.c.kstand as big as the Grim Reaper's scythe."

"Adrian!" She couldn't recall him speaking this bluntly beforea"not in public, at any rate. In spite of everything, or maybe because of it, her excitement intensified.

"I could happily keep you in bed all day," he went on, for once unabashed. "The bathroom would do as well. Or the stairwell. For that matter, the shadowed doorway of that secondhand clothes dealer seems mighty inviting."

Roxie cursed at the sudden hungry flutter between her legs. Adrian chuckled and pulled her close as if he meant to kiss her. With an effort, she held him off.

"Just get me home," she growled under her breath.

"The feeling will last," he warned. "The longer we wait, the more impatient we'll become."

"You don't have to sound so cheerful about it."

He laughed. Then he did kiss her, quick and hard on the lips. "I'm cheerful because I know you and I are going to work off this feeling the way it deserves."

His eyes were lit with joy. She knew he was reveling in the freedom to be a sensual creature. She couldn't begrudge him his pleasure, even if she wanted more.

"You know." He hugged her shoulder as they resumed their journey. "The farmers' market should be open soon. We could grab breakfast. Although, maybe we shouldn't stop. Max will be crawling out of bed soon. If Charles is at work, he'll be alone."

Roxie's heart turned over. Sensual creature or not, he'd made her concerns his own. Stupid man. He behaved like a husband already. Would making it official really be that terrible? Of course, now was no time to push the issue.

"I doubt we could get home in time even if we tried," she said. "Fortunately, Max has strict instructions to knock on Abul's door if he wakes up alone. Linia will scold me up and down for staying out late, but the two of them will make sure he gets to school safely."

"Then we could have breakfast. Store up a little energy for latera"

Eyebrows wagging, Adrian's stride turned jaunty. She shook her head at his boyish glee. Apparently, he was enjoying bedeviling her.

They were still arguing over what to eat when they reached the open-air market. The neighboring shops were shuttered, but most of the stalls were set up. They skirted around dusty farm wagons unloading fresh vegetables, past basins of flopping fish, even a loom that had been set up beneath one of the striped awnings. Halfway through the central square, Roxie succ.u.mbed to a ruinously expensive bag of Medell cherries, which she would not let Adrian buy. The fruit was garnet-ripe. She made a game of feeding them to Adrian, giggling and whispering lurid promises each time his lips closed on her fingertips.

If she was going to be s.e.x-mad, she'd make certain he was, too.

Adrian knew what she was doing and didn't mind in the least. Every teasing gesture told him she was his. He was going to have her. Repeatedly. Strenuously. Endlessly. Until she lacked the strength to even dream of taking other men. Maybe he'd use his implants again. She'd seemed to like that the last time. Now that he no longer worked for Security, he supposed the devices were his to do with as he pleased. At that moment, pleasing Roxie seemed the highest purpose he could conceive.

"You're going to pay," he whispered darkly. "I'm going to kiss you from head to toe and tup you until you scream."

"Braggart," she whispered back, her eyes twinkling merrily.

He couldn't resist. Despite the presence of watchers, he hooked one arm behind her neck and kissed her, deeply, wetly, his tongue pushing strongly against hers. Roxie moaned and began to cling. He could feel her warmth through both their sets of clothes. Abruptly desperate to plunge inside her, he wondered if they might sneak beneath the tarp in someone's wagonbed. Who cared about the risk? As far as he was concerned, the farmer could carry them back to Medell. Not that it would take that long the first time. From the feel of her squirms, minutes would be enough for them both. G.o.d, he needed to have her. His entire body pounded with l.u.s.t.

Distantly, he was aware of someone calling his name. Since it wasn't Roxie, he ignored the voice. It took her taking hold of his ears and tugging to make him stop.

"What?" he asked plaintively.

Roxie tipped her head meaningfully toward the right. When Adrian saw who stood there, he nearly choked.

"Hullo, son," said his father, doffing his tweed cap and rubbing it confusedly along the part in his salt-and-pepper hair. True to form, his mother wasn't half as diplomatic.

"Well." Her hands bracketed the waist of her narrow skirt. "This must be the girl who's making you lose sleep!"

Anger set a pulse ticking in his temple. Did his mother have to let everything that came into her head burst out her mouth? Then he felt Roxie's nails digging into his coat sleeve. The evidence of her distress encouraged him to compose himself.

"Mother. Dad." He transferred a cherry pit to his pocket. The paper bag that held the fruit crackled in Roxie's hand. Poor thing. She could sing her heart out in front of a roomful of drunken sailors, but the thought of meeting one middle-aged couple gave her the shakes. He slung his arm around her. "This is my friend, Roxanne McAllister. Roxanne, meet my parents, Varya and Isaac Philips."

"Nice to meet you," said his father, staring pop-eyed at her ankle-baring trousers.

"Likewise," said his mother, who grinned with a bit more relish than Adrian found comfortable.

Unable to guess what that grin really meant, Roxie's tremors increased. Adrian could imagine what she was thinking. Never mind openmouthed kissing in a public place, being found in the company of a woman this early in the morning could only mean one thinga"at least to people like his parents. That they were not ordinary parents went right over Roxie's head.

"Don't suppose you'd like to have breakfast with us," ventured his father, squinting vaguely at the cloud-flecked sky.

"We ate," said Roxie.

"We'd love to," said Adrian.

"We'd love to," he repeated, stroking her sleeve and ignoring her silent plea. Maybe the timing wasn't perfect, but he wanted her to understand he was ready to face a horde of parents on her behalf. He would ask her to marry him at some point. And then, G.o.d and Roxie willing, Varya and Isaac would be her in-laws. Might as well get used to the horror now.

"Wonderful," said his mother in an alarmingly pleasant tone. "I'm sure we have lots to talk about."

Oh, boy, thought Adrian. Here we go.

Roxie didn't want to think what she looked like after a night of drinking and falling out of cars. She'd never been this aware of her difference from normal folk, which Adrian's parents quite obviously were. Adrian's mother made her feel like a giantessa"and a demon giantess, at that. Varya's hands were doll-like, her waist as trim as a twelve-year-old's. And could she talk! Roxie had never heard anyone talk as much as Adrian's mother. The woman hardly paused for breath. Her own mother, La Belle Yvonne, would have given much to perfect that trick.

Adrian's father, Isaac, appeared used to his wife's conversational habits. He gazed distractedly around the small awning-covered eatery, smoothed his napkin, poked the coals in the nearest brazier. Though he smiled at the rest of the table occasionally, for the most part, he looked as though he weren't all there. Despite this, she couldn't help noticing how handsome he was. If this was an indication of how Adrian would age, he'd be stirring her blood for years to come.

a.s.suming he stuck around.

Needing rea.s.surance, she slipped her hand under the checkered oilcloth and laid it on his thigh. He squeezed her wrist, perhaps to soothe her nerves but maybe in warning. The latter possibility put a devil into her mind. How dare he worry that she'd embarra.s.s him? He could do that all by himself. In fact, he had done it. If it weren't for his insistence on accepting his father's invitationa"probably because he was too embarra.s.sed to refusea"they'd be home now in her bed. Keeping her eyes on his chattering mother, she slid her little finger into the crease between his leg and torso, then dragged her nail over the swell of his t.e.s.t.i.c.l.e.

His groin warmed flatteringly at her touch. Curious as to whether his self-proclaimed c.o.c.kstand had survived his parents' appearance, she hooked her pinky to the left. My, yes, he was definitely sporting a ridge, a ridge that was growing bigger by the second. The fine wool that contained him tautened until there wasn't one fold left. Feeling rather taut herself, she added more fingers and squeezed. To her immense gratification, he proved superior to the pressure.

His length was such that her hand couldn't cover the entire span. She consoled herself by enclosing the arch in a snug half-fist.

"Down," he hissed through his teeth, his tone a trifle too close to the way one would scold a dog.

"As you wish," she agreed and dragged her fist to his crown.

Pushed well past his limit, he coughed repressively and tried to elbow her arm away.

"Are you ill, Adrian?" asked his mother, rerouting her prattle without the least sign of strain. "I always say you don't take proper care of yourself. A winter cold is a terrible thing."

She turned to Roxie and smiled confidingly, woman to woman. "He works too hard, you know. That supervisor of his can't do without him. But I say, if he wears Adrian out, then where will he be?"

Roxie shot a look at Adrian. Did he want to break the news about getting fired? Not now, he mouthed, his face tightening. Roxie wasn't surprised. Could anything be harder than kicking himself off his parents' pedestal? Anxious to soothe, or at least distract him, she slipped one finger between his trouser b.u.t.tons. Perspiration, nervous and otherwise, had plastered down his linens, but with a little maneuvering she managed to reach bare skin.

"Lunatic," he whispered, an inch from her ear. Roxie didn't think he meant it. In contradiction to his words, his hand now covered hers. He was, truth be told, squeezing her closer. Their eyes locked, both hot, both guttering. Adrian might not realize it, but he was daring her to go on.

"Don't," he ordered through gritted teeth, but he still wasn't pulling her off.

"Very well," she said, because even she had limits. She did, however, leave her hand where it was.

Oblivious to her son's dilemma, Varya babbled on about his lack of concern for his own well-being.

"Now, you, Roxie," she said, "you look st.u.r.dy enough to keep him in line. Not like that first wife of his, that Christine. What a pale little flower she was! You'd have thought the first breeze would blow her away."

Varya's voice faded beneath the sudden ringing in Roxie's ears. That first wife of his, that Christine? Dimly, she heard Adrian choke back a protest as she clamped onto a sensitive portion of his anatomy. She barely felt him prying her fingers loose. Her attention was completely caught by her own horror.

A wife. Adrian had a wife? Was he still married? No, his mother had said his first wife. So that meant widowhood or divorce. Unless he was married again? With a bone-deep shudder, she shook off that alternative. Varya wouldn't have been this friendly if Adrian had another wife. More to the point, she didn't think Adrian capable of that much duplicity.

Only of failing to mention a little thing like a marriage.

But why should he mention it to her? Who was she? Someone he slept with on occasion, someone without even as formal an arrangement as most mistresses had. What if he did want to live with her? She had no right to expect him to share his past. She set the rules for their relationship the minute she let him into her bed.