Circle of Death (Damask Circle 2)

She closed her eyes, not ready to confront the emotion so evident behind his words and in his thoughts. Nothing had ever come easy to her, so why should something as elusive as love? Especially now, when her whole world seemed to be tearing apart.

If he was following her thoughts, he didn’t say anything, just opened the car door and placed her carefully inside. She kept her eyes closed. The darkness seemed to ease the pounding in her head a little.

He climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine. She listened to the rumble of traffic passing by and drifted off into a semi-sleep, only to jerk awake when the sound of the engine ceased. Blinking, she looked at the clock on the dash. Only twenty minutes had passed. It had seemed like hours.

The warm sunshine had given way to shadows. Around them, slabs of gray concrete stood like silent sentinels in an empty, filth-ridden world. A place where demons roamed, and the dull puddles of brightness provided by the lights dotted haphazardly across the roof did little to provide an air of safety.

For an instant, her fear surged. Where the hell are we? She blinked again, and their surroundings became a parking garage. Yet she had an odd feeling that what she had seen she would see again. Sometime in the near future, fate and she would meet in such a place.

Doyle’s hand closed over hers. “You feeling any better?”

She carefully shook her head. “I feel like I’m going to throw up.”

“That can happen when you overextend your psychic strength,” he commented. “You want to be carried again?”

“I’m not an invalid. I can walk.” Besides, if she risked another five minutes in his arms she might not want to leave.

“I wouldn’t mind,” he said softly.

She didn’t answer, just got out of the car. Helen would have called it cowardice. She called it caution. She wasn’t going to commit to anything she wasn’t certain about, and right now that included Doyle.

The air smelled st

ale and was perfumed with the rich scent of rubbish and urine. Beer bottles decorated the far corners, scattered about like abandoned toys. “Nice section of town to have an office,” she muttered, rubbing her arms against the chill in the air.

He shrugged and cupped her elbow, gently guiding her toward the elevator. “Most of the building has been converted to a shelter for the homeless. Our offices are on the top floor, and the rent pays for a lot of the meals.”

She raised an eyebrow as he punched the button for the eighth floor. “So this Damask Circle of yours actually has offices here in Melbourne?”

“We have offices everywhere. Evil doesn’t stick to a single country, you know.”

“I guess it doesn’t.” Though it was something she’d never been forced to think about before now. “So, are we going to stay here rather than going back to the farmhouse tonight?” Disappointment twinged through her at the thought.

He leaned a shoulder against the wall and regarded her thoughtfully. The left side of his face was grazed, and blood had formed dried-up rivulets down his neck. But if he was in any sort of pain, she couldn’t feel or see it. Maybe shapeshifters had a high tolerance to such things.

“Would you rather stay here?”

There was so little emotion in his words and expression, one would have thought he was asking the time of day. But she knew it was the very last thing he wanted. She also knew that he’d do it for her if she asked. It was a thought that was oddly warming.

She raised an eyebrow. “And how would you steal your kisses if we stayed with your friends?”

“I didn’t exactly steal them the last two times.” His voice was dry, and amusement glittered in his bright eyes. “Besides, there’ll be plenty of time to worry about that once you’re safe.”

His dark hair was falling in unruly waves across his forehead, and a smile teased the corners of his full lips. Too sexy for her own good, she thought, and pulled her gaze from his.

Did she want to stay here? Part of her said yes; part of her said no. The only thing she was certain of was the fact that whatever was happening between them—whether it was merely a passing fancy or something more permanent—it wasn’t going to be stopped by the presence of others. And in many respects, staying with his friends was the coward’s way out.

Under any other circumstance, she might have grabbed at the chance not to be alone with him. As Helen had noted many a time, cowardice was her middle name. But it just wasn’t a good move, tactically, for them all to be in the same place. At least if there were two groups, the murdering witch after her and Trina would have to expend a lot more time and energy to find them. And in doing so, with any luck she’d give them the chance to find and stop her.

“It’s safer if we remain apart,” she said eventually.

His smile crinkled the corners of his bright eyes again. “Admit it—you like being with me, don’t you?”

Heat crept through her cheeks. “I will admit to nothing more than feeling safe with you.”

“Well, that’s a damn good start.” He pushed upright as the elevator stopped and the door opened. “After you.” He motioned her forward with a gracious sweep of his hand.

As they traveled upward, she wondered why her words seemed to please him so much. They certainly hadn’t committed her in any shape or form. Frowning, she walked out of the lift. The corridor beyond was a bright, sterile white. Blinking at the light’s harshness, she hesitated and rubbed a hand across her eyes. The brightness had invigorated the madmen in her head again.