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No, because what he truly wanted was to become a soul guide again. And nothing, not this quest, and certainly not whatever this thing between us was, would divert him from his path. He’d never made any secret of it, either, but it was beginning to rankle me more and more.
Because I cared, more and more.
I was, I decided, an idiot.
I crossed my arms and watched Quinn and Jak crawl through the gap. Quinn kept within the shadows of the building, even though the midday sun had passed. Habit more than necessity, I thought.
“Shall I meet you back at your place?”
“Yes,” Quinn said.
“No,” said Jak.
I glanced at him, surprised. He waved the notepad in his hand. “I took note of the numbers in that man’s phone book, and I want to chase them down just in case our sorcerer starts covering his tracks again.”
“Good idea.” It also saved me the hassle of having to explain to Riley his reemergence in my life. “You’ll call if you find anything?”
Jak snorted softly. “Like I have any other choice, given your uncle’s threat.”
I half smiled, and he gave me a sketchy farewell wave and headed back to his car. Once he was gone, I met Quinn’s gaze. “What does he remember?”
“Nothing more than my arrival, and me rearranging the Razan’s memories.”
At least he hadn’t rearranged all Jak’s memories.
“I wouldn’t,” he said mildly; then, as shock shivered through me, he smiled. “The micro-cells do provide some measure of protection against most vampires—even the ones as strong as Madeline Hunter—but they create little more than a mild barrier for someone as telepathically strong as me.”
“And Riley?” I asked, even though the answer was obvious. She was stronger than even him, after all.
His smile widened. Oh, fabulous, I thought, and pointlessly tried to remember everything I’d thought since his arrival. Undoubtedly he’d caught more than a few interesting ones—though generally, both Quinn and Riley had strict rules regarding mind reading, and rarely indulged in casual telepathy. According to Riley, the thoughts of most people weren’t worth it.
I cleared my throat, hoped I didn’t look as embarrassed as I felt, and said, “I’ll see you soon.”
He nodded, then melted into mist and disappeared. I shot Stane another quick note, asking him to add Mark Jackson to his search, and then Azriel’s arms were around me and we were whisking through the gray fields.
We reappeared in the middle of Aunt Riley’s living room. She was, as Quinn had said, waiting for us.
“About fucking time.” Her gaze swept over me and her expression became grim. “What the hell have you been tangling with?”
“Hellhounds.” I stepped free from Azriel. “There were two of them, and two of us.”
“Unfair odds in anyone’s book. Those bastards fight nasty.” She waved me toward the bathroom, then glanced at Azriel. “You can wait here. Or you could do something useful and help Quinn in the kitchen.”
The thought of Azriel making coffee struck me as funny, but he merely offered a short bow and headed for the kitchen. But then, very few people ever argued with Riley when she used that tone.
I stripped my clothing off as I walked into the bathroom, and dumped the bloodied remnants of it in the bin rather than the laundry chute.
Behind me, Riley sucked in a sharp breath. “What the hell happened to your back?”
I cursed mentally. I’d forgotten about the damn scar. “I fell off my bike and hit a pole.” Which was the truth, just not the reason for the scar. “Both the bike and I got smashed up pretty badly.”
“I can imagine.” Her tone was dry and suggested she didn’t believe my excuse, but she motioned me toward the shower without further comment. The water came on automatically as I entered, the water hot and the spray sharp and massaging. It felt sensational against my battered and bruised body.
“Who else was with you in that tunnel today? Azriel obviously wasn’t.”
I hesitated, but there was little point in lying. Especially since Quinn already knew. “Jak.”
“Have you lost brain cells or something?” There was an edge of incredulity in her voice. “Why the hell are you messing around with him again?”
