Chapter One

Today sucked. In fact, on Hawk’s list of days that sucked, it was right up there at the top.

First it was the bunch of kids causing a racket outside his motel room and waking him up. “Only three bloody hours of sleep,” he grumbled to himself as he walked down the night-darkened street.

Oh, he’d tried to drop off again, but today must have been let’s make a damn noise outside Hawk’s window and keep him awake day. Hawk didn’t do too well on little sleep, which was one reason for his scowl.

The other was the fact he’d just gotten his ass handed to him by a bunch of demons. Even worse, a bunch of Keres demons. Girl demons with blood-encrusted fangs and claws, but girls nonetheless. Like their human counterparts, they travelled in packs, a fact that slipped Hawk’s mind when he’d caught a couple harassing a lone human guy in a park.

Wincing at the memory, he turned a corner and spotted a late-night diner up ahead.

He’d taken some hits from the deadly duo before the rest turned up, and after that he’d been lucky to escape with only the deep clawing he had.

Lesson learned. Never mess with a bunch of women...of any species. Pulling his jacket tighter around himself, Hawk headed across the parking lot to the diner. If he was lucky, he could get a mug of coffee before the blood seeped through and forced him to move on.

* * * * *

Why are the hot ones always weird?

Lyssa looked up from cleaning tables as the door opened. It was a slow night, and the diner was getting ready to close. They were just waiting for the normal stragglers from the clubs before they did. Like this one dressed head to toe in black. But with his short hair, he didn’t fit any of the normal stereotypes. Just about pale enough for a Goth...maybe. After finishing up her table, Lyssa stowed her cleaning gear and grabbed an order pad to head over.

He was cute; tall, dark and handsome. Just Lyssa’s type. Yeah, yeah, who are you kidding? Like you’ve got a type. You need a love life to have a type!

Ignoring the little voice jeering in the back of her mind, Lyssa let her gaze linger while his head was bent. Over six-foot tall, he had a heavy build, which dominated the booth. Broad shoulders filled the ankle-length trench coat, and a black tee stretched over the muscles of his chest underneath. His long legs stretched out under the table and half into the walkway, the fabric of his tactical pants pulled tight over the muscled thighs.

She cleared her throat and plastered a bright smiled over her face as she waited for him to notice her. “Heya, I’m Lyssa. Can I take your order?”

Hawk’s heart sank at the chirpy tone. The last thing he needed was someone—a female someone—taking an interest in him at the moment. He was wearing illusion pendants and other charms, but magic could only do so much. Shifting in his seat, he wrapped his coat closer around himself and hoped to hell the blood hadn’t started to seep through.

His jacket and shirt were black, so he might get away with it. Blood didn’t show so much on dark colors, a fact he knew from long experience. But he could do without her calling 911 and ending up having an in-depth chat with the paramedics and cops to explain why he was carrying more weaponry than a small army.

He should have checked the joint out more than he had, but the only person he’d seen through the window was the middle-aged guy behind the grill and, still leaking the red stuff, he’d needed to park his ass in a hurry. A case of sit down before he fell down.

Hawk looked up straight into clear violet eyes, ones with a hint of amusement in them, as though she could read his thoughts and didn’t think much of them.

He extended his senses. Violet wasn’t a human color for eyes...more pixie or dryad. They weren’t that uncommon, but they didn’t generally wait tables.

Pixies were too unstable, too given to practical jokes, to get employment on a long-term basis, and dryads...well, there weren’t many trees in this part of town.

“Ready to order, sir, or do you need more time?” Her patient voice brought him back to the present, her long-suffering tone telling him she was used to people ignoring her.

“Yeah, coffee. Black and strong,” he ordered dismissively. Hopefully she’d take the hint and leave him alone; he wasn’t in the mood for chit-chat.

Well, wasn’t he the charmer? Face of an angel, manners of a warthog. Typical man. Lyssa stalked back to the counter to get his coffee, entertaining thoughts of dumping it over his head when she went back.

“No manners,” she grumbled as she poured coffee into one of the diner’s signature chunky mugs. Ignoring the cream on the side next to the coffee machine, she loaded the single mug onto a tray and headed back to the table in the corner. Actually, it was a good thing he was a rat. The way he looked, if he had an ounce of charm in his body, he’d be lethal.

Even with the touch-me-not attitude he exuded, Lyssa could feel herself reacting to him. Especially with him sitting the way he was, head leaned back against the wall. The strong line of his throat was just too inviting... He’d smell of warm man and that faint woodsy scent she’d caught when she took his order.

“Your coffee, sir,” she announced as she set the tray on the table.

He didn’t move, and Lyssa frowned. Had he gone to sleep, or was he just ignoring her? Then he opened his eyes and reached forward to wrap his hand around the mug with a grunt.

You’re welcome, she thought in irritation when no other reply seemed forthcoming.

“Would you like anything else with that?” she asked. Like maybe a personality transplant?

“No, thank you. I like my personality just fine, thanks,” he drawled, a sardonic tone in his deep voice.

Lyssa’s heart stopped. Ohmigod, please tell me I didn’t say that out loud!

The color fled from her face as she opened her mouth. Nothing but a strangled croak emerged, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly. Then embarrassment burned across her cheeks as she finally managed to snap her mouth shut and scurry to safety.

Hawk’s lips quirked in amusement as the waitress grabbed a spray bottle and a cloth to attack the already spotless tables. He really should tell her she hadn’t said that aloud, that her mind was clear and focused enough for him to pick the thought clean out of her head, but that would lead to interesting questions about exactly how he’d been able to read her thoughts.

Her thoughts were too clear and precise for her to be pure-human. Usually their minds were cluttered, a thousand things going off at once in their heads. He didn’t know how they managed to think at all given the noise their minds created.

Hawk frowned as he looked at the sugar, then sighed as he ignored it and pulled the coffee closer. He reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a small vial. With a moment’s hesitation, he emptied the contents into the mug and watched as the fluid—an earthy, apple green—swirled and disappeared into the darkness of the coffee.

His last healing potion, saved for an emergency. He seriously needed the shit not to hit the fan before he could find another Haven and hit them up for supplies, but the way his luck was running at the moment, he wouldn’t hold his breath.

Picking up the doctored coffee, he took a swallow then grimaced as the bitter taste hit his sensitive palate. Determined, he carried on drinking, ignoring the small flash as the empty vial lost its form and was absorbed back into the witching. Usually he took his coffee liberally laced with milk and sugar, but both would interfere with the potion, so he had to suffer the bitterness.

They did say though that the best medicine tasted the worst, and if this got him back on his feet and combat capable, then he would live with it. After another long swallow, Hawk sighed in relief, his eyes half closed as he felt the wounds start to close.

Did he have time for another mug? This time with sugar and cream to wash the bitter taste away, and perhaps even a pastry... As soon as the thought came to him, he dismissed it.

He’d been bleeding, and even though the potion had closed his wounds, he had blood on his clothes, blood that would act as a beacon to every vampire and flesh-eating demon in the area. He might as well put a flashing light on his head and a sign around his neck that said, All you can eat buffet.

He cradled his mug in his hand and glared at the liquid left inside. He’d have to make it last as long as he could, then move on and find some place to sleep. Somewhere that didn’t have a dawn chorus like this morning. He was tired. No, exhausted. He was no fool, and he’d long since grown out of the I am invincible stage most Warriors went through. He was dog-tired, clawed up, and in a mood. And if he didn’t get a decent night’s sleep tonight, his next fight might well be his last.

The waitress with the sassy turn of thought was by the door, still scrubbing the tables and trying to pretend she wasn’t watching him. Deliberately, Hawk caught her eye, grinning when she flushed and looked away. His attention wandered, taking in the curve of her ass as she bent over the table.

She was slender but curvy. His gaze travelled up the seductive curve of her spine and latched onto the thin sliver of skin that showed between her T-shirt and her trousers. Then he saw it, and the world stopped.

Half hidden under the fabric was a small tattoo. An unmistakeable tattoo if one knew what he were looking at. Not the sort of tattoo one could wander into any tattoo parlor and pick either. It was the sort of tattoo one had to be born into a certain sort of family to have. Less a form of body art, it was more a permanent, magical protection. It was the sort of tattoo a Warden, the wizards of the paranormal world, wore. Which meant his sassy little waitress was just the sort of woman Hawk was looking for, on more than one level.

He studied her movements over the rim of his mug. Warden blood explained the color of her eyes. Although they looked human, walked and talked human, Wardens were born with the ability to manipulate the witching, the magical layer in everything around them. Calling a Warden human was like calling a lion a housecat. Same basic description, but he wouldn’t like to tease one with a ball of string.

She scrubbed the tables until they were clean enough to eat from. Hawk was about to make a comment about avoiding him when she straightened, squared her shoulders as though preparing herself to run the gauntlet and walk down the aisle past him. She could wimp out and go the long way around, and he could tell she was considering it when she glanced that way.

Come on, sweet stuff, that’s too obvious. You’re made of stronger stuff than that. Hawk held his breath as she made her mind up, only releasing it as she started up the aisle toward him. He put his empty mug down as she drew level, knowing the waitress in her wouldn’t be able to resist. Sure enough, she checked and reached out to snag the empty cup.

“Can I get you anything else, sir?” Her voice was controlled and perfectly polite, toeing the line after her slip earlier.

“Nothing on the menu, no.” Hawk moved his leg and blocked the aisle to stop her escaping wherever it was waitresses escaped to. “But I’ve got a few other needs...” He dropped the timbre of his voice to husky, his manner flirtatious.

Hawk was Warrior-born. The flipside of the coin to the Wardens, his sole purpose in life was to fight the things that went bump in the night. Some, like Hawk, lived long enough to get good at it. Not that one would realize it from his pathetic performance tonight, but fighting and killing demons was what Hawk was all about. What spare time he had he spent training, healing, or finding opportunities to sire the next generation of Warriors.

And he considered all essential to his wellbeing, especially the last one.

Anger flared in her eyes at his words. “You’ve got some bloody balls,” she hissed.

Hawk was glad he’d drained the mug. Otherwise, he was fairly sure he’d be wearing the contents by now.

“Yup, two of. Care to view them?” His grin was unrepentant. He didn’t think she was the type, but it was hard to tell with Warden-women. Some of them could be kinky bitches at times, more than happy to take a tumble with a rough-and-ready Warrior. It was all that repression from their overprotective families. Give them a little freedom, and they were wild. Probably why they weren’t let out often.

Which begged the question as to why a Warden-woman was waiting tables—it wasn’t as if any Warden families needed the money—but Hawk shoved the question to the back of his mind. He was having far more fun watching her try to frame a response to his question through her anger.

“No!” she managed after several moments of opening and closing her mouth in a bizarre but amusing impression of a goldfish. “I’m not that kind of girl. If you want that then head over to the other side of town. Looking the way you do, the girls on South Street’ll fall over themselves to offer you a good time.”

Hawk’s grin widened. “So you think I’m good looking then.”

She gave him a sharp look. “I didn’t say that. Move your leg please. You’re blocking my way.”

“I know.” Hawk’s smile faded a little as his side reminded him that it had holes in it. This one was damn hard to charm. Normally all he had to do was flash a smile, twinkle the old baby blues, and it was instant panty remover. Perhaps she batted for the other team? He tried again, his tone more serious.

“Thing is, I have some very specific needs.”

“I don’t want to hear about your fetishes. Excuse me.” Her lips pursed tight as she made to brush past him. He shot his hand out and grabbed her arm, stopping her as he flicked his jacket open to reveal the ripped T-shirt and the deep, barely healed wounds furrowing his side. “I need a Warden. Seen one hereabouts?”

Shit, he was injured. A gasp and a wince of sympathy escaped Lyssa before she could stop them. Her gaze flicked from his wounded side back up to his eyes. They were a deep, crystalline blue, as clear as a winter’s sky. She always thought the eyes were the most attractive and revealing thing about a person. Having seen the damage on his side, she now noticed the lines of pain and fatigue etched amongst the tiny laugh lines.

“I’m not a Warden,” she said on automatic. Which was true. She might be Warden-born, but that didn’t mean she had an ounce of magical ability in her.

“You got a mark on your back which says otherwise, sweetheart. And I really need a Warden right about now.” His voice was tight but not begging. Lyssa didn’t think a guy like him was capable of begging—too much male pride—but there was a tone there she couldn’t ignore.

Her fingers tightened around the empty mug, and she nodded. “Okay, I’m almost done here. Meet me outside. But I can’t promise much, understand?”

* * * * *

In the shadows outside the diner, Hawk eased into a more comfortable slouch against the wall and waited for the Warden. He propped one foot against the brickwork and thrust his hands deep into his pockets.

He shook his head slightly as he recalled their conversation. She’d been so open, every emotion visible on her delicate face. Irritation with him, and an interest she’d tried hard to conceal, seemed to be the main contenders.

There had been something else though. An odd pull, as if he recognized her somehow, which was madness since he knew he’d never seen her before in his life. He put the thought to the back of his mind for now. All that mattered was that his little waitress was a Warden. He’d always believed the Fates were total bitches, eager to screw any guy over, but here they were, dropping a Warden in his lap right when he needed one.

The door opened, and Hawk looked up, vision sharp in the darkness of the shadows. His little Warden stepped out the door of the diner, looping her purse over her shoulder until it lay across her body. She was a pretty little thing; slender and petite with an ethereal air that did things to him on a very male level. An image flashed in his mind. That dark hair spread in a halo around her on the bed, and those violet eyes dark with passion....

One night, she’d said. Sanctuary. She couldn’t refuse him; it was what Wardens did. Warriors fought the things that went bump in the night, and Wardens took care of the magical side of things. They pedalled protection spells, amulets and potions. If one needed a magical circle, and a circle of salt just wouldn’t cut it, one called a Warden in. They came, they saw, they left graffiti all over the floor. Painted, carved into stone or wood, nothing got past a Warden’s circle, and that was just a magical circle, a temporary protection. Havens—a Warden’s home ground—were reputed to be unassailable, the magical equivalent of Fort Knox.

“Car’s this way,” she said as she passed him and headed for the alleyway at the side of the diner. Hawk pushed off the wall with a grunt and followed her, his gaze dropping to admire her ass. It was an automatic reaction; he was male­—very male—and she had a great ass.

His brows snapped together as they turned the corner and into the darkened alleyway. Typical of the inner city, it was an oddly shaped gap just large enough for a couple of Dumpsters and a small car. It was saved from being badly lit by not being lit at all. The single lamp over one of the doors was out of action and had been for some time if the bird’s nest in the broken cover was any indication. Instead, the alleyway was shrouded in darkness and tucked out of sight of the street. All in all it was the perfect place for an attack.

Hawk’s scowl deepened as his companion searched around in her purse for her keys. He couldn’t believe this. Did the woman have no bloody common sense whatsoever?

“You should have found those before you left the diner,” he said in disapproval. It was a good job he was here with her. Distracted like that, she’d make an easy target for any random nut wandering the streets.

She shot him a look through her bangs. “Who do you think you are? My bloody father?”

Hawk sighed. This was why he was glad he had no family to speak of. Stupid I can look after myself even though I obviously have no clue how to females, who didn’t have the common sense they were damn well born with.

“No. But I pity the poor man with a daughter like you,” he snapped back, exhaustion and pain making his tone sharper than he intended. “You do realize you could easily be attacked down here and no one would know?”

She shrugged, a dismissive gesture, and carried on with her search. Hawk ground his teeth in frustration. He wasn’t used to being ignored, especially not when he was trying to tell her something for her own benefit.

“Aha! I found them. They always hide in the corners for some reason.” She pulled the keys from the tiny excuse for a purse in triumph. Hawk looked at it. It wasn’t big enough to get a decent sized...well, anything...in, so how she could lose anything in the damn thing was beyond him.

“Did you hear a word I just said?”

“Hmm?” She bent her knees, ducking down and squinting as she tried to find the keyhole in the door. Hawk prayed for strength.

“About being attacked? Here? Don’t be stupid. It’s far too close to the diner for anyone to try anything here,” she said with a small chuckle, managing to get her keys in the lock finally and started to open the door.

Hawk lost his temper and reached out to slam it shut. She needed to be taught a lesson about personal safety before she got herself hurt for real. And he was just the guy to do it.

Lyssa jumped at his sudden movement and started to back away. All of a sudden he looked very dangerous, the expression on his face grim and forbidding. She tried to dodge away, but he was too quick. A hard hand closed around her upper arm and hauled her up against him.

“Is that so?” he muttered, his lips inches from hers.

Lyssa lost the ability to think or breathe as her eyes locked with his. Darkness swirled in the blue depths joined by a heat that made her go weak at the knees. To her shame, her body reacted in seconds, the nipples beneath her cotton T-shirt tightening to hard beads, and a flutter starting deep in her abdomen.

Oh god, I’m a tart…. Please let him kiss me…so close, he has to! She should have felt threatened, but she didn’t. One look in his eyes just inches from hers, and she knew he wouldn’t hurt her. Not physically anyway.

“S-sorry, you were saying?” she asked, belatedly realizing he’d spoken.

A slow grin spread over his lips and took her breath away. Snarling and surly he’d been cute as hell, but smiling? He was drop-dead gorgeous. Lyssa barely managed to restrain a whimper as he leaned down, his lips almost brushing hers.

“Doesn’t matter....” His voice was a soft whisper, lost to Lyssa’s ears as soon as his lips touched hers. Not the demanding, hard touch she expected but a softer, gentle exploration. His lips slanted over hers, his hand sliding to the nape of her neck and tilting her head to just the angle he wanted.

His lips wandered. Softly at first, sliding caressingly before his tongue brushed against the full curve of her lower lip. She gasped, opening instinctively for him, and moaned as he deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing along hers in a slow, sensual mimicry of love-making.

Oh, hell, can this guy kiss or what? Lyssa had never been on the receiving end of such an explosively sensual kiss before. She stood on tiptoes, pressing herself against him and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. A small sound of frustration broke from her throat as he lifted his head to look down at her.

“Oh...wow,” she managed, blinking in surprise. She opened her mouth again, but before she could speak, all hell broke loose.

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