“No,” said Helen, a little too quickly. “Go to my house instead. It’s closer.” She was a lot better equipped to handle these men than Miss Mabel was, even if that didn’t mean much. At least Miss Mabel’s home of thirty years would be safe. Maybe Helen would ask to move in with her after all of this was over.
“Fine. Which way?” asked Thomas.
Helen gave him directions, praying she wasn’t making the biggest mistake of her life.
Drake couldn’t stop touching Helen. He wasn’t sure if it was because he was afraid that the pain would return if he did, or if it was because her skin was so incredibly soft everywhere he touched. Either way, he was useless in a fight unless he found a way to detach himself from her. And fighting was definitely on tonight’s agenda. It wasn’t going to be easy making the break, but he had no choice. They had to get that sword back, and if they didn’t do it by sunrise, the whole demon nest would relocate and there was no telling when they’d find another lead to its location.
Kevin had been a fierce, proud warrior. He’d died with honor and Drake owed it to him to recover the sword and hang it in the Hall of the Fallen. To do that, he was going to need both hands.
He kept a careful hold on Helen’s wrist, unwilling to break contact until absolutely necessary. Maybe Logan would know what to do to fix this mess. All the Sanguinar, including Logan, had freaky-strong abilities when it came to healing. They knew how to fix damn near anything that went wrong with the bodies of humans and Sentinels alike. If anyone knew what to do to separate him from Helen without pain, it would be Logan or one of the other Sanguinar.
They pulled into Helen’s driveway and piled out of the van. It was a nice neighborhood. Older, but well maintained, and although he was sure that most of the trees had been chopped down when this development was built, the new trees had time to grow back up, serving to shade the houses from the blazing Kansas sun during the day. In the growing dark, those same trees left deep pockets of shadow along the sidewalk and between the homes.
Zach had been bleeding, thanks to Lexi. Not a lot, but enough to bring every Synestryn within a mile radius right to Helen’s front door. Until Logan patched him up, Zach was a walking bull’s-eye, making everyone near him a target.
Including Helen.
He glanced at her as they made their way up the concrete steps to her front door. The curve of her cheek glowed pink in the fading sunlight and he could just make out a cluster of freckles on her left shoulder. Her arms were smooth and feminine—pretty, but not nearly strong enough to fight off the demons headed this way. She was too soft to face down the Synestryn, and if her reaction to that fire was any clue, she was too fragile as well. Part of him wished he’d never even seen her, but the rest of him was doing a ridiculous happy dance, reveling in his pain-free state. He didn’t know what he was going to do with her any more than he knew what she was doing to him.
Thomas carried Miss Mabel up to the front door of Helen’s raised ranch, rather than make her go up the stairs with the walker. She’d griped about it, swatting ineffectively at his muscular arms, but Thomas just ignored her.
Zach was keeping watch over the group, guarding their backs, scanning the shadows for demons or any of the other Synestryn nasties that wanted a piece of them.
Helen stood under the yellow glow of her front porch light, rummaged through her purse one-handed, because Drake was not going to let her wrist go. His stubbornness earned him a disgruntled frown from her, but he was man enough to take it.
“It’s not going to kill you to give me ten seconds to find my keys,” she told him.
“It might. You want to take that chance?”
She actually paused a moment as if considering it as an option. A brief flash of grief dulled her hazel eyes for a split second, then was gone, leaving behind bleak acceptance in its wake. “Fine,” she said, and shoved her purse against his ribs. “You can at least hold it while I dig.”
Drake stared at the top of her bent head. Her brown hair was glossy in the glow of the porch light, and although her twin braids were getting a bit fuzzy from wear, they still drove him crazy, taunting him.
Handles. That’s all he could think when he saw them. The woman had braided handles into her hair, just begging a man to grab them and guide her head where he wanted it to go. Surely she had to realize that. Surely she had to know that between those braids and her soft, full mouth, there was only one place his mind could go. A wonderful, bad, bad place where she was naked and begging him to do all kinds of wicked, delightful things. And he’d do every one of them before he let her go. Twice. But right now all he really wanted to do was grab hold of those handles, tilt her head back, and kiss her until he forgot all about his dead friend and the lost sword and Zach’s bloody arm, which was calling in every nearby demon to come have a bite from the Theronai buffet.
“Found them,” she said, jangling her keys.
Thank God. At least now they’d have a door to put between them and the demons. It wouldn’t last long if an attack came, but it was better than standing out here in the open.
Helen unlocked the door and they all spilled inside with Zach bringing up the rear. Thomas carried Miss Mabel up the half flight of stairs leading to the living room and set her down. He held her steady until she’d taken a solid grip on her walker, which made him a braver man than Drake. That walker was a dangerous weapon in her hands—for which the throbbing lump on the back of his head spoke eloquently—and Thomas was still close enough to be a giant target.
Helen flipped on the lights, revealing a neat, sparse living room. It was done in neutral shades—lots of tan, beige, and gray. The walls were bare and a few sealed moving boxes were stacked in one corner. Helen had either just moved in or was getting ready to move out. He couldn’t tell which.