said, setting down the list.
He tipped his cowboy hat back with a knuckle. It was dusty, well-beaten leather, bleached to paleness on top by sunlight. “Guess I’m probably not anyone you were hoping you’d see again.” He shut the door before Sir Lumpy could escape. The cat tangled around his ankles, pretending that he had never intended to exit in the first place.
“Hope and expectation aren’t the same thing. What are you doing here?”
“Gerard contacted me. I’d already been thinking of heading this way when I got his letter, though. I seem to be…well, look.” He spread his hands wide. The skin on his palms glowed a very faint shade of red, as though coals had been embedded between the metacarpals.
That wasn’t normal for him. That wasn’t normal for any human.
“What is that?” Elise asked.
“I’ve got my suspicions, but I hoped you’d be able to tell me.”
She had her suspicions, too.
This was the grandson of Bain Marshall, the man honored by the statue in Northgate. A man with demon blood in his veins and relatives that could perform magic, making him as much of a potential warlock as Elise was, if he ever manifested the abilities of half-demon Gray.
A man whose hands now looked to be glowing with internal fire.
“Who let you in?” she asked. Lincoln wasn’t welcome in the sanctuary. He had tried to slaughter the werewolves with silver bullets, and the pack didn’t really care that he’d been under infernal influence.
“I let myself in. The magic wall around the sanctuary doesn’t seem to be working,” Lincoln said. “And I saw you walking here with Rylie, so I just followed you.”
“I don’t want you here,” Elise said. “Leave. Now.”
Surprise flashed over his eyes. “Gerard said you needed me.”
When Elise had last spoken to Lincoln, he had refused to help her run the Palace. He loved God and feared his infernal heritage. He didn’t want anything to with her, or Hell, or warlock magic.
She hadn’t been in a hurry to argue with him. It wasn’t his fault that he had driven a spear through her gut and tortured her with electricity, but it was hard to separate him from what he had done under demonic possession. Even though he was still the handsome cop she’d stalked like a hawk circling a field mouse, her instincts also registered him as an enemy.
At some point, Elise really wanted a man in her life that wasn’t so fucking complicated.
“I don’t want you,” she said again, more firmly than before.
“I don’t have anywhere to go. The world isn’t the way it was before I got possessed. It’s—it’s all ruined, Elise. And I have dreams. I can’t get away from the dreams.” He took her wrists. His hands burned hot. “Sometimes, when I wake up from those dreams, my bedroom is burning. I’m setting fires in my sleep.” His eyelid twitched. “It’s happened, Elise.”
Lincoln had feared the day his infernal powers would wake up. It was the reason he had worked for James. He had been desperate for salvation.
Now James was gone, and Lincoln didn’t look at Elise like she was the Devil anymore.
Now she was his salvation.
She turned his palms up to look at them. His skin danced with inner magic.
Dammit, Gerard . He was too fucking good at his job. He had seen how Elise was struggling to figure out warlock magic and located someone else to work on it for her. It was a good idea. A great idea, actually. At least, it would have been if the warlock had been anyone but Deputy Lincoln Marshall, who deserved to be free of all of this.
Elise didn’t want to be Lincoln’s salvation.
Even though he might be hers.
She took a long look at his face, carved in lines of fear and exhaustion. Her initial impression of him had been wrong. He wasn’t the same pious deputy that she had met the previous year, and his soul wouldn’t magically heal if she pushed him away. He hadn’t been better off when Elise had left him to his own devices.
And Elise was
He tipped his cowboy hat back with a knuckle. It was dusty, well-beaten leather, bleached to paleness on top by sunlight. “Guess I’m probably not anyone you were hoping you’d see again.” He shut the door before Sir Lumpy could escape. The cat tangled around his ankles, pretending that he had never intended to exit in the first place.
“Hope and expectation aren’t the same thing. What are you doing here?”
“Gerard contacted me. I’d already been thinking of heading this way when I got his letter, though. I seem to be…well, look.” He spread his hands wide. The skin on his palms glowed a very faint shade of red, as though coals had been embedded between the metacarpals.
That wasn’t normal for him. That wasn’t normal for any human.
“What is that?” Elise asked.
“I’ve got my suspicions, but I hoped you’d be able to tell me.”
She had her suspicions, too.
This was the grandson of Bain Marshall, the man honored by the statue in Northgate. A man with demon blood in his veins and relatives that could perform magic, making him as much of a potential warlock as Elise was, if he ever manifested the abilities of half-demon Gray.
A man whose hands now looked to be glowing with internal fire.
“Who let you in?” she asked. Lincoln wasn’t welcome in the sanctuary. He had tried to slaughter the werewolves with silver bullets, and the pack didn’t really care that he’d been under infernal influence.
“I let myself in. The magic wall around the sanctuary doesn’t seem to be working,” Lincoln said. “And I saw you walking here with Rylie, so I just followed you.”
“I don’t want you here,” Elise said. “Leave. Now.”
Surprise flashed over his eyes. “Gerard said you needed me.”
When Elise had last spoken to Lincoln, he had refused to help her run the Palace. He loved God and feared his infernal heritage. He didn’t want anything to with her, or Hell, or warlock magic.
She hadn’t been in a hurry to argue with him. It wasn’t his fault that he had driven a spear through her gut and tortured her with electricity, but it was hard to separate him from what he had done under demonic possession. Even though he was still the handsome cop she’d stalked like a hawk circling a field mouse, her instincts also registered him as an enemy.
At some point, Elise really wanted a man in her life that wasn’t so fucking complicated.
“I don’t want you,” she said again, more firmly than before.
“I don’t have anywhere to go. The world isn’t the way it was before I got possessed. It’s—it’s all ruined, Elise. And I have dreams. I can’t get away from the dreams.” He took her wrists. His hands burned hot. “Sometimes, when I wake up from those dreams, my bedroom is burning. I’m setting fires in my sleep.” His eyelid twitched. “It’s happened, Elise.”
Lincoln had feared the day his infernal powers would wake up. It was the reason he had worked for James. He had been desperate for salvation.
Now James was gone, and Lincoln didn’t look at Elise like she was the Devil anymore.
Now she was his salvation.
She turned his palms up to look at them. His skin danced with inner magic.
Dammit, Gerard . He was too fucking good at his job. He had seen how Elise was struggling to figure out warlock magic and located someone else to work on it for her. It was a good idea. A great idea, actually. At least, it would have been if the warlock had been anyone but Deputy Lincoln Marshall, who deserved to be free of all of this.
Elise didn’t want to be Lincoln’s salvation.
Even though he might be hers.
She took a long look at his face, carved in lines of fear and exhaustion. Her initial impression of him had been wrong. He wasn’t the same pious deputy that she had met the previous year, and his soul wouldn’t magically heal if she pushed him away. He hadn’t been better off when Elise had left him to his own devices.
And Elise was
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