Page 17 of Try As I Smite
Had he been the one to bring the demon problem down on his own people?
The familiarity of the street where they now stood settled over him like déjà vu. Thankfully, not in the same gut-wrenching way his childhood home had. Sparkling red and green Christmas decorations adorned the streetlamps and storefronts and signs advertised holiday sales. Familiar Christmas carols piped from several of the stores as patrons opened the doors.
Clearly this was his memory they were visiting. A theme was starting to form here. Both of their previous memories had happened around the holidays. Did she despise this time of year as much as he did?
“Come on,” she said, then took off down the street, obviously having an idea of what was going on. Only…why would she?
With a frown he hurried to catch up, long strides bringing him to her side quickly. “This is my memory,” he said. “Shouldn’t I be leading?”
She flicked him a wary glance. “I’m pretty sure this one is mine.”
Alasdair stopped her with a hand to her elbow. “It can’t be. After…my family’s death, I went to live with my aunt and uncle in New York. I walked this street almost every day between school and their home.” He’d refused the chauffeur.
Dark eyes searched his. Delilah was back in control of herself, not betraying her thoughts by so much as a blink.
He didn’t like it.
In the same way he didn’t like it when the ending of a book didn’t meet with his expectations. Or when demons showed up and started possessing his people. It couldn’t be because he’d liked seeing the softer side of her. The side that had welcomed his hold, his comfort. The sense of…connection…to the real woman behind the façade.
“Don’t do that,” he said.
She blinked, a crease forming between her brows. “Do what?”
“Wall me out.”
“I’m not.”
He leaned over to look closely into her eyes. “Yeah. The bricks are going up faster than I thought.” He straightened, fighting the ridiculous urge to grin at her aggrieved glare. He’d rather she be angry than shut off. “Like it or not, we’re partners in this.”
“I know that,” she snapped.
“Good.”
She threw up her hands. “Great.”
They both settled, gazes locked, and damned if heat didn’t flare through him. Gods, he wanted her. A bad idea no matter what angle he looked at it from. Maybe antagonizing her was a bad idea.
“You’re sure?” she asked, breaking his thoughts into fragments. “About this being yours?”
He took a second to pick back up on the conversation. “Yes.”
“Then how would I know that the next vision is going to happen down here?” She turned him by the shoulders, and Alasdair stilled.
He recognized this alley.
Darker than others, full of boxes and piles of trash bags. As a kid, he’d gotten a creepy feeling about it, though he refused to avoid it. And a good thing, too, because—
Eighteen-year-old him came strolling down the street and passed right through current day him, sending a sickening sensation rolling through his stomach. But the memory of himself stopped suddenly, staring into the darkness of the alley. Listening.
Alasdair already knew for what.
…
Delilah had no doubt exactly what came next. The windigo she’d defeated. Horrible creatures, and she’d only ever come across the one. This had been a job she hadn’t contracted out to any of her people, taking it on herself, because of a promise she’d made to a phoenix in exchange for a favor. But what the hell did that have to do with Alasdair?
She peered closer at the boy standing before them. Almost a man, balanced at the beginning of adult life, though his blue eyes had held a sadness that day. Something deeper than what a kid that age should know.
Black hair. Crystal blue eyes. Cut glass jaw. The same aura of total command.
