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especially as the sun went down. She stood on the balcony with the door open, letting the cold blast from the very efficient hotel air conditioning cool her back while the warm breeze brushed her hair from her face.
     
    It was hard to believe, when watching the bright tur quoise pool fourteen floors below with its yellow and white fringe of deck chairs and the rippling lake beyond turn pink in the sunset, that someone in this hotel was probably trying to kill her.
     
    Movement by her side; Greyson rested his forearms on the rail beside her. Beyond his sharp profile the landscape blurred, as though he was the only real thing against a blue screen in a movie.
     
    “What do you think?”
     
    “I think it’s beautiful.” She picked up the gin and tonic Spud had made for her off the iron table beside her and took a sip. Perfect. “I still can’t believe we’re here, though. Especially after what Win said this morning.”
     
    He shrugged. “Nobody’s particularly worried about the FBI, and everyone wants the meeting, so . . . not many acceptable options on such short notice.”
     
    “But they went to Win’s house. To his wife. I can’t believe he isn’t more upset.”
     
    “Oh, he’s upset. He just isn’t going to show it, any more than the rest of us would. Remember who we’re dealing with.”
     
    “Right.” Demons were very into appearances. Powerful demons, Gretnegs, were even more so, and Winston Lawden—Win—was Gretneg of House Caedes Fuiltean, the blood demons. “I don’t suppose we could just stay in here tonight? Get room service and watch pay-per-view?”
     
    He smiled, and the golden light hitting his skin as he did made her breath catch in her throat.
     
    He noticed. She knew he would. Reddish light that had nothing to do with the sunset flared in his eyes. “We have some time before dinner,” he said softly, drawing her close. “It would be a shame to waste it standing here, wouldn’t it?”
     
    “I don’t think I’d call it a waste,” she started, but she was only joking and they both knew it. She let him interrupt her without protest, let his kiss draw her away from any other silly ideas about talking. He was right. It would be a waste of time.
     
    And a waste of the beautiful balcony, where the breeze lifted her hair from her shoulders and neck so his mouth could find her bare skin more easily. What the wind didn’t do his hand did, gathering the loose strands and twisting them gently at the back of her head.
     
    Her own hands were busy as well, finding the buttons of his shirt and opening them one by one, slowly, savoring the unwrapping. The night before had, of course, been a chaste one; work had kept them apart for a few days before. It felt like longer, much longer.
     
    Power rushed through her, smooth and warm like melted chocolate. Greyson’s power, tinged with fire and smoke, igniting her nerve endings. She let it dance along them like tiny sparks before sending it back, colored with her own power.
     
    His sharp breath made her push harder. Made her give him more, energy she knew smelled like her, tasted like her. The demon powers that had been a dubious Christmas gift had one clear benefit, and she used it, sending the essence of herself into him and feeling him accept it. Feeling his breath grow hotter, his kisses more urgent, his body harder as he drew more of it in.
     
    They swayed back inside, both aware that even private balconies weren’t necessarily private. He swung the French door shut behind them with his foot and pulled her hips closer, pressing her against him. Pressing more power back into her, a circuit that did not stop, until she couldn’t be entirely certain whose power was whose. They didn’t exist as separate entities anymore, not in her head or in any of her senses.
     
    Orange with flame and dark with secrets, the energy they created together burned through her, sparked with desire. She gave herself over to it, pulled it into her the