Disclaimer: They belong to the lovely Karen Chance. I'm borrowing them without permission for no profit, just fun.

Enjoy!

Chapter Ten

Pritkin's POV

He will not run down the hallway to his door. He does walk admittedly faster than his usual pace.

Fishing the slim flimsy plastic key card out of his pocket seems to take ages. He's half wondering if he managed to split the seam of his pocket once more without realizing it and drop the damn thing without noticing. Snow would certainly have muffled such a minor sound; and it wasn't like he could focus on much when she was around—such a thing would have been easy to miss.

The last thing he wishes to do at this moment is return to the lobby and demand another keycard from the incredibly unhelpful clerks of the front desk. He's positive that bastard vampire Casanova has something to do with their prickly personalities anytime he needs something—he's seen the same concierge clerk smiling and talking politely with five guest before him in line; but the second they get to him…

He scowls finally closing his fingers on the thin plastic's edge and jamming it a little too roughly through the slots on the door.

Another reason he detests this Bloody place.

He absolutely does not hold his breathe walking through the door. He's not looking for her—inhaling the re-circulated air of his room trying to catch a trace of her scent.

She's not here.

He curses under his breath, all the more agitated with himself at the sinking feeling in his chest he doesn't want to acknowledge. It's for the best—he needs to finish the damn spell; and it will certainly go faster without her presence to muck up his concentration.

First he needs a shower. His fingers still feel a bit numb from the cold today. Half-demon skill set aside it was Bloody cold on that Damn mountain; a hot shower will not only warm him up but it will rinse her scent off his skin from holding her so close today. Thus improving his chances for concentration without her distracting him even when she's not in the room.

He swallows scowling and tossing his leather coat over his a chair, the fact that he's going to bind himself to her in a short amount of time only complicating matters further. He can only hope that if they're successful not only will he be able to remain on Earth to protect her, but that he can finally quell some of the firestorm of desperate need so intense it claws at him to the point of agonizing pain any time she's in his presence…it has to get better; he can't imagine it getting much worse without him finally tipping over past the point of true insanity.

And he's no good to her so delirious with desire that he can't even remember how to speak or breathe; let alone protect her life.

It's a damn good thing she isn't here right now; he'd about tell her off for making him second guess himself all damn day with her reaction this morning.

He'd been planning to use the cliff over the corpse training ground for weeks—even before she showed up as a demonstration…of how she needed to be able to think her way through a crisis; something she desperately needed. She didn't need to know about the safety spell he'd placed fifty feet above the ground below…but after this morning he'd found himself leaping off the damn cliff right after her; unable to stop himself, panic grabbing at his insides; clutching his chest so tight he couldn't breath until he'd caught her in his arms because he'd wondered if maybe the damn thing had malfunctioned the first time—if he'd cast it wrong—or someone else had interfered with it.

Despite her insistence that whatever life threatening injury she'd sustained wasn't today—he couldn't stop the fear clawing at him almost every second he was with her. No matter how hard he pushed it away; tried to set it aside in his mind it bubbled back up twisting his insides into a mess of knots and self-doubt that was liable to get them both killed had there been an actual catastrophe to divert.

Shit he'd even found himself staring at her while she grumbled and picked at the food he'd brought—half afraid she'd find some way to choke on a bite until she snapped at him finally losing her temper and letting him have it for a good ten minutes.

His ears are still ringing. Especially after she spent the last five minutes of her tirade telling him off for not listening to the first five…he'd been too distracted by the wild flash in those livid blue eyes, and the way her breasts heaved with each intake of breathe just before she'd start to let him have it again, and… Bullocks.

Maybe he needed a cold shower after-all.

Starting the shower up, and stripping from his belt potions and bandolier straps crisscrossing his clothes on auto-pilot he forced his mind to go over the steps necessary for the spell he needs to complete. Desperately needing the distraction, something else to pull his focus from the need clawing at his groin, twisting his insides into ever heightening desire and madness. But the spell, that he can focus on; like his potions; it's soothing; distracting, logical….and It's missing something, he's just not sure what—and since they will not have time to use the damn thing more than once it must be right.

It has been a long time since he has written spell work from scratch—not since he went by a very different name and was a lot more admittedly arrogant and foolish has he attempted something such as this; and this bit is no small feat.

The more he studies the problem, and the very nature of Cassie's own source of power the more his plan bothers him all the more. Twisting both the arcane and druid forms of magic to create the spell forming; at its simplest origins a single feedback loop would give any of his fellow war-mages at the corps a purple faced heart attack even in theory. What with Druid magic being what it was: wild and not exactly measurable by Circle standards.

But it was a magic he knew well—in his birth time it had been the more prevalent form of spell work. But that makes it no less dangerous. Age old stories of mad wizards and witches were well founded in the truth; he knew of many a spell worker that reached too far; too fast and pulled in too much literally burning themselves from the inside out. What didn't kill some drove others insane.

If the need were not so great; and the time so short in which to work he'd have found another way.

He frowns scrubbing the soap bar over his skin absentmindedly thinking of Nick and his vast, if it turned out in the end misguided interest in so many ancient and outdated magical techniques and spells. If the bookish mage were still alive he'd have certainly been able to offer him some other avenue or in the least a starting point for this missing component.

Three days ago he almost asked her to take him back; so he could ask the very man himself –but knowing what Nick did; and who he really was after he translated the Codex spell to bring back the God Apollo there was no way he could face him without conflict—thereby altering the timeline, and possibly their future as it stood in this moment.

Pritkin's hands close over the brushed nickel shower knob giving the undeserving object more of a vicious twist then it deserved stopping the flow of water. Steam still curling around him, ghosting ever so gently against his skin like invisible hands. His other side torturing him as it always chose to in odd moments pressing his strained resolve for any weakness. After nearly a century of fighting his other side down; pressing it into a metaphysical corner in his mind he's become incredibly adept at shutting down such sensations before they distract him; turn the ever present humming need always burning just under his skin into a searing wildfire that threatens to ignite the very air in his lungs.

Having her so very near the last two weeks has been a serious testament to the willpower and self-control he's painstakingly fabricated over the last several decades.

At times he was not certain he could resist himself—except for the knowledge that he already has; had to in order for her to be standing in front of him as she was the last few weeks. He did not give into the beast roaring under his skin, just the opposite; he'd resisted all temptation and given her power to save her life even when his other half has been dangerously close to starvation the last few years. He hasn't told her yet; unsure how to even bring it up that with his coffers of power drained as they were from so many decades of exile the power she'd showed up with nearly two weeks ago might be too much—that in his final act on Earth he may have drained himself completely.

They'll find out soon enough.

He'd started to notice the draw on his magic long before he was assigned by the Circle to investigate the rogue Cybil in the vampire's midst not so long ago…though it feels to him like ages now. Despite the slow passage of time for him brought on and made worse by the ever present clawing hunger writhing even inside his bones, it's almost as if she's been there all along. Since taking his vow to protect her—and maybe even if he's honest with himself, just before that moment she managed to wind her way under his skin so that he could not resist her call when she needed him; no matter how simple or complex the demand. Even knowing now that he might be working toward his own death.

She needed him now. Pritkin scowls dragging one of the rough cheap hotel towels over his skin before flinging the now damp material over the rack to dry despite the steam still curling thick and heavy through the damp air.

He would give her anything—when he'd first realized that she'd come to him from another time reeking of his scent; his signature—his aura and power swathed around her like a robe she couldn't contain he'd been horrified at first; but then overwhelmingly elated—a wash of thick relief like he hadn't known in almost an eternity choking his throat; constricting his chest. Because he did it. He saved her, all his nightmares over the last few months of waking up to find her a dried up shell of death in his arms were nothing but that—nightmares…when the time had come; he'd saved her.

The realization that he'd landed himself in Hell with his actions barely registered to him in that moment, and even when they did it seemed such a small price to pay for her life.

He'd never expected the intensity she would pursue him with; that she would take it as a personal crusade to bring him back—that she would feel responsible for his sentence finally being carried out and nearly get herself killed trying to undo what was already done, handed down decades before. He leans against the counter staring at his own reflection over the sink, even blurred as it is by the thousands of tiny droplets of steam gathered against the glass.

He should have known—and then he realizes with a sudden rush; he did. Because she's here now, so how could he not have known the second he poured his power into her sealing his fate that she wouldn't be right behind him ready to fight to get him back.

His temple is starting to pound with the telltale signs of a migraine.

"Bloody timeline hopping lunacy." He pushes away from the countertop crossing the bathroom floor to open the door letting the steam spill out into the cooler room air.

This is why he always insisted that she didn't meddle with affairs of time already done; because it gave him a bloody headache thinking about things forwards and backwards and sideways. It was like trying to puzzle out which came first; the ruddy chicken or the bloody egg.

He crosses the room to the bed; fingers closing over the top of the hideous comforter to pull it down—she must have made the bed before she left. He feels his lips twitch up at that, she always did complain about his house keeping skills not that he let it bother him one bit; just the opposite in fact. When he found out it bothered her he'd started leaving things about just to get a little rise out of her, watching her go all cross-eyed and huffy shouldn't make his blood boil and his cock twitch; but then almost everything the bloody girl does sets him off that way.

And then as if thinking of her brought her back she's there—and he realizes with a burst of alarm that he's still naked—completely forgot that she might pop back in at any moment…

But something's not right—and not just because she's naked too his brain and other parts of him instantly note. His startled inhale brings him the scent of bath salts and blood…and fried chicken?!

He gives his head a little shake trying to clear his mind even as his eyes focus on cataloguing her injuries; desperately trying to determine WHICH Cassie is staring at him now looking equally as gobsmacked as he feels.

And then she seems to recover at least partially from her shock—enough to gasp a single word to him; "Possession," …right before she tries to claw his Bloody eyes out.

His reflexes are the only thing that saves his eyes from a painful gouging. Her almost breathless sounding gasp of "Sorry!" reaching his ears in almost the same instant.

Whatever's got her moves quick—and it's strong he realizes feeling the hot strip of pain lancing over his cheek a moment after her attack; a fine trickle of blood coursing down his cheek from the minor wound he's already starting to heal even as he struggles to hold her hands without hurting her in the process.

"What kind of possession?" He will not think about the fact that she's naked, that he can feel her pulse pounding beneath his thumbs where he's gripped the soft satin skin of her wrist.

"Not Ghost," She's gasping, "But I don't—" she doesn't finish her eyes going wide because he realizes a split second later when she starts to thrash; whatever has got her is stopping her from speaking now.

And if she keeps brushing up against his skin like that Possession might be the least of their problems... He snarls no longer fighting simply to keep her body under control—but now his as well.

Every muscle in his body going rigid before shoving her back down onto the bed using a bit more force than might be necessary; it's a mistake the second he's got her pinned between his thighs he realizes. Now every thrash of her body imprints her naked skin against his, he has to bite the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood on his tongue; divert part of his conscious mind to reciting every word of the arcane he knows—in high dialect struggling for control. It helps enough that even when her knees bend up and her entire body rolls against his in what his incubus side wants to view as blatant invitation he's able to get both her wrists locked in one hand…and Not use his now free palm to cup those perfect pale rose tipped peaks of flesh thrusting towards him with every thrashing arch of her spine.

He raises his now free hand instead desperately summoning half the potions on his shelf—all the ones that will have no effect on a human and he can safely use. It's probably overkill for whatever is trying to control her seeing as most of the potions are in there super concentrated form—have yet to be diluted to add to his potion belt, but he's not taking chances—has no idea what kind of demon is holding her. And the longer she thrashes and bucks beneath him the more his control slips through his grasp, already he can feel his blood pounding through every vein, every muscle in his body tightening with a rolling shudder of blatant overwhelming need that blurs his damn vision and scrapes over his raw nerves feeling too much like soft fingertips and a hot wet mouth and Fuck. He swallows barely managing to choke back a sound he won't classify right now; not ever because fuck that would be embarrassing, and he needs to focus Damnit!

And apparently whatever is holding her has no effect on the glare she's sending him a moment later. Her skin now a sludgy kaleidoscoping hue of smearing red and green, and gold and brown. He didn't mean to get it in her hair… And she'll just have to get over it; it's not like it won't wash out in a few weeks…most of it.

But it seems she's not the only one that's taken offense to his dye job; seeing as that's about all the effect his potions have had; He's still trying to puzzle out why his potions have had no effect when she jerks off the bed setting his teeth on edge for completely different reasons he shouldn't be distracted by right now—and then helping him immensely to clear his head a split second later; he's sailing through the air.

His back connects with the wall opposite the bed with far more force then he'd have given her human muscles credit for being able to generate; but it must be the entity under her skin he reasons even as the wall behind him buckles under the force and he suddenly finds himself out in the next room—thankfully empty, rug burn on his ass and a serious throbbing ache over his ribs and spine.

What the Fuck?

No demon would be able to resist that many different potions; it seems all he's managed to do is piss it off. With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach he realizes what else is capable of this kind of possession that his potions would have no effect on. He can't stand; not yet something in his spine not quite in the right place thanks to the two by fours he just broke like toothpicks with his exit. But he can crawl.

It takes an agonizingly long time, hand over hand across the carpet ignoring the new rug burns across his hip and thighs desperate to reach her; Gods only know what that thing was doing to her without him there to stop it…

He reaches the hole in the wall, grateful that whatever issue his back is having it seems to be sorting itself out rather quickly; pinched nerve it would seem then and not a shattered bone… and that's good because Cassie's fragile human form is thrashing and writhing on the bed and not with pleasure the way he'd want when she's on his bed; she's screaming through clenched teeth; shields slammed into place he realizes a split second later holding it in—keeping it from attacking him and it's reacting like the thing is trying to tear her apart from the inside. And it might if he doesn't do something and fast. Luckily he's just inches from his footlocker even through the wall. He has to grab the corner of the blastedly heavy thing; yanking it around so he can lift the lid and digging his hand frantically inside for the item he needs…wondering for a half a second if it might actually be in a drawer; or under the bed but no; There! His fingers close over the cold iron cylinder at the bottom beside what feels like socks and okay maybe she has a point about his organizational skills…

"Cassie catch!"

He's not even sure if she's capable of such an action but a second later her hand snaps out despite the fact that her neck is arched back so far it looks like her own spine is about to snap and then she's levitating off the bed giving him a view he quickly tries to block from his mind because something bursts out of her skin a split second later. It swirls around her in a dark omnipresent furious screeching cloud and before he can get his hand up to summon the will to trap it; or even try to it bursts through the stained glass window over his bed managing to send the dislodged broken arc of glass shrapnel inward in one last act of vengeance and Cassie is rolling off the bed; tumbling across the carpet escaping most of the falling debris, thank god.

He stumbles through the drywall one foot catching the edge still not quite responding enough for him to stand properly. He collapses completely undignified against the floor of his own room, not that he cares about that right now, too busy making his way across the carpet half crawling, and then managing to get his feet under him again just a few feet from her huddled form. The carpet around his bed ringed by glass and plaster. Motes of dust and bits of god-awful themed wallpaper fluttering on the air currents from the now blown out window.

The heat of Nevada in summer a slap in the face, sweat already damp against the base of his spine; though that could also be from the struggle both with her and his other half; and the strain to heal after such a long day.

He wants to ask her if she's okay, but she's staring up at him and he can't form the words; just lost for a moment in those impossibly startled blue eyes. Still not completely sure which Cassie he's staring at. Too afraid to say something and get it wrong; mess something up telling the wrong Cassie that another version of her has been here.

So they just stare at each other both breathing too fast, his heart still racing relief flooding through his already adrenaline flooded system making him feel almost high because they made it. And the fact that she's not saying anything still means this is probably his time Cassie and not the other and now he knows why she was so freaked out by the god damn picnic basket and the second he sees her again he's going to have to sit on his god damn hands so he doesn't ring her neck for not giving him some kind of warning…

She could have told him to put on pants at least.

And then the door burst open to the hallway ripping the top hinge right out of the wall—not that it mattered much with the giant hole in the wall leading to the adjoining room, or the ruined window giving him a skyscraper view of Vegas…

They both glance up at the flustered looking vampire blocking out most of the light from the hallway with his massive frame. Marco's eyes sweep the room taking in the general state of their surroundings before his eyes narrow fixing on their naked forms.

"The fuck?"

and yes, that sums up his day almost perfectly.

Cassie just stares at the completely poleaxed vampire like they do this all time, and he only wishes that was more of an exaggeration. But she's looking a bit dazed and he's starting to wonder if she's really alright when she licks her lips swallowing slowly and announcing in a small voice, "I think I freaked out the staff," right before she faints.

Marco takes that moment to turn on him. "You wanna explain to me why the Fuck your Naked?"

Ah. Here we go again.

He huffs reaching over to check her pulse before answering, managing to get his legs to finally cooperate enough to stand; crossing to the dresser and retrieving a pair of jeans as Marco's leaning over her checking her pulse himself like he doesn't know how to find one.

He has to bite back a snarl of annoyance. "I was going to bed."

Marco doesn't seem to have anything to refute that; he simply scoops her limp form up off the carpet cursing at the glass embedded in her skin. He stands back up and they stare at each other silently for a pause.

"Would you mind joining us upstairs…"

He nods following the vampire out into the hallway, both of them aware that even if Marco hadn't asked there's no way he wouldn't follow her back upstairs, not after an attack like this.

The ride in the elevator is painfully quiet, he can't help but glance at her still form cradled against Marco's hulking chest, in such a way to hide as much of her naked form as possible; blood seeping into his probably thousand dollar suit shirt.

"Just another day in paradise." Marco announces to no one in particular just before the elevator doors slide open to reveal the complete chaos of her suite spilling out into the hall.

He sighs, glancing at her inert form, something in his chest he doesn't want to name fluttering with a wash of heat all the way to his toes. "Damn straight."