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irritation.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œAppropriate for a raven. Bird’s-eye view of the city and all.” He glanced at the blood pooling rapidly beneath her. “But too damn far. We’re going to a hospital.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œI’m driving. Not up to you.”
    â€œI can still fly.” She met his steady gaze until he returned his attention to the road.
    â€œMy place then. I’m in SoMa, practically under the bridge.”
    â€œHmm. I remember when that was a swamp.” She was feeling woozy now and wondered if she had lost more blood than she had initially thought. She laid her head back on the seat rest. The adrenaline had abandoned her now, replaced with exhaustion and an unnerving trembling in her hands. She pressed her palms down onto her twitching thighs and let her tired eyelids fall shut.
    â€œDon’t pass out on me,” he growled.
    She opened one eye and noticed his white knuckles on the wheel and the fact that they were going entirely too fast.
    â€œAnd don’t wrap us around a tree.”
    She placed her hand over her wound and pressed, feeling the blood continue to ooze between her fingers. Her eyes jerked open when they drew to the shoulder of the road. He threw the transmission into Park and removed that silly, boring tie then threaded it beneath her thigh. Next he used a crisp white handkerchief to blanket her gash.
    She stared at the small square of fabric.
    â€œWho carries one of those anymore?” It was a small thing, but it pointed to his age. Had he watched a century or two turn?
    â€œCreature of habit.” He cinched the makeshift bandage and resumed their trip.
    Â 
    She hadn’t expected to doze, but she did, wakening as they pulled into an underground parking facility beside an elevator. He held the door and she exited, stiffly but without his assistance. Her thigh burned with each step. A check of the bandage showed that she had bled through.
    They reached the elevator and waited for the car.
    â€œYou’re right in the middle of a pretty touristy area.”
    He cast her a sidelong glance. “Lots of restaurants.”
    â€œFull of people who are transient, temporary and, perhaps, open to a little fling.”
    He looked suddenly imperious and, were it not for the ticking at his left eye, she would have thought she’d guessed wrong.
    â€œYour point?”
    â€œYou live alone?”
    Now he was scowling. “Makes it easier since I don’t age like they do and my own family, well, let’s just sayI’m not expecting an invitation to Thanksgiving dinner again this year.”
    She lifted her hands in surrender. “Sorry. I just, well, we have that in common, too. I lost my parents when I was young.”
    He didn’t ask her how they died. It was the usual thing to say one was sorry and then inquire as to the cause. But Cesar remained grim and silent. His behavior made her wonder if he had already guessed what had happened.
    He punched the elevator button six times in rapid succession and muttered, “Come on.”
    The door dinged open. Bess took a step forward and wobbled badly.
    â€œTo hell with it,” he said, and scooped her effortlessly up in his arms. He stepped into the compartment. “Press nine.”
    How odd to be captured in the arms of a Spirit Child, trapped in this small space and not feel threatened. She was wounded, vulnerable and yet Cesar Garza showed only concern over her welfare. His reaction was beyond odd. The Niyanoka she had met to date recognized her by her aura and then avoided her as if she were carrying some fatal contagious disease. Why didn’t he?

Chapter 3
    T he elevator was always slow, but never as lethargic as now when he held Bess in his arms. The compartment was not the only thing rising. Here she was helpless in his arms and he was ready to take her right in this tiny chamber. He kept his hands securely on the fabric of her outfit. It wouldn’t