Taming the Demon by Doranna Durgin

her. It served Compton’s purpose, and that’s what mattered. And then James would be dead, just like his brother, and Natalie—if she survived—would still be Compton’s.
    And Compton would have the blade.
    Except that Devin James hadn’t called.
    Compton paced to the window, looking out on the estate, tucked away as it was for a winter of hard hoarfrosts and scant snow in the crisp, dry air. A familiar sight, soothing in its exacting nature—making way for the clarity of what he felt beneath it all—a tingle of avarice, a deep thrum of want, a bass undertone of entitlement.
    Unlike James, he knew what he was; he didn’t fight it. And that allowed him to integrate all the better...to conceal himself among those who were lesser.
    But James was not lesser. And so he had to be handled carefully, indeed. Sending Natalie back to him now, even on the best of pretexts, might well be enough to alert him. A fine line...
    In his peripheral vision, Natalie looked up from the resource book—a thing of her own making, because while she used a tablet at his behest, she preferred the loose leaf with its collection of business cards, clippings, laminated yellow page entries and neatly transcribed notes. “Sir?” she asked, tucking back a wayward strand from her temple, the rest of her hair barely tamed by the twist in which she’d trapped it. “Is there something I can do?”
    Why, yes. As you look particularly fine today, my dear, I would very much like you to bend over that desk.
    Maybe one day. But right now, he’d look to the long view. “I’ve pulled back on the Alley of Life restaurant project,” he said, referring to the controversial introduction of community gardens in Albuquerque’s narrow urban allies. “I’m almost certain these threats stem from the latest developments there—and it’s obvious you’ve been associated with that project, given your invaluable assistance.” He hesitated just long enough for her shock, the faint shake of her head in denial.... She hadn’t said anything, but he knew she loved this project.
    Just as he knew the threats had nothing to do with it.
    “Unfortunately,” he told her, not quite giving her time to protest, “I don’t have the luxury of postponing my involvement indefinitely. I had hoped to find a suitable bodyguard by now.” In fact, he’d conducted five token interviews.
    “I’m afraid I’ve been wondering if it might be necessary for you to take a paid sabbatical,” he added. Because he knew Natalie...take away the work on which she so thrived, and she might go straight to James on her own. He could hardly come up with a more convincing ploy to draw James in than Natalie in sincere distress.
    He’d known she’d be shocked—and that she’d quickly hide it. “I’m sure that’s not necessary—”
    “Are you?” he asked, cutting her off—reminding her who was in control here, if so subtly. “Because I can only interrupt my business for just so long, Natalie.”
    “That’s not what I meant.” She shook her head. “Maybe if I stop by his place again—”
    Compton gave her a gentle smile. “Natalie, Devin James knows his own mind.”
    “He was hurt,” she said. “I should have checked back in on him. But I was so sure...” Wistfulness touched that mouth; she looked away, as if she could hide it from him.
    Possessiveness flared; he couldn’t stop himself from saying, “It may be that we simply asked too much of him.”
    “You don’t say.”
    Compton jerked at the unfamiliar voice—deep and a little rusty and belonging to the man who now lounged in the doorway, his hands jammed into black vest pockets, gray hoodie beneath. Worn jeans, sloppy black high-top sneakers, sunglasses hanging from a slanted breast pocket in the vest...and a self-assured expression.
    Not much like the man he’d been several days ago, standing in the entry and so obviously struggling.
    Damn.
    If Compton had realized the blade’s strength, the man’s strength,