Free Dire Wants by Stephanie Tyler

discarded clothing in his free hand and led her into the kitchen. “I’ll wash your clothes—you need to eat.”
    She didn’t bother protesting, because her stomach rumbled and she needed food so she could wrap her mind around whatever was happening here. She needed to keep her strength up in case she had to run—or fight—again.
    “Why are you doing this?” she asked as they crossed the first giant room and went into an even bigger kitchen with shiny stainless-steel appliances everywhere and dark wood cabinets.
    “Because my brothers and I need your help.”
    At least he didn’t lie. “With what, exactly, can I help you? Do you need a sketch artist?” Even as she spoke, her brand burned. She resisted the urge to put her hand back there and feel for it. “And how did you know I was in danger tonight?”
    “You called for me.”
    “No, I didn’t.”
    “You sketched me,” he pointed out. She flushed as he pulled out the pages that had dropped from her sketchbook and handed them to her.
    He’d been at her apartment looking for her. “You’re a good-looking man. It wasn’t a hardship drawing you.”
    He gave her a small smirk even though she swore she saw a slight rise of color on his cheeks.
    “You want to tell me why you ran?” he asked.
    “Which time?”
    “Both.” He pointed to a chair and she sat at the big, scarred oak table. He grabbed a bottle of juice from the fridge—her favorite kind—and asked, “This okay?”
    She nodded. He also laid out sandwich meats and bread on the table between them and made a lot of sandwiches. Like he was expecting an army.
    He pushed a sandwich toward her. In between bites, she started to talk about the phone call and her panic in her apartment. “I know it doesn’t make sense, but I just felt . . . something was wrong.”
    “It was,” he said, halfway through his fifth sandwich. He ate calmly, slowly. But, man, could he eat.
    She realized her body had stopped trembling. “Will they really not find me here?”
    “Not in the house, no.”
    “Are you some kind of . . . secret agent or something?”
    He snorted. “Hardly.”
    “Don’t get me wrong—I’m grateful you helped me. But Leo Shimmin . . . he’s not going to stop looking for me, and I don’t understand any of this. Maybe I screwed up a case or something? I mean, he’s never been anything but good to me.”
    “Then why did you run when he called?” he asked.
    She had no real answer for that, except that she’d followed her gut. And ultimately, that had saved her life.

Chapter 7
    S eb heard Leo come into the compound, knew the head of the trappers would rush immediately to him for retribution.
    The witch called Kate had escaped because of the Dires. Seb’s familiar had told him the story earlier and Seb had thrown himself into his other work rather than worry about the wrath he’d face because of the loss.
    He’d been bringing the Dire ghost army through their first training exercise. For tonight, they’d been let loose upon the dead only, and it took every last bit of power Seb had to keep the reins on them. Getting them to attack the living was the next step—and it would require help.
    Meeting the ghosts face-to-face was like being in Rifter’s past—one he’d heard so much about when they’d been best friends for centuries, Seb felt as though he’d lived it alongside the Dire king. Now he was signing something akin to Rifter’s death warrant as much as he was his own.
    He wished the demon that possessed his body would drag him to hell, because he’d rather that than dealing with this.
    You always knew it would happen—could’ve taken steps to avoid it.
    But he hadn’t, and he was paying.
    He’d been brutally punished—deservedly so—for sending Leo’s brother, Mars, into the fray and letting him get killed by Rifter and Gwen. It would be the last time Seb helped any of the Dires. He’d continued to let punishments be meted out to him because the demon liked