"Maybe both of them?” Ryan's fingers caressed a knife hilt, his black eyes narrowing. Stuck baby-sitting a damn Malik. The demon whispered and chattered inside his head, he ignored it. If it wasn't for orders, I'd…?

But there were orders, and good ones, too. He was to look after the Malik, make sure he didn't get into trouble, and take out any demon too big for the other man's training and fragile humanity. Ryan drew back a little further, wishing the sun wasn't up. Night was the better time for him; even though his human part shielded him from the harmful effects of daylight it was still uncomfortable.

"The head's a frosty little bitch. She didn't know anything about the goddamn books. The sheela's the one. Besides, a civvies skin wouldn't have the smarts or the talent to take out a skornac. It would take an Other; and neither of them are genetic witches."

You're a skin too, Paul. Ryan shrugged. Only thing saving you from being a blind skin is the Malik. You poor bastard. “Guess not.” He glanced out over the street. Night came early in winter, and dusk was thankfully gathering in the corners and alleys. The best time, when the sun didn't hurt and the demon in him bloomed, burning through the layers of fragile humanity and turning him into something more. “All right. I'll take the short one, you get the sheela.” I shouldn't let you deal with an Other alone, but orders are orders. And on this run you're the boss. As fucking usual.

"Good deal.” Paul's shoulders came up and he blinked. He was a handsome one, and far from the worst when it came to pairing up; there were a few Malik who delighted in ordering their Drakulein around. His habit of chasing women while on runs sometimes got him into trouble, but he at least he wasn't a sadistic bastard. “Stay on the short one, just to be sure. All right?"