Why? He’d seemed tense earlier, and Irial hadn’t missed the glares aimed at him. The glares were not unwarranted; jealousy was a mortal trait. Setting up watch outside Leslie’s building seemed overreactive. Usually. Irial spared himself a wry smile. Watching over her is overreactive unless it’s me doing it or ordering it. The difference was that Irial knew the horrors that existed in the world around them—had, in fact, ordered horrors committed—so his cautious streak where Leslie was concerned was logical.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

Michael startled.

He wasn’t fey, nor did he have the Sight, so Irial made himself visible. At this hour, Leslie wouldn’t be coming outside. And if she did… Irial smiled. She wouldn’t expect him to act any differently. Leslie saw him for who he was, for what he was, and loved him still. Despite being what nightmares are made of, Irial wasn’t frightening to her.

It wasn’t Leslie who saw him, though. Between one step and the next, he made himself seen to another mortal. If Michael had been a threat, Irial wouldn’t do so.

The boy swallowed nervously, took a step backward, and blinked several times. To his credit, he didn’t run or scream or do anything awkward. It spoke well of Leslie’s character judgment that she’d selected the mortal as a friend.

“What are you doing here?” Irial asked as gently as he could. “Why are you at this place? At this hour? Hiding in the dark?”

“Checking on her.” The mortal straightened his shoulders, stood still enough to almost hide his trembling. “What are you? You just appeared. Right? You did.”

“I did.” Irial repressed a smile at the boy’s bravery. Many mortals did not handle the shock of seeing the impossible become manifest. Leslie had chosen well when she’d made friends with this one.

“It doesn’t matter. I won’t let you hurt her,” Michael said.

Irial waited. Silence often proved to be more incentive than questions.

“I saw you earlier. Everyone did. You’re the one stalking her,” Michael accused.

Irial let the shadows around him shift visibly, let his wings become seen. “No, I’m visiting her, watching out for her. She knows where I am. She expects me to be here. Does she know you’re here?”

“No.” The boy’s gaze flickered nervously to the ground, back to Irial, and then to the building. “I worry, though. She’s so…fragile.”

“No one will hurt her. Ever.” Irial shook his head. “Once, I was the King of Nightmares. Now, I’m something else. No matter what I am, I’ll be here keeping her safe as long as we both live.”

Michael narrowed his gaze. “You’re not human.”

“She is,” Irial said. “And she needs human friends…like you.”

“Michael.” The boy held out his hand. “I’m Michael.”

“Irial.” Irial shook the mortal’s hand. “I know. I watch when you can’t see me too. You care for her.”

Michael didn’t reply, but he didn’t need to. Irial had watched the mortal talk to her, escort her to her building, say things that made her smile. He was a good human. Unfortunately for him, he was also half in love with Leslie, ready to protect her from threats. Irial had seen that clearly several weeks ago when he’d watched them walking at night. If Irial cared overmuch for humans, he’d feel sympathy for the boy; as it was, Irial was practical: Michael’s emotions made him useful.

“Tell me why you are here,” Irial encouraged.

“Someone’s been calling her at weird hours,” Michael blurted. “After the way you were watching her, I thought maybe it was you. She says not to worry, but she…I just…”

“I understand.” Irial smiled and dropped an arm around the boy’s shoulders. “These are the sorts of things I’d like you to tell me, Michael. Come sit with me.”

Michael glanced at her building. “Shouldn’t we…you at least…stay here?”

“I have a flat across the street for when I’m in town.” Irial led the boy to a nondescript building. “That way I’m close if she needs me. If not me, there are others near enough to hear her should she call for us.”

“Oh.” Michael looked at him for a moment. His gaze was assessing, albeit far too trusting.

In another era, in another life, walking off blindly with a Gancanagh was foolish. Perhaps it still is. Irial meant the boy no harm. He was merely a tool, a useful resource. Leslie was what mattered. But for one other in all the world, everyone else was fair game for whatever he needed in order to assure her happiness and safety.

When Leslie woke the next morning, she was still holding the phone. She didn’t hear a dial tone, so she asked, “Hello?”

“Good morning,” Niall said.

“You stayed on the phone while I slept?” She sat up.

Niall laughed. “You don’t talk in your sleep.”

“I snore.”

“A little,” he admitted. “But I liked being there to hear it.”

“Weirdo.” She felt safe, though. Having him there—even only on the phone—made her feel protected. “I’m glad you were…here.”

“I wish I was really there.”

“I…I know.” She never knew the right words to reply to such things. They all fell short, partly because they weren’t the whole truth. She wanted to be with him—and Irial—but doing so would mean being in the Dark Court.