“Which means she may choose to write about the diary.” He groaned. “How can there possibly be good news?”

“She doesn’t know its purpose. Yet. She’s been told that writing in the book will grant her sexual fantasies. And I’m not sure she’s convinced it’s real.”

“Pray it stays that way, at least long enough for you to do whatever you must—steal, sweet talk, or seduce her away from that book.”

“I’ll work on that while determining the name of her source. You’re coming to help, right? Use a bit of magic and . . .”

“Can’t. There was another Anarki attack two hours ago. I’ve just left what was the Pullmans’ estate. Burned to the ground. Their newly transitioned daughter is missing. Everyone else is dead. I have to report to the Council.”

That wasn’t good news. If the Anarki were attacking again, that meant Mathias was on the mend and his power rising once more. Caden didn’t want to care, but . . . he rubbed his tired eyes with his fingers. After seeing so much war and death in his life, attacks on families, on women, troubled him.

“What will you do next?”

Bram sighed. “What we have been: keep searching for Mathias, not to mention Shock and his brother, Zain, who appears to be the evil bastard’s right-hand lackey.”

“Have you considered telling other magical families about this attack? They have to start protecting themselves.”

“So you’re going to pretend you care about magickind now?”

Caden restrained a growl. “I would not wish what’s happened to my family on another.”

“Rumors are beginning to spread about Mathias’s return, but the decision to officially tell magickind falls with the Council. They approve transcasts and issue edicts.”

“Certainly a few words on how best to defend yourself—”

“Which is why no such edict will be created any time soon. No one knows how to defend against Mathias, and the Council would rather err on the side of silence than inaccuracy. Bloody stupid bastards.”

“You’re one of them,” Caden pointed out.

“The lone voice of reason, I assure you. I’ve long argued that we should communicate magical news via transcasts or the like frequently. But by the time the Council agrees to the verbiage . . .” Bram scoffed. “It’s old news.”

That didn’t surprise Caden. Dawdling old fools, Lucan had long said, even their Uncle Sterling at times.

Caden was curious why Bram stayed on the Council, likely enduring one frustration after another. But it was none of Caden’s affair. He didn’t want to become more entangled in the magical world. Already, he was in too deep.

“You’ll come to assist with the diary once you’ve helped the victims of the latest attack?”

“As soon as I can,” Bram said. “Keep working on Sydney Blair.”

Caden could think of any number of ways in which he’d like to work on Sydney. Completely naked with her on her back, came immediately to mind. But that couldn’t happen. Now he needed to focus on his brother. “I will.”

CHAPTER TWO

CADEN RANG OFF WITH Bram just before Sydney’s door burst open. In walked the source of his frustrations and fantasies, carrying the little red book.

A fresh wave of lust blazed across his senses. An electric pulse revved down his spine, shuddered across his skin. He burned with need. What the devil was wrong with him? Lately, he’d felt . . . off. Tired one minute, wired the next. His senses quickened, his fingertips tingled. The odd sweating out of nowhere . . . bloody awful, but it fit with his libido being ever ready.

What ailed him? A frustrating mission? The redheaded dynamo who drove him beyond sanity? Yes to both. The stress wasn’t helping. And he missed his job and his adopted home in Dallas, away from all this hocus-pocus. But he feared the problem’s true cause was magic. The urge to flee before it ripped away another loved one loomed large.

“What is it, MacTavish?” She thrust one hand on her hip. The other held the Doomsday Diary casually. God, if she had any idea what that book could do . . . he had to wrest it from her as quickly as possible.

Surreptitiously, he withdrew his mobile phone from his belt, pretending to sort through the menus. Quickly, he snapped a picture.

“Hey!” she protested.

“Sorry. New phone. Was trying to silence it. Still learning.”

She paused. “What do you want? If you’ve no need to talk, I have a pub stool and a pint waiting for me.”

She was in a snit. Caden hoped she wasn’t angry that he’d dismissed Jamie. The thought that she might have any interest in that knuckle-dragger made him grind his teeth.

“Right, then. I have some questions.”

“Shocking.” She crossed the room, slim hips swaying.

A caustic Sydney was a dazzling sight. He shouldn’t stare, but she’d snared him from the first, dug under his skin. Pink tinged her fair face, and her auburn hair tumbled across her shoulders. Those flashing brown eyes were a sucker punch to his gut.

Don’t think about her. Think smart. Think mission.

He’d rather think about having her naked underneath him.

“I’ll get to the point.”

“Lovely.”

Sydney stood her ground and stared back with admirable moxie for someone who didn’t reach his chin. She defended her stories with considerable passion and wit, fighting back when things got rough. The fact she was also smart and sexy made her damn near impossible to resist.

“But let me first say,” she went on. “If you’re going to warn me about the evils of Jamie, I’m a big girl.”

He hadn’t planned on it, but since she’d brought it up. . . .“Are you actually interested in him?”

She shrugged defensively. “Why do you care?”

The possibility drove him mad. He’d never been jealous of such a wanker. He’d never been jealous, period. Splendid, a new low for him. And if the truth slipped out, she would know he wanted her in his bed, her nails in his back, screaming his name. She’d given off clues that she felt similarly, so revealing his desire would be a match on kindling. Still, he must have latent masochistic tendencies because the urge to tell Sydney in excruciating detail exactly how he wanted her bombarded him. But if he let himself be distracted, he might never find Anka. And his brother could pass to his nextlife.

“It’s none of my business, I grant you. We’ve been working together just a few days, and I don’t know you well. But I think you can do better.”

Sydney cocked her head. “Are you offering?”

Caden’s heart skipped a beat before blasting into a furious rhythm. Though every muscle in his body tensed at her suggestion, he doubted Sydney knew how close she was to feeling her desk against her back.

“I’m merely saying that you’re a beautiful, talented woman. You deserve more.”

Sydney looked at him from beneath the veil of her ginger-shaded lashes. Cunning shone in those brown eyes. And desire. The seductive sight was a blow to his gut. Bloody hell, that was the kind of look that made him ache to give her everything she desired.

“Why do you care?”

The truth would land them both in trouble. “If Jamie turns out to be an ax murderer, I’m out of a job.”

Sydney rolled her eyes. “Prat. I’m leaving. On Monday, we’ll continue with the magical battle story. I might have the needed facts by then.”

He tensed, but did his best to act casually. “You’ll be talking to your source over the weekend?”

“Perhaps. It depends on how willing she is to talk.”

Not only did Caden need to find out if Anka was her source, he feared that Syndey’s stories made her a target for Mathias. Now that she had the Doomsday Diary, he worried even more.

“I have a great deal of experience at extracting information from interview subjects. If you brought me along—”

“Nice try, but no. Besides, I’m not certain she’ll emerge from hiding.”

“I’ll protect her, if that’s her concern.” And you.

She waved his suggestion away. “You can’t, not against magic. But this conversation leads me to wonder . . . if you have so much experience back in the States working for a ‘reputable’ paper, why have you chosen to work for Out of This Realm?”

Clever. Caden wasn’t surprised she was questioning his cover. Maddened . . . but not surprised.

“As I mentioned when I started Monday, my brother is ill and requires my care. I don’t know how long he’ll need me, and a man has to make a living.”

“Indeed. What ails him again?”

Explaining mate mourning to a human? A definite no-no. “His physicians aren’t certain, so I may be here for some time. While here, I could be very beneficial to you.”

Beneficial, indeed. Sydney could picture it. Craved it, in fact. But if he was interested in anything beyond a platonic working relationship, he was doing a bloody good job of hiding it.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said finally. “I’m off for the weekend. Ta ta.”

She turned to go, but he grabbed her arm. His hand felt warm, large. Real honest-to-goodness tingles shot through her body as he swung her around.

“Wait! The continuation of the battle in the tunnel, will you run that story next week?”

She drew in a shaky breath. “If my source talks more over the weekend, I might have enough information. If not, I have a list of related stories I may be able to flesh out. Holly says circulation is up, and readers are eager for more about magickind.”

“Let me help you. Please.”

“Because . . . ?”

“Your work is fascinating.”

Really? He usually seemed annoyed. “Why aren’t you interested in my other stories?”

“Cheeseburger-addicted alien attacks London McDonald’s? Stonehenge vandalized by ghosts? A vicar’s conversation with Kurt Cobain?”

“The first story wasn’t mine originally. I only followed up, as ordered. The other two might be perfectly legitimate. Who knows Stonehenge’s secrets, and the vicar might have connections to the other side. How are those less credible than a magical war?”

He hesitated, rubbing that square chin she’d spent hours looking at of late. “You have an information source who isn’t in an asylum, for one. At least you haven’t mentioned that she is. But given that she’s a recluse. . . .”

“She’s not mad, but she fears she’s in danger,” Sydney replied tartly. “Her fear may be nothing more than a punchline to you, but this poor woman has been terrorized—”

“I’m not laughing. If she’s afraid, I’m a former U.S. Marine, skilled at hand-to-hand combat and trained as a sniper. I could lend a sense of security, which might persuade her to open up.”

Truly? Sydney hadn’t known any of that, but he had a military sharpness about him. “Your shoulders are as wide as a mountain and you smile as often as a mortician. The woman was repeatedly raped. You’ll scare the piss out of her, more like. You’re not going. Anything else?”

Caden clenched his jaw. “You’re making a mistake.”

“It’s mine to make. Arguments aside, a few of my friends are waiting for me at the pub ’round the corner. Join us?”

Sydney held her breath. Spending the evening with Caden, knocking back a few, flirting . . . seeing where it led, would be one of the best birthday presents ever. Yes, he worked with her, and she knew she shouldn’t shit where she ate, as the saying went. But something about him had her positively giddy.

He shook his head. “I need to visit my brother. Enjoy your birthday.”

Without him? It wouldn’t be nearly as much fun. His refusal hurt more than it should. She wanted him. Short of stripping off and dancing naked for the man, how else could she show it? This conversation only proved that he wasn’t interested.

But she’d sure love to change his mind.

Sydney shooed him out and exited the room, Doomsday Diary in hand. Damn!

Still, he could ask Aquarius how she’d acquired it and look for clues about the identity of Sydney’s source. Since the redheaded reporter worked quite late usually, he hadn’t yet had the chance.

Five minutes. He’d give her that long to visit the loo, collect her things, and leave the old building.

While waiting, he sent the picture of the book to Bram. In moments, the wizard answered: Bingo! Grab it. Caden sighed. As if it were that simple . . .

While waiting for Sydney’s departure, he popped by Aquarius’s cubicle. Gone, damn it. Lights out, hippie tie-dye coat off its hook. He’d never thought to ask where Aquarius was taking her holiday or when she’d return. Caden winced against an oncoming headache. Well, he’d simply focus on Sydney until the other woman returned. He could think of plenty of ways to keep busy with her.

Four minutes and fifty-eight seconds later, Caden moved nonchalantly down the hallway. Sydney’s office was clear, thank goodness. Laptop shut down, lights off. Good.

If the woman wasn’t going to take him along when she talked to her source, he had to find some way to learn the woman’s identity. That was top priority. Bram would disagree . . . but so bloody what. Caden prayed Sydney knew Anka’s location and was helping her. This might be his only chance to find his brother’s mate, bring her home, and restore his brother’s sanity.

Easing into Sydney’s office, he shut the door. Total darkness enveloped him. The November sun set much earlier in London than in his adopted home, Texas. Though he’d grown up in the UK, he’d forgotten its long nights. It was past five and pitch black out, so he didn’t dare turn the lights on. At least a faint glow from the streetlamps filtered in. He took out a pocket flashlight and flicked it on.

Sydney often jotted thoughts on little pieces of paper. Now, where would she keep those notes?

He opened a few drawers. Plastic spoons, snack crackers, chewing gum, a calculator, lots of red pens, and paper clips by the dozens. Some old news articles, now yellowing, about nothing of importance, but nothing in her handwriting, no addresses, nor anything that might lead him to Anka.