That was true. I bit my lip, but for once did the sensible thing—if only because I really didn't have the skill, the knowledge, or the desire to actually fight a spirit creature. "Is there an apartment nearby where I can wait?"
He hesitated, then nodded. "The room across the hall has no one in it."
"That's where I'll wait." I half turned, then hesitated. "Be careful, Azriel. Enough blood has been spilled already tonight."
He smiled, suddenly closer even though I hadn't seen him move. "I have Valdis, and I am well used to dealing with dark creatures." He raised a hand and cupped my cheek. "But I appreciate the concern."
Then he kissed me. It was little more than lips brushing, but it resonated through every part of my being, stirring me in ways I couldn't even begin to describe.
"Go," he said eventually, his voice tight. As if he'd been as affected as I was.
I forced myself to move away, although all I really wanted to do was step into his arms and chase the promise in that kiss.
I closed the door behind me, but hesitated in the hallway, listening to the silence and drawing in the air, trying to get a feel for who or what lived in this complex. I had no idea what Azriel's net would do, but the last thing we needed was one of Jerry's neighbors deciding to run to the rescue. Though to be honest, it looked like the sort of complex where the inhabitants were more likely to help themselves than one another.
The air out here was as unpleasant as it was in Jerry's room. The aromas of booze, age, and urine were entrenched, as were the threads of unwashed humanity. If there were other non-humans in this complex, they didn't live on this floor. I couldn't hear much in the way of activity in any of the nearby rooms, either, but that could have been a result of the late hour rather than no one being home.
Which meant, hopefully, I could break into the room opposite and no one would notice. Or care. I did just that, and caught the door with my fingertips before it could crash back against the wall. I stood there for several heartbeats, my breath caught in my throat as I listened for any sign that someone had heard and intended to investigate.
No one did. I sighed in relief, then shut the door and turned to study the room. It was fresher—and cleaner—than Jerry's, and possessed more in the way of furniture. The room's inhabitant was obviously intent on making himself comfortable, whereas Jerry seemed only to have the basics. But then, the addicted rarely cared for anything other than their next hit.
I double-checked the bathroom and bedroom just to ensure that no one was here, then moved back to the kitchenette and propped myself against the small table. Despite the fact that the worst of my wounds had been sealed by the antiseptic spray, blood still trickled down my back. I wondered briefly if Jerry would smell it and decide to investigate. It would mess things up if he did.
After what seemed an eternity, the creak of floorboards and heavy—almost drunken—steps eventually began to invade the silence. They drew closer and closer, then paused just outside the doorway. Tension crawled through me. I held my breath, waiting for the moment when our plan went to hell and Jerry either ran or came at me.
For several seconds, nothing happened. I had the image of him standing there, nostrils flaring as he drew in the scent of blood and listened to the rapid beating of a heart. Mine, to be exact.
Whether he was actually doing that I couldn't say, and after several minutes of inaction, his door creaked and he stepped inside.