it, cut the truck’s engine. His front door was locked. Once inside, he tossed his keys into the antique candy dish on the hallway table and relocked the door.
Someone was home to greet him, after all.
A light glowed down the hall. Mage instincts went on alert. He narrowed his eyes, took a deep breath and headed into his study.
“Nice of you to break in,” he told the gray-haired man sitting in shadow.
“You’re late.”
Vice Admiral Keegan Byrne, pillar of support for SEAL Team 21 and a powerful Primary Mage, toasted him with a whiskey glass filled with amber liquid. Dale glanced at the built-in wood bar against the wall. The bottle of twenty-year-old smooth Scotch malt had been full until tonight.
“Had to finish up paperwork. I’m not asking how you gained access to my home without permission.”
“You need a better security system, Dale. An infant could bypass that alarm.”
“An infant armed with electromagnetic current. Did you fry the panel again?”
Byrne grinned. Dale sighed. Another visit from the electrician.
“Help yourself to more Scotch. Just don’t take my beer.”
Running upstairs in a light jog, he headed to his bedroom, removed the trident, the fruit salad and the insignias from his khaki shirt. Then he stripped and tossed the uniform and undershirt into a white wicker hamper. As he walked toward the closet, the dresser mirror showed the image he’d tried to avoid.
Dale approached, staring at his body for the first time in two months.
Reddened scar tissue raked over his chest, muscled torso, arms and long legs. Razor-sharp claw marks began just below his throat, continued down his belly, ending at his groin, and dwindled out at his thighs and calves.
A remembrance of white-hot pain surged through him. Dale braced his hands on the dresser, hissing through his teeth.
Jerking open a drawer, he sorted through folded shirts and found an old, frayed Virginia Tech T-shirt. Another drawer held gray fleece pants.
When he returned to the study, Byrne remained motionless, the glass of Scotch untouched. He steeled himself. If the old man wasn’t here to socialize, it meant one thing. But he’d let the admiral set the pace.
Dale fished a beer from the minifridge, tossed the cap into the trash and took a seat in front of the fireplace. He knew Byrne would take his time.
Finally Dale gave him a pointed look. “Why are you here?”
“Have you used your powers since leaving the hospital?”
Stretching out a hand, he summoned the current simmering inside. Dale flung it at the fireplace, igniting the logs. “Happy now?”
Understanding and something deeper, and wiser, filled Byrne’s gaze. “I wasn’t talking about toasting marshmallows, Dale. I meant on assignment.”
Surprised, he sipped his beer. “I joined my men on that op to extract Dakota and Kelly. I’m a paper pusher now, not an operator.”
“Maybe it’s time you took off with your boys, joined a mission to evaluate their tactics and skills in the field. Spend quality time, jaw with them, get to know them again.”
Suspicion filled him. “What’s the deal, Keegan? You lost faith in me ever since I got carved like a Thanksgiving turkey?”
Silence.
Anger slowly rose. “That’s it, isn’t it? You think if I were deployed more, I’d have fried my attackers’ asses? Never mind the nine innocent children’s lives at stake. You think I wasn’t strong enough to beat the demons.”
“Were you?”
Dale set down the beer, his hands shaking. “Screw you, Keegan.”
“I’ll leave that for the wife.” The admiral set down his barely touched glass. “Dale, we’ve known each other for a long time and I have to say this. I’m concerned about you, son.”
He hissed out a breath. “I’m not your son. I’m CO of the finest SEAL team in the United States Navy and a 420-year-old Mage.”
“And I have enough years to make you look like a baby sucking on his momma’s tit. Dale, you’re losing touch. I’ve had reports of you being distracted, short-tempered and restless. I don’t know if it’s a residual effect of what happened to you in that basement, or something else.”
“Reports from whom?”
“Your team.”
“Renegade? A sulky SEAL denied leave because Shay was on his honeymoon and I couldn’t afford another man out?”
“No,” Bryne said. “All of them. The entire team. Even Robyn Lees, the new ensign who thinks you can do no wrong.”
Dale sat back, trying to hide his shock. “Nice of them to tell me.”
“They’re worried about you. You’ve changed.”
Almost afraid to ask, he groped for his lost composure. “You said it was my time in the basement or something else that’s affected me. What’s the something else you think is wrong?”
“A woman.”
Dale raked a hand through his short, dark hair and laughed. “No woman’s gotten to me.” Or would want him, the way he looked. “I’m trying to catch up after being out so long. I had a difficult time healing in the hospital.”
“You were almost dead when Shay and Kelly found you.”
Temper rising, Dale straightened up. “Are you lecturing me on how I should have been smarter, knowing the waiting children were a trap? Maybe you should shake the demon’s hand, pin a medal on his chest for catching me off guard.”
Admiral Byrne gave him a long, level look. “If I found the son of a bitch who did this to you, I’d tear him apart with my bare hands. And then toss him to your team to deal with the remains.”
The quiet—but strong—statement made Dale sit back.
“The boys worship you, Dale. They don’t want another commander. They need you, but they’re reluctant to say anything to your face because lately, you’ve been difficult to talk to. You’re a damn good leader, a smart operator, a fine Mage and a close friend. So I’m saying it for them.”
Byrne leaned forward, hands on his knees. “Get your shit straightened out, Dale. Get help from a private psychiatrist or a navy one. Or I’ll assign a mind-melder to you.”
Holy hellfire. A mind-melder, diving into his deepest memories, turning him into a whimpering mess when he barely managed to hold it together now? He didn’t trust the shrinks, either.
“I don’t need a witch doctor,” he said, taking a long pull of beer, ignoring Byrne’s scrutinizing look.
“You’re
