It would’ve been easier to stay mad had McClane not sounded so sincere. Riley sighed, slumping back into the seat. He was stone cold sober.

All that nice buzz, gone, and he didn’t even know whether McClane or the adrenaline kick had taken care of it.

“I appreciate what you did,” he admitted grudgingly. “The shielding thing. I’d need stitches now if not for you. Just… no killing, okay? You’re not on your own, I’m in this with you, and I’m the one people will remember. I’m the one who’ll take the fall if this goes south.”

No killing, McClane swore instantly. Unless it’s the only option.

“And then I get a say too,” Riley demanded.

McClane was silent.

“McClane,” Riley growled, unwilling to let his passenger squirm out of this one. “I get a say. Or we walk right back to that fucking bar and you can pick a new host there. I bet Blondie’d be delighted to take you. Looks like you two share a bloodthirsty streak.”

I don’t want him, McClane said immediately, sounding appalled at the very thought. I wanted no one there.

Riley looked into the mirror again, staring past the reflection of his own eyes at McClane and refusing to cut him any slack just because it was so gratifying to feel favored.

“Then give me a fucking vote. It’s my damn body.”

He could feel the prickle-pain of a thousand microscopic claws digging in with distress as McClane fought with himself, but for once Riley let it go. He might not know a whole lot about the armor system yet, but he suspected he was asking it to go against its nature in this. He figured, under the circumstances, McClane was entitled to some wringing of appendages.

No killing without permission, McClane ground out finally, clearly unhappy with the new rule. The stinging lessened, then faded away.

Riley slowly let out his breath. “All right,” he said, and nodded at his mirror image. “All right.”

THE fourth floor was quiet when they stepped out of the elevator, a sense of emptiness about it that made Riley wonder if maybe they were the only guests there that night. He’d specifically requested a room on the top floor when he’d arrived because he hadn’t wanted any distractions, hadn’t wanted to see or hear anybody. He was glad for it now, didn’t feel up to dealing with people while he struggled to regain his equilibrium.

McClane was too damn good at throwing him off, though Riley couldn’t decide whether that was because McClane was what he was, or because Riley couldn’t evade him when the closeness got too much for him to handle. This was one relationship where running wasn’t an option. It scared Riley half to death, because it meant McClane would have every opportunity to erode Riley’s already shaky defenses before they went separate ways again. He was still feeling like an amputee months after he’d left Misha. He didn’t want to imagine the state McClane would leave him in when he found himself a new, better host.