Fire Kissed (23 page)
Oh, dear Shadow. All the fathers were protecting their children today.
What about her father? Had he ever tried to protect her like this? Arman Maya, so gentle with his girl. And Sigmund Lakatos, holding out the bone of his life to raise up his son.
Her father, Aidan Brand, had died in the midst of a deal having to do with her.
Had her father seen the dark turn of the world? Had he taken steps, bitter ones, so that she would survive the fall of man? Did she owe him forgiveness?
“Why didn’t you stop me?” she asked Sigmund.
“You’ll see to it that Marcell will rise,” he answered. “That he’ll have power. That he won’t be lost in the war. You’ll use your fire to protect him.”
“You knew I didn’t know,” Kaye said. “You used me.”
Sigmund smiled. “We used each other.”
She should have demanded the damn 60 percent. She should have honored tradition—there was protection in ritual, in the ruthless schema of the Houses—and not waved it away so carelessly.
“Take it now, please,” Sigmund repeated. “I’m very tired.”
Kaye rode the edge of her revulsion. Reached out. Grasped the key.
Son of a bitch.
“Love you, son,” Sigmund said, and his body gasped into a cloud of dust, his clothing dropping to a heap on the ground. Fine particles lingered in the air.
Marcell was left with a collapsed embrace where his heart had been. When he angled his chin toward Kaye, she blanched at the hatred in his eyes.
“You heard him. I didn’t know,” Kaye said. Shock numbed everything.
So when the strike came out of nowhere, taking her at the jaw, she felt only a jolt. She fell backward onto the concrete, clutching the bone key in her hand. Her legs were splayed, bag was spilled.
Marcell leaped onto her—heavy—and struck again. She blocked with one hand; the other was pinned.
A park visitor, human, yelled, “Call the police!”
Footsteps running.
Kaye tried to deny it again, tears blurring her eyes—
didn’t ask for his life, not his life—
but the sounds were knocked out of her mouth. Her head started to
boom boom
. She struggled, then lashed out with a whip of fire.
didn’t ask for his life, not his life—
but the sounds were knocked out of her mouth. Her head started to
boom boom
. She struggled, then lashed out with a whip of fire.
Marcell screamed, falling back, flailing to rip off his blazing coat.
A witness screamed too.
Kaye kicked her way free of him, a heel leaving a red gash along his jawbone.
A blur of movement. Onto Marcell jumped a figure who attacked him with vicious strikes to his face. One. Two. Though Marcell was already limp in the angel’s grip.
“Stop!” Kaye shouted. Marcell was House. No one would touch him, not even Bastian. Sigmund had seen to that.
Bastian hit Marcell again, sending him in a bloody arc to the pavement, unconscious.
“He’s mine.” Her Shadow expanded within until her eyesight darkened.
Mine!
“He belongs to me.” Sigmund had bought her with the key.
Mine!
“He belongs to me.” Sigmund had bought her with the key.
Bastian stepped over Marcell’s prone body to help Kaye back to her feet. He threw her personal items back into her purse and retrieved her scarf. The key, she clutched in her hand.
“Mr. Grey will be angry,” he said. Her angel had blood on his hands. “Sloppy work. You
were
followed. Grey will know you were with me.”
were
followed. Grey will know you were with me.”
Shit. If Grey knew that she’d met with Bastian, it would be bad. Grey was so jealous. But if Grey knew about Lakatos, then her plan to save the angel would be wrecked.
“Another wraith?” She’d killed one this morning. She had to find the other fast, and kill it too. Where was it?
“No wraith. A mage.”
Oh. Hope was knocked out of her. It was over then. She’d done all this for nothing. And Sigmund ... She was going to be sick.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Bastian said, so angry, “I have to get rid of the body.”
“He’s dead?” Had she killed Marcell too? Her legs gave, and Bastian caught her at her arm and waist. His hold was too tight, painful, but wonderful all the same. She wanted to stay in his grasp, even if it hurt.
“No, the mage,” Bastian corrected. “Snapped his neck to save yours.” He angled his chin Marcell’s way. “That one will hurt. A lot. But he’ll live.”
A mage, dead. At Bastian’s hands.
Marcell Lakatos okay.
“And the witnesses?” A semidispersed crowd looked on.
Bastian forced her to take her own weight. Stepped away from her like she was dangerous.
“They won’t remember anything,” he said. “I wish someone could do the same for me.”
When the dark-haired man turned his gaze his way, Gary Shultz retreated, putting his wife, Becca, behind him. But the attack was more insidious, a grip on his mind and a flutter within it. Gary felt a deep inner command to forget.
They’d seen the commotion. Seen that young guy hit the red-haired woman, and then jump on her to hit some more. Becca had said, “Help her,” as if it were she, long ago, under the angry fists of her ex, and not some stranger in the park. And so Gary had run forward to save both women, because now, finally, he could.
Wait. Save whom again? Becca!
But the dark-haired man had gotten there first and had whaled on the guy until he was a bloody pulp.
Oh, God, who was a bloody pulp? Where are we? Why couldn’t he remember?
“Gary?” asked Becca.
He turned and saw the panic in her eyes.
“What’s happening?” she pleaded, raising a hand to her head.
“I have no idea,” he answered, putting an arm around her to usher her away. Far away. “But it’s not safe here.”
It wasn’t safe anywhere anymore.
Chapter 11
“You met with your guard,” Ferro said. He didn’t care that he sounded jealous. He was.
But he kept himself moving toward the in-house theater. Made her follow
him
. He’d cued this upcoming holiday season’s blockbusters. The films were all about epic disasters and special abilities and romance. He would give humankind all of that, and soon. Already the public clamored for mages.
him
. He’d cued this upcoming holiday season’s blockbusters. The films were all about epic disasters and special abilities and romance. He would give humankind all of that, and soon. Already the public clamored for mages.
Although now he was rethinking his attire. “Classic, not ridiculous.” And Kaye should know; she was from this generation. He’d go black. Shadow black and be a hero.
“Jack Bastian and I had unfinished business,” Kaye said, entering behind him and seating herself in the padded chair at his side, the angle of her body pitched toward him. She had a mark on her chin, as if she’d been struck. She still looked too pale as well.
Regardless, he’d take her tonight. He had his pride after all. And he wanted to celebrate what would happen tomorrow. It was a big day.
“You mean your relationship isn’t over,” Ferro returned. Had that Mr. Bastian raised a hand to her? Ferro would kill him. He’d kill him regardless. Should have already.
“No, it’s over.” She leaned over, took a pretzel from his bowl. Gave him a peek at her cleavage.
The Verity Shadow was weakening in Ferro’s blood, but he could still hear the major harmony of truth in her words. The relationship was over. Why didn’t he believe her?
“Is it over for him as well?” The human was holding on to Kaye. Ferro would cut him off at the wrists if he had to.
She looked irritated at the question, but the expression turned to resignation. Seemed like she agreed that Ferro deserved an answer. She took a nibble at her pretzel. “Yes. It’s over for him as well. This meeting was strictly pertaining to a job I was hired for.”
“What job?” Why did she need clients anymore, when he had enough wealth and influence for both of them?
Never mind. Tomorrow she would stick close to home.
“It was regarding a client.” She took a second to examine her manicure, then returned her attention to the pretzel. “I like the pay, and I have a house to buy for Brand.”
“You live here. I won’t have you living anywhere that isn’t protected by wards.” She’d take other lovers if she had her own place, a woman like her. Hot all the time. Ready all the time.
Kaye shook her head, crunching the last bite. “That was not our agreement. I have my own House to think of, and it requires a separate residence. I won’t compromise.”
She would, but he’d let her believe what she wanted for now. He was more interested in the rest of her day.
“Where did you go after that? You’ve been out a while.” Ferro hadn’t heard from Minqua. There was one call about her meeting with Jack Bastian, then nothing. Someone was lying. Had to be Kaye. But how?
“I took a walk around the monuments, spent most of my time in the sculpture garden. Lots of Shadow there. If my visions are true, everything will soon be rubble.”
She was right.
“I lost a wraith today,” he said.
Deny that.
Deny that.
“I killed him.” She didn’t sound apologetic. She even took another pretzel. “We’re going to have to talk about you using wraiths in any capacity that has to do with me. In spite of your ... dietary assistance to them, they’re still too violent and they still stink.”
A diversion. “What about the man I had assigned to protect you?”
She lifted a brow. “I never saw any man.”
Truth and truth and more truth. The only lie she’d ever fed him had followed his earnest question, “Was it good for you?”
She tilted her head, a feminine movement. “The walk gave me time to think.”
Here it comes. He picked up the remote so it looked like he didn’t care.
“I believe you may be taking the wrong approach with regard to Khan.”
He sneered at her. “Did your Mr. Bastian say so?”
She smiled in return, with a little seductive arch to her back. “Mr. Bastian would prefer that I work at Segue, and that I count Khan as an ally. Which I still do.”
Grey went very still. “You prefer Khan?”
“I didn’t say that.” She turned fully in her seat to face him. She was beautiful, more so with her scars.
“What
are
you saying?”
are
you saying?”
“That I agree with Bastian’s approach to be friendly with Khan. I think you should consider it too.”
“Consider what?”
“Inviting Khan here.”
“Bring the pureblood into my House?” What kind of bald duplicity was this?
She remained impassive. “Don’t you think it would be smart, both a gesture of goodwill and an opportunity to size them up? I’m on good terms already. We could use that.”
Now she used “we.” Only when it suited her.
“No.” There was too much going on at present, especially with the loss of Urlich. Tomorrow the world would know that the mages would not be ignored. At this moment his plan was being put into place. “Soon enough I’ll make Khan come to me.”
“Ms. Mathews, his lover,
did
reach out to you, though on behalf of Segue,” Kaye pointed out. “And you must have concerns that one or more of the other Houses has contacted Segue. We have an advantage; let’s not waste it.”
did
reach out to you, though on behalf of Segue,” Kaye pointed out. “And you must have concerns that one or more of the other Houses has contacted Segue. We have an advantage; let’s not waste it.”
All true. And yes, the other Houses could be moving against him.
Their continued loyalty hadn’t bothered him
before
Kaye and her atom-bomb report that a pureblood walked the world.
before
Kaye and her atom-bomb report that a pureblood walked the world.
Urlich gone. Tomorrow a strike. Ferro couldn’t afford trouble from the Houses as well. This was his moment, his time to seize the future. His plans were thirty years in the making, too intricate to be thrown off by such a potent variable as a pureblood.
Kaye claimed—
believed
—that Khan liked her. All men liked her.
believed
—that Khan liked her. All men liked her.
The Shadow whispers hushed, as if the fae were watching him make this decision, a great reward in the balance.
“What do you have in mind?”
“A meeting. Here, not so formal as the Council table. I think we should keep it friendly, but with a little home-field advantage.” She leaned in, closer, like a sensuous cat. “This timing is critical: Ms. Mathews made an overture. Ignoring it might be dangerous. Plus ... another House is going to approach them. Probably already has.”
“Yes, yes, you’re right,” Ferro finally said. And what time would be better than when the Earth was reeling.
“I’ll arrange everything myself,” Kaye said.
Funny. “No, I don’t think so,” Ferro said, lifting the remote. First up, a natural-disaster movie. “Camilla will handle everything. You’ve done quite enough.”
Ferro snored a deep, shaken bass tone. He was naked, though still semihard, and had kicked away the covers after declaring her too hot beside him. He smelled a little funky, but then, he’d exerted himself for more than an hour.
Kaye eased off the bed. Then stood at the side, watching him, to see whether he could feel the weight of her gaze. Shadow slid over her nude skin, a stroking, cool embrace of magic, reminding her that this was where she belonged. She belonged in Shadow.
Deep snores. In and out. The sound of a sated man.
Okay.
The darkness parted and rolled as she crossed his bedroom, and the whispers rose from a quiet sigh and soft breaths to the words of some foreign poem about danger and pursuit and
sex, sex, sex.
sex, sex, sex.
She kept to the darkest patches, kicked away a scurrying thing—mortal or Otherworld, she had no idea—and made it with stealth to her suite. Not very dangerous, considering there were any number of reasons she’d want to return to her own rooms, a shower topping the list.
She peeked inside. Empty. Closed the door. Ran across the room to the hidey-hole under her bed. Grasped the skeleton key, which hummed in her hand.
Did the angel still live?
The next part was not so easy, and each step after that, even worse.
She exited her suite, heart pounding. She felt as though she was watched, but in a mage House, it wasn’t an unusual sensation. She knew how close the fae really were. How long before they could reach out and touch her?
The hallway extended to her left, and she walked down its center as if she had nothing to hide. She paused in the darkness.
... not this way ...
She didn’t trust it either. She turned.
A little farther. A door. She placed her hand on the wood, as if that would help her divine what lay beyond it. All she got was “flat.”
Screw it.
She turned the knob and opened the door to find blackness. She held fire before her and descended. Exited onto the main floor. One look to see if the coast was clear and she smothered her light.
She kept to the deepest Shadows as she came to the main foyer. A wraith waited near the front door. It was a man, big, looking uncomfortable in his suit and tie, a silly getup that reminded her of the security surrounding the president.
... see see see see ...
The fae had been right. If she’d come down the main stairs, she’d have been spotted.
She went as far as she dared to the entrance to the office wing. Any nearer, and the Shadows weakened slightly in the moonlight.
She could set the wraith on fire, hope he didn’t squeal.
No, that would cost her in explanations and suspicion. What she needed was patience. Angel patience, the kind that didn’t respond to the quickening licks inside that wanted her to move fast.
She had to be still, a slow burn. Really not her thing.
Kaye waited. Felt the night reach its full deepness. Saw a shift. A gleam of hunger madness. The wraith paced. And then he prowled in a wider circle.
His back finally turned, and Kaye glided to the office entrance. A keypad blinked green next to the door.
She had a key but no code.
Wasn’t a code just a different kind of ward? Lakatos had said his real talent was to get past impassable boundaries.
She had to try anyway.
But how did the bone fit into a slim modern lock? How did Shadow disengage the technological device? Not that she doubted. But how did it work?
She started to touch the lock, and a Shadow hand emerged from her skin—a long, skinny-fingered limb, both feminine and graceful. Fae. Its movement smoked the air, reaching. The light on the keypad went out. The ghost hand turned the lever.
The door opened.
Fast.
Kaye closed herself within and hurried into the little receiving room, pleasant when lit, a mouth of darkness in the night. She lit a fistful of Shadowfire, used the skeleton key to open the cellar door, and rushed headlong down the stairs.
The angel was still there. Still collapsed.
Still breathing.
Kaye crouched and shook her hard.
The angel mewled and curled into herself.
Kaye leaned over, her mouth to the angel’s ear. “It’s time. We’ve got to go.”
“Please, no.”
“Jack Bastian sent me,” Kaye said, trying a lie for cooperation. “He sent me to save you.”
The angel closed her eyes, shutting herself off. Refusing to listen.
“Believe me.”
“No mage would save an angel.” The woman was resolute, resigned enough to death not to fall for games and tricks.
“But an angel once saved a mage,” Kaye said. She swallowed hard, because she was suddenly fighting tears, remembering how she’d once held her keys out to a chained man. And how he had refused her. “I’m Kaye Brand, and Michael Thomas traded his life for mine.”
Help. Come.
The voice, angelic in origin, was weak in Jack’s mind. Weak, but nearby. So close. He came to full attention, concentrating. There were no other angels positioned in the vicinity, just Jack. The rest had been reassigned when Ms. Brand chose to leave The Order’s security. Her loyalties, and his, were in question. Didn’t matter that Laurence believed when the others all doubted. They readied for war.
Come. Please.
Jack’s gaze zeroed on Grey House, across the street from him.
Huge edifice, expansive lawns, gated.
Somewhere on the grounds was an angel in peril. Rage burst within him as he recalled what Ms. Brand had told him: that the mages were feeding his kind to wraiths.
Was it feeding time?
Please.
I’m coming,
Jack answered. He streaked through the wintery trees from his vigil place. He kept his inner light shoved deep down low but used his strength to vault over the high fence.
Where?
Jack answered. He streaked through the wintery trees from his vigil place. He kept his inner light shoved deep down low but used his strength to vault over the high fence.
Where?
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