The Fire King (21 page)

Leave him for Long Nu or Serena? Had Roland made a deal with one—or both—of them?

And where, Soria wondered, would loyalties rest in such matters? Even though Serena had her own employers, would she obey their wishes over those of Long Nu? Would blood trump reason?

Or maybe they’re all working independently of each other, with separate motives. Face it, you know nothing.

Nothing except that she didn’t hold high hopes for their safety if they returned to the border city. She had a bad feeling about who else might catch up with them.

But, walking was out of the question. So was hijacking a tour group, although she considered stealing a vehicle for all of ten minutes, until she remembered stories about an increased police and military presence along the major roads through the region. Concerns of terrorists coming down through Russia and using Mongolia as a bridge to China had sparked the change, and that meant more eyes, more chances of being stopped. Better not to take the risk.

“We could ride horses,” Soria suggested flippantly, knowing full well what his response would be.

“I think not,” Karr rasped, his voice barely comprehensible; a sandpaper growl, rough and quiet. It reminded her a little too much of all the Narnia novels she had read growing up, with Aslan stoically rumbling.

Karr was a lion now, mostly, but he was as huge as a dragon—what little she knew of them. The lower half of his body was covered in scales and hard ridges. He looked like a throwback to some prehistoric age, especially when he stretched his massive wings, which were golden, with webbing the color of a dawn blush.

“You know,” she said, turning in a slow circle to scan the rocky horizon, “birds have hollow bones. Makes them light so that they can fly.”

“Is that so,” he replied. “I assure you, my bones are quite solid.”

“Not my point. The ratio of your body mass to wing span …” She stopped, watching his feline mouth somehow manage a smile.
Magic,
she told herself, shaking her head.
Just tell yourself it’s magic. He flew last night. He can do it again.

Except that someone, eventually, was going to see them.

The morning sun was bright, blinding—or maybe that was the dust in Soria’s eyes. Her nostrils ached, too, and her throat was patchy with thirst. Temperatures were comfortable, but it was only morning and late spring. She did not want to think about what it would be like here at the height of summer.

“Come,” Karr said, sitting up on his haunches, holding out long arms huge with muscle, his skin covered in sleek tawny fur. Sunlight glimmered against his wings, which rested delicately around his shoulders. A long, scaled tail flopped restlessly in the sand.

Soria hesitated, staring, wishing despite her concerns that she had a camera, a piece of paper and pencil, something, anything to record him now, in this moment. She wasn’t entirely certain that she hadn’t lost her mind somewhere back in San Francisco—or her sense of wonder, long before that, whenever she had first started taking shape-shifters for granted. But she felt wonder, looking at Karr. He was beautiful, wild. Extraordinary.

And totally bizarre.

Dolphin and crow,
she thought, remembering her question to Koni. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what that would look like, given the way Karr seemed to mesh his different shapes, mixing fur and scales and abilities.

Soria walked over to him, holding the tightly folded bundle of cloth against her stomach. She held her breath as he picked her up, with such ease she felt light as a feather, floating in the hard confines of his arms. He cradled her close, tight against his warm chest. She knew what to expect.

But this time she felt a different energy between them, and she was not entirely certain whether that made her less comfortable with him or more. It was impossible to know how he felt, except through his actions. His eyes revealed nothing.

Except when you were kneeling in the sand and he was talking to you about your arm. Except when he leaned in to kiss you.

He had been vulnerable, then. He had looked young, the hard lines of his face softening with hunger and desire. There had been so much need in his eyes. Terrible loneliness. Things that were mirrored in herself.

Stop,
she told herself. It was no good thinking about how much she had wanted him in that moment. Just one kiss, to see if his mouth felt as good as his hands, which had melted through her pain and filled her with a warm comfort that she had forgotten could exist. Comfort and safety. Not just locked doors and a fuzzy blanket, but that soul-deep conviction that nothing bad would happen to her ever again. Not with him. Not while he was close.

She felt it now in his arms, and it was an odd, frightening weight in her heart. She did not want to rely on anyone to make her feel safe. No one could be counted on—not even the people she had thought would always be there. Roland—she had been so sure about Roland, despite his occasional remoteness—but he had betrayed her in the end. That was how she saw it—a betrayal. Just one phone call at the hospital, filled with tense silence. Flowers, a few cards sent with computer-generated messages.

One year together, and nine years before that as simply friends. She had thought all that time would mean something. At least an effort. Some sign that he wanted to be the one who kept her heart safe as she healed.

He had told her later that he had been afraid. Guilt-ridden, unsure what to do. A powerful man who led psychics, shape-shifters, and other nonhumans—unsure what to do with one hurt woman he was supposed to love. And yet, Soria had believed him. She still did. His fear was real. She knew him too well. That was Roland. He could handle everyone’s lives but his own.

Which had not been enough for her.

Karr, certainly, had his own agenda. She was useful to him for now, and she wanted to help, but after this was over, however that managed to come about, she had no illusions that he would—

Oh, God,
she thought.
Don’t go there. Have some self-respect.

Right. Fuck romance.

“That’s the spirit,” she muttered, settling deeper into the crook of Karr’s arms, feeling the muscles of his chest coil and heave as his wings began to beat. Dust kicked up, choking her, and through watery eyes she saw him give her a questioning look. His leonine features were far more expressive than his dragon visage.

Soria shook her head. “Just go.”

They flew out of the desert late that afternoon. Soria had no way of knowing how fast they were traveling, but the miles seemed to slip away, even though Karr was forced to stop every hour to rest. He did not say so, but as time went on it seemed to grow progressively harder for him to fly while carrying her. Just breathing seemed to take a great deal of effort.

Soria remained quiet for most of the journey. She was thirsty, and the one small lake they had found—hours after starting—was too salty for either of them. Not for camels, though. She saw them from a distance, long necks bowed. When Karr swooped close, they scattered and ran. Easy prey, she thought. Kill them, drink from the humps, eat their hearts, or fat. It was an option she supposed they were not desperate enough to take. Not yet.

Now, outside the desert—the change was marked only by the sustained presence of rock and withered grass, and not rock and sand—storm clouds were gathering, coiled into tumors the color of dirty snow, edges glowing silver from the late sun, and bleeding into a blue sky. The grassland stretched as far as the eye could see. No trees. No caves. No place to hide.

Lightning flashed. Karr made a hissing sound and descended sharply, chased by thunder. His arms tightened around Soria. Just before they hit the ground, a golden glow rose from his skin, so bright and warm it felt like being bathed in dawn light. He hit the ground running.

A gust of wind slammed into them, and then another: a continuous howling blast that stole Soria’s breath and burned her eyes. Karr staggered, putting his head down, but he could not take another single step against its force. A haze filled the air, light at first, but filled with choking dust. Sand and other small particles hit Soria’s face, getting inside her mouth each time she coughed. Visibility worsened, and not because her eyes were watering. Dust blocked out the sky, the entire world, until she could see only several feet in front of them. It happened in moments.

“Give me that cloth,” Karr said roughly, dropping to his knees and laying Soria down on the short grass. Before she could ask what he was doing, he dragged the sheet from her and shook it loose. It nearly ripped free of his hands, and Soria had to help him drag it down over them. They hooked one end under around their legs, and pulled the flapping, bloodstained fabric over their heads and bodies.

Karr curled around her, dragging her so tightly into the curve of his body she could barely breathe. His sleek, furred arm crossed her chest with his soft, pawlike hand cupping her cheek. His warm wing draped over her, and just before he enclosed them entirely in the sheet, Soria glimpsed the grassland beyond: black as night, cut with a flash of lightning that was faint through the dust storm haze.

“We are still too close to the desert,” he rasped in her ear. “Not much rain, but a great deal of dust. This cloth should keep out the worst of it so we can breathe.”

Soria tried to work some saliva around the inside of her mouth. Her teeth crunched on sand and grit. “You have experience with this?”

“Some. Never the luxury of a tent, however. We are fortunate.”

Soria half laughed. “Really.” Thunder cracked, so close it made the ground shake.

Karr pressed his mouth against her hair. “Rest, Soria. It will pass.”

Like hell,
she thought. And then she realized something odd about what he had just said to her. She chewed on it for a moment, wanting to make certain that she was right. “That is the first time you have ever said my name.”

His arms tightened around her. Soria listened to the wind howl beyond the rippling confines of their cotton cocoon, flinched as lightning and thunder shook the air.
Hit and fried,
she thought—
someone will find our strange charred bodies, burned together, molded together: a winged lion and a human woman.

Slowly, quietly, Karr said, “You are so loose with names. You speak them without thought.”

“We were talking about you. Not me.”

His voice was nearly drowned out by a ripple of thunder. “Names are reflections of bond, connection. To know another’s name is to know part of them. To speak it is to tell the world that you have a connection.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“If you do not know one another. Or if you are enemies. It is a violation.”

She tried to turn her head to look at him, but all she could see in the darkness was the fringe of golden mane. “You told me your name. Unless you lied about it.”

“No.” He sounded disgruntled. “I spoke true.”

“Our customs are different. Names are important, but not like that.” Soria frowned. “So why
did
you tell me your name?”

“I thought you would not free me, otherwise,” he said dryly. “Unless you have forgotten that part already.”

She had, but was not convinced by his answer. “You could have lied.”

“I would not lie about something so fundamental. Tell too many such lies, and they might come true.” He hesitated. “I fear becoming someone else.”

“I think we all do,” she said, feeling the pressure of the ground against her stump. “Truth and honor. Means a lot to you.”

“It is the root of what divides us from mere animals.”

“And yet shape-shifters hunted you like animals.” She paused. “Were all of them dedicated to that task, or just one group?”

“Enough were involved. It was war, after that night.”

When the children died,
he did not have to say. Soria could still hear their screams, and she shivered so violently her teeth chattered.

Karr held her closer. “I should have returned you to the city.”

“No,” she managed to say, though it took concentration. “Those children … were any of them yours?”

He was silent a long time. “All of them, and none. Most were abandoned by their parents. It was customary to do so. Ours was a temple dedicated to rearing the unwanted. Some of the children, though, belonged to chimeras themselves, those who took human mates.”

“Not another chimera?”

“In the same way your crow would never dream of mixing blood with another outside his skin, a chimera would not take the risk of doing the same with another of our kind. Or a pure-blooded shape-shifter. That truly would be a disaster.”

“You have seen this with your own eyes?”

“Yes,” he rumbled. “The … baby died soon after birth. It was unrecognizable as anything that could be human or animal. Nor did the mother survive.”

“I am so sorry.”

Karr’s chin pressed against the crown of her head, and he changed the subject. “This storm could last for hours. Best if we try to sleep.”

“Right,” Soria said, as the winds howled. “Dreamy atmosphere.”

“Hush,” he murmured. His voice was rumbling and soft, as if he was truly sleepy. “I will protect you.”

He said it so simply, without hesitation or mockery. Soria shivered again, listening to her heartbeat, and the thunder roll through and around her.
I’ll protect you, too,
she thought. Wishing she had the guts to say it out loud. Wondering what his reaction would be to a one-armed woman telling him—seven feet of pure animal muscle—that she would watch his back.

“So, you’ve made up your mind?” she asked softly.

Karr rumbled something incomprehensible, and she added, “About me. Being your enemy.”

He sighed, and after a brief moment twisted her around until she lay on her back. He loomed over her. The huge naked man was pressed against her thigh—which seemed somehow more explicit that having him glued to her back. She didn’t know whether to laugh, freeze, or grope him.

Karr held the top of the sheet with his fist, and reached over to tuck the rippling edges under Soria’s body. Beyond their small cocoon the winds continued to scream, but the air inside was stuffy and growing hot. If had not been for the faint glow of Karr’s eyes, she would not have been able to see much of his face at all, despite the fact that he was leaning over her, close enough to rub noses. Or kiss.