Within the Flames (27 page)

Chapter Sixteen

D
on’t be afraid.

But she was afraid.

Afraid and broken, from the inside out. Fighting only made the pain worse, but Lyssa fought anyway, terrified and ml oth="juiserable, and in agony. The shift had never come on her so quickly, not for years. She always had warning.

Let me out,
whispered the dragon.

But even had she wanted to, she couldn’t have. What should have been magic and miracle was a nightmare. Out of her control. Raging through her body. Ripping her apart.

Only this time, she wasn’t alone.

Let me go!
Lyssa wanted to scream, but her voice wouldn’t work, and no matter how hard she tried to push Eddie away, he held on. His arms were so strong. His voice, stronger.

She stopped hearing the words—but the meaning, the spirit inside them, poured into her—and she clung to the whisper of his voice, the throb of each syllable pounding with her heartbeat.

Each heartbeat broke her bones.

Each heartbeat made the fire grow inside her. A pure golden heat that started in her heart, then spread into her veins. Dragon fire, real fire. It shocked her, and she was afraid—until she remembered who was holding her. Eddie would not burn if she lost control.

She had already lost control, and he had survived. Survived, and stayed with her.

Lyssa,
whispered Eddie, only this time his voice was within her mind, rolling through her with the fire. His presence filled her, strong and steady and calm.

But it was his compassion that cut through the pain. Lyssa clung with all her strength to that warm empathy, desperate for a taste. It had been so long since anyone had made her feel protected.

The struggle in her body eased. Pain faded.

Lyssa came back to herself, slowly, in increments that were little more than an easing of the tension in her chest. She knelt on the floor, with no idea how she had gotten there. The rugs were burning beneath her. Her clothes were on fire, turning to ash. Eddie crouched with her, also engulfed in flames—his arms tight around her body.

She chanced a look and found him light and golden as the sun, and burning with a sweet heat she felt in her blood. Fire, all around him. Fire, crawling through the air. For a moment, she imagined a set of wings flaring from his shoulders, wings made of fire . . . but that faded in the blink of an eye.

He bowed his head toward hers, large hand cupping her cheek with a gentleness that cut her to the core. “Lyssa. Are you okay?”

She could only nod, voice broken. His fingers tightened, sliding into her hair. “Look at me.”

Her gaze found his, and he gave her a smile so kind it couldn’t be real. A smile that was in his eyes . . . those warm, dark eyes that were even more haunting up close.

He didn’t say anything . . . but he didn’t have to. Lyssa understood what he was telling her with that one look.

I’ll take care of you.

Around them, the fire began dying. A terrible weakness stole through her body: skin tingling, heart pounding as her limbs and muscles settled.

She tried to move, anyway. Eddie’s arms tightened. “No. Rest.”

“I don’t think I can,” she whispered.

“Yes, you
can.
Just . . . sit here a minute.”

Lyssa didn’t answer but stayed put as he untangled himself. He was almost naked—the remains of his clothes little more than charred rags. She instinctively averted her eyes, but when he turned his back, she looked.

She had never seen a fully naked man—not in real life, anyway. His muscles were hard and lean, and his shoulders looked even broader without his shirt. Nothing soft about him. His strength, the way he moved . . . was hungry, and coiled.

And he had a fantastic ass. Lyssa had never thought much—at all—about the qualities of a man’s backside, but his was—

She looked away, cheeks hot, as he began to turn. Only to realize that she was just as naked as he. Scraps of her jeans clung to her legs, but the sweater was practically gone.

Lyssa wasn’t sure what embarrassed her more—that her breasts were exposed or her right arm. She twisted away from him, trying to cover herself—hugging her arm to her body. Dragon scales glinted in the remains of firelight, like rubies pounded into armor.

Something large and heavy fell down around her shoulders. It was her sleeping bag—or what was left. The edges were burning, but Eddie slapped his hand over the small flames, beating them out.

as ml:lang="en-us" height="0em" width="1em" align="justify">
Lyssa chanced another look at him, admiring his focus as he put out the fire. So calm, and intent. Acting as though there was nothing in the last bit odd about what he was doing . . . or who he was doing it with. Not once did he look at her right arm. It wasn’t as if he was avoiding it, either. It just didn’t seem to matter to him. Not nearly as much as it mattered to her.

It made her feel . . . almost normal. For the first time in ten years, she didn’t think of herself as deformed.

Until she glanced down, and noticed his chest.

He was bleeding from five deep slashes above his heart. Claw marks.

She stared, and all those good feelings died. Eddie followed her gaze. “Oh. I didn’t even . . . it’s fine, Lyssa.”

Horror filled her. “No, it’s
not.
”

“It’s just a scratch. I’m tough.”

“There’s blood. I could have killed you.” Lyssa tried to stand. Her legs wouldn’t hold her, and Eddie caught her arm.

“What are you doing?” he asked sharply.

She couldn’t answer him, staring instead at her golden claws. She saw no blood, but it had to be there.

Her mother had told her that witches once used dragon claws as weapons.

You’re a weapon,
she’d said, then.
Be careful.

“Lyssa,” Eddie said.

She hated herself. “I drew your blood.”

“It was an accident.” He forced her to look at him. “You didn’t mean to hurt me.”

But what if I did?

Again, she tried to stand, clutching the sleeping bag around her. She was weaker than she wanted to admit, and her knees buckled. Eddie forced her to lean on him as he carefully eased her down.

He was so gentle. Lyssa pressed her fist against her throat, finding it hard to breathe. “Listen to me. Please, just go. Please, Eddie.”

His quiet laughter surprised her. “If you were anyone else, I would have been long gone.”

“You don’t understand.”

“I want to.”

Lyssa bowed her head, unable to look at him. “There’s something inside me. Something terrible that wants to come out. I’ve fought it for my entire life, but after my parents were murdered . . .”

She swallowed hard, feeling ill. “It’s an instinct to kill.”

For an agonizing moment, he was completely still. And then his hand came up slowly . . . as if he was giving her time to move.

Lyssa did not. She trembled as his palm slid over her cheek. It felt too good. So safe. She remembered the compassion that had filled her—his heart, full of that terrible kindness—and the weight of it bowed her shoulders until she thought she would never breathe again.

She hated herself for not pushing him away.

“One day I’m going to lose,” she said. “I’m going to give in, whether I want to or not. And I’ll take someone’s life. I’ll have to if I want to survive the
Cruor Venator.
And when that happens . . .”

You will inherit your birthright,
whispered the dragon.
There is no shame in that.

No, but there was power in it. Awful power.

“I don’t trust myself,” she told him. “You shouldn’t trust me, either. Lannes was right.”

The gargoyle knew the truth. She had seen it in his eyes. Surely, he had told Eddie. But if that was the case, then why was he here now, with her? How could he sit here and act as though nothing were wrong?

And why don’t I have the courage to tell him myself?
To say the words out loud?

Eddie’s hand was warm on her cheek. “Look at me.”

She did, reluctantly, and found him studying her with those dark eyes, those eyes in her dreams, lost in fire.

“Let me tell you something,” he said, in a too-soft voice. “I killed a man when I was a child. And that was nothing more than instinct, and rage. I ran from that murder. I ran from myself. Sometimes, I feel as though I’m still running, not because I think I’ll do it again . . . but because I wish I
could
do it again. And kill the right man, this time.

“So whatever is inside you . . . it’s inside me, too. I’d say it’s inside everyone in this world.” He brushed his thumb over her lips. “Don’t go acting like you’re special.”

“Eddie,” she began, but that was all she could say before he pressed his mouth over hers in a firm, hard, kiss.

It surprised her—and then she stopped being surprised, and her entire body melted as heat stroked through her, turning her muscles so soft and heavy she could barely sit upright. Lyssa molded herself against him, savoring the brush and stroke of his lips, the slow movements of his hands buried in her hair, the pound of her heart and the deep hum of pleasure rising from his throat, sparking a burst of tenderness inside her that made her glow with even deeper hunger.

Eddie broke off the kiss but did not break from her. His mouth remained pressed against the corner of hers, their breath mingling, harsh and rushed. Their naked bodies touched with every breath, soft and light, and hot.

“Lyssa,” he whispered, touching her throat in a way that made her shiver. “Lie down.”

Her eyes were almost too heavy to open. “Gonna take advantage of me?”

His quiet laughter made her feel almost as good as his kiss. “Not yet. But you need to rest.”

“There’s more . . . I need to tell you. About me.”

“When you’re ready.”

She let her eyes close completely. “What did Lannes tell you?”

“Lannes isn’t you. What he said doesn’t matter.”

“You should trust your friends.”

“You’re my friend.”

Slowly, with exquisite care, he folded her against his chest and made her lie down on her side. His entire body spooned around her, pressing against her back, holding her snug and warm, and strong. It might not have been the most intimate touch a person could receive, but it felt like it, on the inside. More than an embrace. Closer than skin. She felt him, alive, all around her.

“Are you okay?” asked Eddie, his voice low and rough.

“Fine,” she lied, because having him behind her, holding her, made her feel—against all odds—safe. More safe than she’d felt in years. As though nothing, no one, could hurt her. Ever again.

And that wasn’t fine. It was heartbreaking.

I’ve been alone too long.
I never realized how alone until now.

She’d guarded her heart, all these years. For a very good reason. If she let this man in . . . if anything happened to him . . .

Inside, the dragon stirred. Lyssa felt it, and tensed. But the dragon merely sipped the fire burning in her blood and sighed.

You are still afraid to be close to him,
it whispered.
Why?

He’ll cause me pain,
said Lyssa.

Then you should have killed him when you first saw him.
You should kill everyone, then.
Everyone is capable of that.

No.

No,
echoed the dragon, softly.
Forget what was.
Listen to his voice. Listen to his spirit around you.
Feel his touch.
His heart is made of fire.
It is pure, like fire. You know this.
You would not let him be with you now if you did not.

His lips brushed the back of her neck, while his strong fingers kneaded her left shoulder. Tingling sparks of pleasure raced through her, and she drew in an unsteady breath as she arched against him, wanting—
needing
—more.

There were so many risks involved . . . but she couldn’t stand not to be touched. Not now, after having such a powerful taste of what she’d been missing, all these years.

Lyssa rolled over in his arms, letting the sleeping bag slip down her shoulder to reveal crimson scales and twisted muscle. Part of her breast was exposed, as well—and that was where his gaze lingered, with a hunger and desire that made the fire in her blood rise, and rise again.