Authors: Marjorie M. Liu
Within the Flames (8 page)
He twisted fully around, reaching for her hand. “Lyssa.”
She did not wake. But the pain in her face softened. Her breathing slowed. Eddie stroked the back of her hand and watched the sparks fade, along with the smoke and heat. He did not breathe any easier, though.
Her skin was so soft. Eddie rested his chin on the car seat, content to take a moment and just . . . stare. Soot didn’t hide her beauty, which managed to be delicate and fierce—vulnerable—and totally, utterly, striking.
She can’t be all those things,
his sister would have said.
She’s a girl, not a laundry list.
Eddie smiled to himself. Fine. If he had to choose one word . . .
“Fierce,” he whispered. Fierce, stubborn . . . but not hard. Not yet.
Their conversation before the blast had told him more about her than perhaps she realized. Her words were sharp, cynical . . . but her eyes had been soft with uncertainty and buried hunger.
Something he understood all too well.
If you get used to having the rug pulled out from under you—or not having any rug at all—you stop trusting anything that sounds like good news.
But that doesn’t mean you stop
wanting
to trust.
Once again, Eddie tried to imagine her life. She had dropped off the radar after the deaths of her parents. No other family. No apparent friends—except one dead shape-shifter—and maybe a little boy. Had she been alone all this time? Homeless?
If she had lived on the streets, she seemed to be doing better now. Her clothes had been worn, but clean—and even now he saw the edge of a blackened laptop poking through a charred hole in her backpack.
Everything about her was a mystery.
Eddie let go of her hand as she stirred. Not yet awake but settling deeper into the backseat. The ragged remains of her sweater slipped, revealing the curve of her pale breast. More breast than she would probably be comfortable with him seeing—though he gave himself a few moments to appreciate the sight.
His jacket was charred but mostly intact. He stripped it off, then squeezed between the seats to lay it over her, tucking in the sides as best he could. Eddie wanted, very badly, to wipe the soot from her cheek. He began to. Just one little touch.
Her eyes opened. Golden, hot, staring. And glowing.
His breath caught in his throat, his hand frozen near her cheek. Unable to look away as her eyes shifted from human to . . . something else. Pupils narrowed into slits, and tiny hints of crimson appeared around the rims of her iris—as well as her lower eyelids.
Dragon eyes.
Lyssa did not move, but her golden gaze searched his face with a thoroughness that was alien and cold—and utterly unlike the woman he had faced before the explosion.
“You,” she whispered. “You, with fire in your blood.”
Her voice was dry and sibilant. Eddie stared. “Lyssa?”
“Lyssa,” she murmured, faintly mocking. “Lyssa sleeps. I am her dragon.”
He didn’t know how to respond to that. He wondered if she was playing games, but he looked closer into those eyes and felt power crawl over his skin. Whoever was staring back at him now was not the same woman. There was no fear in that gaze, no uncertainty.
Nothing remotely human.
He wet his lips. “I don’t understand. What does that even mean, you’re her dragon?”
She drew in a rasping breath that sounded like the rub of scales. “If she trusted herself, it would mean nothing. But she forgets that human and dragon can be passengers of the same heart. She does not believe that we are one, and that accepting me will not diminish her. So I wait, and protect her when I can.”
It sounded like a split personality disorder. He hadn’t realized that shape-shifters could be caught between the different spiritual and mental aspects of their existence—independent of one another. It was sort of creepy.
Eddie wanted to choose his next words very carefully. “Were you protecting her today? Were you aware of those women who came for her?”
“I was aware. But
you
“Who are they?”
The corner of her mouth curled. “Prey.”
Eddie wondered if she was cocky or just that dangerous. “Does Lyssa feel like that?”
Her smile faded. “She is afraid to.”
Based on what he’d seen, Lyssa’s anger stood out more than her fear. She had a lot of anger inside her. But he didn’t want to bring that up. In fact, he suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable discussing her. “Will she remember this?”
“No.”
“Then this conversation is done.” Eddie stared into those golden eyes, refusing to flinch when her clawed right hand slipped out from beneath his jacket and slid down his arm. “I mean it, ma’am.”
She stilled. “Yes. I can tell you do.”
Eddie pulled away, slowly. “You do this often?”
“Never.”
Curiosity got the better of him. “Why now?”
She closed her eyes. “Because I wanted to see the man who makes her blood sing.”
Eddie exhaled sharply. “Ma’am.”
But she said nothing else. After a quiet, breathless moment, her face relaxed and softened. Until then, he hadn’t even realized her expression had hardened, but the difference was startling. The weary vulnerability was back.
I wanted to see the man who makes her blood sing.
Eddie fingered the scars on his hands and watched her sleep.
It took Lannes more than thirty minutes to reach them, but it felt longer. He heard sirens wailing—far away, then, once, very close. He watched police and an ambulance speed through the intersection half a block away.
Every time people walked past the car, his throat closed. If vehicles drove by too slowly Kby ify">
—anything, everything.
He hated being a sitting target. Worse, this reminded him too much of the old days. Always waiting to be caught—if not by police, then by someone worse.
Finally,
finally
, his phone rang. Lannes was on the other end.
“I’m here,” he said. “I can see the Camry. Get ready.”
Eddie got out of the car and opened up the back door. A black SUV rolled close. No cars behind it. Some foot traffic, but far enough away that very little, if anything, would be seen. He hoped.
He had Lyssa halfway out of the car when Lannes stopped beside them. She made a small sound. Eddie looked down into her eyes.
Human, golden, eyes. No dragon in them. Staring half-lidded and so exhausted he wasn’t even certain she was seeing him.
“It’s okay,” he whispered, smoothing her hair back from her face. “You’re safe.”
“No,” she breathed, eyes drifting shut again. “No, I have to . . .”
Eddie held her as close as he could, pulling his jacket tight around her. She didn’t fight him when he piled her into the backseat of the SUV, slumping down into a boneless heap when he let her go.
It took him less than twenty seconds to rub down the Camry’s interior and exterior for the second time. He grabbed her backpack, kicked the door closed, and climbed into the idling car.
Lannes accelerated away before the door was closed. “You look terrible.”
“Been better.”
“And her?”
Eddie touched Lyssa’s shoulder and shook her as gently as he could—which was little more than a tightening of his fingers. “Hey.”
“No,” she murmured, as though dreaming.
“Lyssa.”
please . . .”
He sagged against the seat, staring. Buzzing filled his ears, along with his thudding heartbeat. Fire burned in his blood.
“Hey,” Lannes said in a low voice, sounding very far away. “Eddie.”
He wet his lips. “Yes?”
“Take a break. Join me up front.”
Eddie flashed him a surprised look, but after a moment’s hesitation, crawled into the front. Lannes drove with his seat pushed all the way back, hunched over, his massive hands tight around the steering wheel. Lines of concern were etched in his brow.
“So,” he said. “That’s her.”
Eddie swallowed hard. “Yes. I think she’s had a difficult life.”
“Mmm.” Lannes glanced at his rearview mirror. “I feel like I’m committing a crime.”
“Any more news?”
“Still no deaths reported. Everyone’s screaming terrorist, though. You need to get out of the city.”
“I know.” Eddie looked at Lyssa again, who was still unconscious—or seemed to be. Would she leave with him? He very seriously doubted it.
Lannes followed his gaze. “Does she need a doctor?”
“I don’t think so. It wouldn’t be safe, anyway.”
“Her arm,” he replied thoughtfully. “It looks as though she’s caught in a bad shift. I’ve never seen it so extreme.”
“There’s a shifter who was found in a Consortium facility in the Congo. He’s part eagle, still. It was forced on him, by scientists.”
Lannes let out a weary sigh. “Lethe called. She said something’s up with her family. They won’t tell her what, but they’re talking about leaving the city for a while. They’re insisting she go with them. For her safety.”
“She won’t, will she?”
He hesitated. “I’m thinking of telling her to go.”
“She won’t like that.”
“And she probably won’t listen.” A faint, worried, smile touched his mouth, but it faded almost as soon as it appeared. “She thinks they know the
Cruor Venator
are here.”
Nikola and Betty
, thought Eddie, with anger. They had made him feel like he was thirteen years old again, terrified and abused. That was one crime he could not forgive.
Both men shared a long look. Lannes said, “You were lucky to get away from those women. Very lucky.”
“Maybe
you
should go. Take Lethe back to Maine.”
“Run for the hills? Not yet.”
Not yet, but maybe.
It took them twenty minutes to reach Greenwich Village, where Lannes and Lethe had a home. It wasn’t just their home, but a brownstone that belonged to the gargoyle’s entire family. Eddie didn’t know how often it was used, but he’d heard from one of the brothers that it had been passed off to all of them for about seventy years. Gargoyles were long-lived.
West of Seventh Avenue, Leroy Street bent and became St. Luke’s Place. Quiet, upscale. Row houses lined the block, brick and brownstone, with arched entries and other elegant details. The trees were old and shedding their leaves. Expensive cars were parked along the street.
He felt out of place. Like a thief.
Lannes found a parking spot about a hundred feet from their brownstone. Eddie said, “People are going to see.”
“Let me carry her. I can spread my illusion.”
Eddie would have preferred to hold her, but he couldn’t say that. He could barely admit it to himself.
No traffic on the street. Just an old woman walking a dog half a block away. He didn’t see anyone watching from the windows, but that didn’t mean much. He felt as though a target were painted on his back as he opened the SUV’s back door. Lannes loomed over him Kmede windowand bent to pull out Lyssa.
He froze, though—and made a sharp, surprised, sound.
“What?” asked Eddie, concerned.
“I . . .” Lannes stopped, leaning back with a frown. “Nothing. When I touched her . . .”
He paused again. Eddie said, “Spit it out. Is there something wrong?”
“I don’t know.” Lannes pulled Lyssa into his arms. She made a small sound, but when her head lolled, her eyes stayed closed. Eddie didn’t think she was faking it. Whatever had happened in that explosion had drained her completely.
Her,
and not her dragon
, he reminded himself, as his jacket slipped off her body. He tucked it again more carefully around her—heart in his throat when he looked at her face. Heart in his hands when he touched her, as gently as he could.
When he looked up, Lannes was watching him with peculiar intensity. It embarrassed Eddie, but he met his gaze and did not flinch.
“You like her,” Lannes said.
Eddie set his jaw. “I can see her. Your illusion isn’t working.”
“Sure it is. It just isn’t working on you.” He started walking down the street. Eddie frowned at him but grabbed Lyssa’s backpack and shut the car door. When he caught up with them, Lannes said, “It’s strange, actually. Even
I
can’t see her. It looks to me like I’m holding air.”
Eddie glanced around to see if anyone was watching. “Are you sure you didn’t do it wrong?”
