Within the Flames (9 page)

“It’s about
willing
an action,” Lannes said dryly. “I don’t have a magic wand, or a special incantation. And no, I didn’t make a mistake. For some reason, you can see her.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

Lannes glanced down. Maybe he really couldn’t see Lyssa, but Eddie thought that he was looking at
something.
And not anything that made him happy.

“No,” he finally replied, in a particularly grim voice. “None of this makes sense.”

< Kn=" of thfont face="Times (T1)" color="#000000">Eddie moved in so close he brushed against the gargoyle’s wings. Lannes gave him a hard look and moved away. Eddie crowded him again, refusing to back down. Concern warred with irritation. “What aren’t you saying? What did you feel when you touched her?”

“Let’s get inside first,” Lannes muttered, as they reached the front steps of a brownstone decorated with carved pumpkins, goofy witch dolls, and stone gargoyles with bunny ears glued to their heads.

“Wow,” Eddie said.

“Shut up,” said Lannes.

It was quiet inside. No one else home. In front of the door, a set of stairs led up to a second floor—and on either side of the entry were two massive rooms, spacious and furnished with overly large, well-worn blocks of furniture that looked big enough to hold several gargoyles, and maybe a baby elephant, or two. Threadbare rugs covered the hardwood floors, and large black-and-white photographs of mountains and rivers covered the white walls. A long hall led to the back. Eddie smelled cinnamon buns.

Lannes paused. “Here, take her.”

Eddie did, cradling Lyssa as gently as he could. She felt light, lighter than she should have, as though her bones were hollow, or she was made of air.

The gargoyle let out an unsteady breath once Lyssa was out of his arms. Eddie said, “What?”

“I don’t know if I should have brought her here,” he said, then stood there, looking stunned—as if he couldn’t believe he had just said that.

Eddie couldn’t believe it either. “What do you mean?”

His expression turned uncertain. “She makes my skin crawl.”

“I . . .” Eddie began, and stopped. “If you want us to leave—”

“No.” Lannes stepped back and pointed up the stairs. “First door on your right. But, if you don’t mind—”

“I’ll keep an eye on her,” he said, a little more sharply than he intended. Irritated at himself—and Lannes—he began carrying Lyssa upstairs.

“Eddie,” called out the gargoyle, behind him. “Just because she’s a shape-shifter . . .”

He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to.

Just because she’s a shape-shifter, doesn’t mean you should trust her.

Eddie continued climbing the stairs, holding her even closer—soft and warm against his chest. Her scent washed over him: indefinably sweet, with a hint of smoke, and vanilla.

Trust. What did trust mean, anyway? There were so many ways to lose trust before it even had a chance to form.

Give her a chance.

Give her the same chance you wish she would give you.

After all, it was only a matter of life or death.

The first room on the right held a bed, a standing wardrobe, and a small desk. One narrow window overlooked the front street.

Lyssa stirred in his arms, her eyes fluttering open. Just a little, then wider. Alert. He froze, staring down at her—and she went still, as well. Both of them, like caught animals.

“Hi,” Eddie said, awkwardly.

Lyssa sucked in her breath and pushed hard on his chest with her clawed right hand. He had no choice but to let go, but he tried to do so gently. She fell anyway, though, and he got clipped in the jaw trying to hold her upright.

“Stop,” she gasped, as her knees buckled, and she fell back on the bed. Eddie stepped forward, concerned, but she threw up one hand—breathing hard, eyes wide. Eddie held as still as he could, afraid to breathe.

Lyssa did not speak, but the wariness in her eyes was enough. Slowly, with a wince, she tried to sit up—and noticed her exposed right arm.

Fear filled her eyes. Panic.

Eddie said, “Hold on.”

His jacket had slipped away. He picked it off the floor and placed it on the bed beside her.

“I had you covered up before.” He had trouble meeting her gaze, which was tragic and lost. “Your arm . . . it doesn’t bother me.”

Silence. Stillness. Eddie looked down at his hands. He rubbed his scars but barely saw them, his attention focused entirely on the woman sitting on the bed in front of him.

Finally, with small movements, she took his jacket. Eddie did not watch her slip it on. It felt too personal, too intimate.

“Are you hurt?” he asked quietly. “You’ve been unconscious for more than an hour.”

Rustling sounds ceased. “That long? I . . . what happened?”

“There was an explosion. A fire.”

Her silence was excruciating. Eddie finally looked up, and wished immediately he hadn’t. Her horror overwhelmed him.

“How . . . bad?” she whispered, her left hand white as bone as she clutched his jacket closed.

How had he ever thought that this woman might not care that people had gotten hurt? Her fear, the devastation teetering in her gaze, was almost more than he could bear to see.

“No one died,” he reassured her.

Lyssa inhaled sharply. “But people were injured.”

“I don’t know details. It . . . made the news, though.”

She covered her mouth like she was going to be sick. Eddie stepped closer to the bed, moving carefully in case his presence frightened her. She hardly seemed to notice.

Lost. Lost deep, and far away.

Lost in his jacket, even, which was huge on her. Her right arm wasn’t in the sleeve. Hidden against her body, out of sight. Covered in soot, her clothing in tatters, auburn hair tangled and wild . . .

. . . and still the most compelling woman he had ever met.

Looking at her even now hit him with breathtaking force, deep in his heart and gut . . . stirring some primal ache that he hadn’t realized he was capable of feeling. Not like
this.
It frightened him, a little.

“You didn’t tell me if you’re hurt,” Eddie said, ho Kddith="1emarse.

“I’m not,” she murmured, voice muffled against her hand. Then, after a moment’s silence: “You?”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look like it.”

Eddie wasn’t sure what he looked like, but he felt battered on the inside. “Fire doesn’t hurt me.”

Lyssa held herself even tighter. “You’re no shape-shifter.”

“Is that a requirement?”

“It’s what I know.” She pushed herself to the edge of the bed, watching him warily. “Are you a witch?”

“No. I’m just . . . me.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

Eddie set his jaw. “It doesn’t have to. I’m here anyway.”

But that doesn’t mean anything to me either,
he imagined her thinking, and it stung more than it should have.

This was a job, he reminded himself. This was a job, like any other he had been on. He had helped doctors in Africa, mermen in the South China Sea. He had fought mercenaries in Mongolia.

He had lived as a thief on the streets of Los Angeles.

Lyssa Andreanos was just one more challenge.

She looked down at her torn, charred jeans, little more than rags covering her soot-covered legs. Eddie remembered her backpack and slid it off his shoulder onto the bed. When Lyssa saw it, she let go of the jacket just long enough to touch the blackened, burned canvas.

Some tension left her shoulders. “Where am I?”

“The home of a friend. The . . . gargoyle.”

Her reaction was unexpected. Eddie saw surprise in her eyes, followed by grief—and a heartbreaking longing that disappeared almost as quickly as it appeared.

She lowered her head until her hair fell around her face, and he could barely see her. “I need to go. You shouldn’t have brought me here.”

She tried to stand, but her knees buckled again. Eddie let out his breath and went to her. Her hand shot up, and the look she gave him was angry and fearful. “Don’t touch me.”

“Then don’t fall,” he shot back. “You need rest.”

“I need to get out of here,” she muttered, but trying to stand a third time was no better, and he grabbed her waist before she could fall. He half expected her to hit him, but all she did was stiffen and make a muffled sound of protest.

Her body was slender and soft, and warm. Her scent, smoky and sweet. Eddie’s nose brushed against her hair, and a deep need sparked inside him, an ache that felt too much like being adrift, lost, homesick.

A need that he knew, in his gut, this woman could ease.

His reaction, and the thought that accompanied it, stunned him. He tried to let her go, but his hands tightened before he could stop them, and it took all his willpower to merely help her sit—instead of pulling her even closer.

When he did finally loosen his hands, and step back—he felt hot, light-headed. Lyssa was not looking at him. Her shoulders sagged inside his oversized jacket as she braced her left hand on the covers. She seemed to be breathing hard. But so was he.

Distance. He needed distance to clear his head. Eddie went to the wardrobe. He didn’t know whose room this was, but it looked feminine enough to have
something
around she could wear. His sister—and mother—had always filled every closet in the house with their things, even in rooms that didn’t belong to them.

He found summer dresses hanging inside, alongside purses and frilly cardigans. Behind him, Lyssa said, “Who else lives here?”

“My friend’s wife. I don’t know who else.”

“A gargoyle doesn’t wear those clothes.”

“She’s human.” Nothing in here was going to work. It was all short sleeves and gaping necklines. Eddie closed the wardrobe door. “You’re going to need something . . . warmer.”

Lyssa tried to stand again, and this time stayed upright. She swung the backpack over her shoulder and winced. “I don’ K. "Timest feel the cold.”

“Where are you going?”

“None of your business.”

“I can help you.”

Lyssa shook her head and moved unsteadily to the door. Eddie crossed the room and planted himself in front of her. She shot him a deadly look, which he easily ignored.

“What happened, with the fire,” he told her. “If nothing else, I can help you with
that.
”

Distrust filled her eyes. “Don’t lie to me.”

Anger flared, unexpected and hot. He couldn’t push it down. After a moment, he stopped trying.

“I’m not a liar,” he said in a deadly soft voice. “Don’t call me that.”

Lyssa shivered.

That—and the sudden uncertainty in her eyes—made his anger flash away as quickly as it had arrived.