Within the Flames

Chapter Six

Eddie knew it was a mistake the moment he touched Lyssa.

Because he was irritated when he caught her wrist — and it didn’t matter that she had tried to punch him. He had laid a hand on her, with frustration, annoyance — and it was too close to anger for comfort.

Too close to his worst nightmare.

So Eddie didn’t fight when she grabbed his throat. He went still, staring into her glowing golden eyes, taking in her anger and knowing it was fear. The same fear he had felt for years on the street: cornered, forced to look strangers in the eyes and hope it would be okay, without knowing whether or not it would be.

I understand, he wanted to tell her. I’m sorry.

A thought that was followed by fire.

When he could see again, when the world stopped spinning, and the heat inside him was nothing but a matchstick, burning — he blinked away tears and found there was nothing left but smoke clouding the air.

Alarms wailed, sounding tinny in his ears. His clothes were charred, his jeans on fire. Pavement, cracked and blackened. He smelled gasoline and burning metal, and felt terrible heat press against his back.

Cars had exploded, parked at the side of the street. The skeletons of each vehicle burned, pouring off a poisonous cloud of smoke that was thick and gruesome. Eddie didn’t see anyone inside, but maybe that was just wishful thinking.

He rolled over. Nothing but broken glass in the office building beside them. Windows had blown in. He heard screams and moans. How many? How many injured? Had anyone died?

Lyssa.

Eddie twisted and found her close, curled in a ball. Her green sweater had been reduced to rags that sparked and glimmered. She was on fire.

Choking, eyes stinging, he crawled to her and beat out the fire with his bare hands. Not once did she move. Grabbing her shoulder, checking her blackened face and arm, he was relieved to find the dark spots on her skin were nothing but soot. The fire had not touched her. Relief made him tremble.

She was like him. Immune.

“Miss,” he rasped. “Lyssa.”

Still no response. With a gentle push, he rolled her over — and stared.

Her scarf was in tatters, her sleeve mostly gone. Much of her glove had burned away, revealing her neck, right shoulder — her arm, her hand.

Gleaming red scales had replaced human flesh. Large scales, like a snake’s, edged in gold. It was like looking at armor made of rubies and precious metal, glinting in the smoke-shrouded light as though lit from within. Beneath that reptilian skin were contorted, sinewy muscles. Golden claws tipped her slender, triple-jointed fingers.

Eddie saw it all too quickly. No time to take it in.

He glimpsed movement on the other side of the dark cloud — people rushing down the sidewalk, pouring from the few office buildings that lined the street. Police would be coming soon, ambulances, fire trucks. Cameras.

Get out of here. Right now.

His ears still rang. Eddie fell the first time he tried to stand, and looked around, wildly, for a way out. Through the smoke, across the street, he glimpsed a parked car: an older model Camry.

Lyssa’s backpack was a wreck, but the strap was still intact. He slung her belongings over his shoulder, then scooped her into his arms. He held her carefully, her inhuman shoulder tucked against his chest. Hidden, as best he could. She did not make a sound.

Hunched over, hurting and breathless, he staggered between the burning wrecks. He felt movement from the corner of his eye, heard shouts and more screams as he carried Lyssa across the street. He set her on the sidewalk and pulled a multipurpose folding knife from his charred jacket. One of the tools was a window punch, which he set against the lower corner of the car window. He tapped, hard, and the glass crumpled with a crackling sound. Tapping again, he made a hole large enough for his arm. He reached in and unlocked the door.

Lyssa was so quiet and still. Gritting his teeth, trying to stay calm, Eddie pulled and pushed, and shoved her into the cluttered backseat. Newspapers fell to the floor, along with limp gym clothes and empty cans of soda. He tossed in the backpack after her.

Before he jumped into the driver’s seat, he looked around one more time — and found that they were not alone.

Two women stood close. The one on the left was tall, African-American, wearing a cropped red motorcycle jacket and a skintight black bodysuit with tall, heeled boots. Her striking face was dominated by eyes highlighted in purple shadow and black liner.

The other woman was shorter, but no less beautiful: long black hair, pale skin, crystalline blue eyes. Dressed in jeans and a white blouse partially obscured by a heavy necklace strung with chunks of onyx.

They stared at him. Him, and not the blast.

Might as well have been no fire, no screams, no billowing smoke and burning cars. . none of that touched them. They stood eerily still, still as stone, still as cats waiting to pounce — their eyes narrow and watchful, their mouths tilted into faint, sly smiles.

And Eddie realized, in one split second, that he was in deep trouble.

Few people scared him anymore. Most inspired caution, yes — but not fear. It wasn’t arrogance that made him feel that way. Just age and fire, and experience. Most of the time, he was more scared of himself.

Something about these women terrified him.

It was hard, immediate: a primal fear at the back of his primitive brain, like hearing a scream in a pitch-black forest, or the touch of bone fingers in the night.

When he looked at them, he thought death. Or something worse. And for those brief seconds that he stared into their eyes, the fear made him feel like a kid again, faced with all his worst nightmares: powerlessness, despair, guilt, desperation.

Eddie averted his eyes. He couldn’t help himself. It felt like a matter of survival, not looking at them.

“What a puppy,” said the black woman. “Such a handsome boy.”

“Adorable,” added the other woman. “I want to eat him up.”

Their soft laughter chilled him. Because he thought, yes, they really would eat him up. And then bury his bones in a ditch.

He shivered. “Who are you?”

“It speaks! How unusual,” said the black woman, swaying close. “I am Nikola. This is Betty. And you have something we want.”

“Besides your virtue,” said the other woman, showing her white teeth. “And here we thought we’d actually have to work to snare a dragon. It turns out we just have to follow her until she does something stupid.”

The meaning of their words was almost lost to him. What mattered was the sound of their voices, which crushed him smaller and harder, like he was nothing but a walnut or little stone.

Each word, a fist. Each word, an iron collar tightening around his soul.

Nikola moved even closer. It was all he could do not to fall on his knees and whimper. Sweat trickled down his chest. His fear was so nauseating, he could barely think.

“Mmm,” she murmured, her breath hot against his cheek. “You smell. . different.”

“Like fire,” Betty added, with a note of surprise. “Like. . a dragon.”

I’m human, he wanted to tell them.

“It must be her scent,” said Nikola, suddenly sounding bored. “Open the car door, puppy. Pick up the little lizard and come with us.”

She spoke as though she expected him to obey, without question. Part of him wanted to. He was that scared of them.

But not scared enough to forget who he was or what he had come to do.

I’m going to protect you, he thought, toward Lyssa. I’m going to take care of you.

And just thinking that. . changed everything.

Another chill raced through him, but this felt like a splash of cold water: clean and bracing. Suddenly, he could breathe again, and his spine straightened, and the nausea faded away.

Eddie raised his head, and looked the two women dead in the eyes.

“No,” he said.

Betty’s right eye twitched. “Excuse me?”

Nikola frowned. “Get the bitch out of the car and come with us, you little fuck.”

“Ma’am,” he replied, and slipped into the driver’s seat, slamming the door and locking it. He locked Lyssa’s door, too, then pried off the panel beneath the steering wheel. In ten seconds he had the engine roaring. Just like old times.

The women stood outside the car, staring at him with stunned expressions.

Eddie accelerated into the road, catching the light just as it turned yellow. He crossed Lexington, rolling down his window so that people wouldn’t notice the broken glass. By the time he turned left on Third, the trembling had begun, deep quakes that made him clench his jaw so his teeth wouldn’t chatter. He felt so cold.

I just met the Cruor Venator, he thought, shakily.

And if it wasn’t them, and just some random witches. . then God, yes, he finally understood what Lannes was warning him about.

Their presence alone had filled him with crippling, nauseating fear. . though now, with some distance, he couldn’t understand why.

Is that what a spell feels like? Or was it just them? And why did they let me leave?

Because he had surprised them, he realized.

Those women were not used to being defied. If they could instill that much fear in anyone they chose, then he understood why.

No way in hell could they be allowed to get close to Lyssa.

Eddie glanced into the backseat and found her eyelids twitching. Even unconscious, she grimaced as though in pain. He wondered if that was what he looked like after losing control of his fire.

Lyssa had caused the explosion. It had to be her. He had felt none of his own triggers, and the heat that had rolled off her skin in the seconds prior to the blast had been immense. Just standing next to her would have been enough to put a normal person in the hospital for burns.

He recalled Lyssa’s hand on his throat, her glowing eyes, the scent of smoke. .

Someone got injured today. No way there weren’t injuries.

Maybe she won’t care.

He chanced another look, this time at her exposed arm. Her hand, covered in red scales, rested on her stomach. Claws glinted, razor-sharp.

Seeing her caught in a partial shift was disconcerting. As though it should have been a makeup job, something out of a Hollywood creature shop. It also limited his options of where to take her.

You only have one choice.

But it would be bringing more trouble on their doorstep.

He reached into his pocket for his cell phone. The screen was cracked, but he held his breath, and it powered on.

Lannes answered on the second ring.

“Trouble,” Eddie said.

Eddie parked the car on Fifty-eighth, in front of a steakhouse behind a white delivery truck. He wiped everything down with his sleeve. The hunt would have already begun for the cause of the explosion. Terrorists might be blamed. Homeland Security would get involved.

He called Lannes again and gave him the address.

“It’s on the news,” said the gargoyle. “Just now.”

Eddie stopped breathing. “Fatalities?”

“Nothing yet, but the media is going nuts. Were there security cameras in that area?”

“I don’t know. There was no way to stop it, Lannes.”

“I thought. .” He paused, his silence heavy and thoughtful. “I know you’ve been ill. It couldn’t be helped.”

Eddie stilled. Lannes thought he was the one who had caused the explosion?

Of course he does. I’m the one who’s been out of control.

It hurt his pride and embarrassed him. He almost corrected his friend, but thought of Lyssa. . and kept his mouth shut.

“We’ll see you soon,” Eddie said, and hung up before Lannes could say anything else.

Behind him, he heard a soft whimper.

Lyssa was still unconscious, but her face contorted with pain, her breathing shallow and fast. She clawed fitfully at her scaled throat. Nightmare, perhaps. Eddie hesitated, unsure whether to wake her.

Until a wave of heat blasted his face. Smoke rose from the charred edges of her sweater, followed by sparks. Another fire, brewing.

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 protected her. Simply by saying no to them.”

“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, he had to force himself to breathe. A litany of excuses flooded his head—she’s drunk, carsick, just sick, we’re waiting for a restaurant to open, we’re homeless so give us a break—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.”

At the sound of her name, her entire face tightened with so much pain, his heart broke. “No. . don’t hurt me. . 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 and 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?”

“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.”

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, hoarse.

“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’t 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.

She gets under my skin, he thought, wondering what the hell was wrong, that he couldn’t control his emotions with her around.

Bottled up was safe. He needed to stay safe. For her.

No anger means no pain.

And while I’m at it, best not to feel anything at all.

Uneasy with himself, slightly nauseated, Eddie held up his hand and snapped his fingers. Sparks flew off his thumb.

Lyssa made a small sound of surprise and backed away. Eddie followed her. He was taller, but not by much, and liked being able to look her in the eyes.

He conjured another spark of fire, which shimmered like a star. Then once more, only this time it was an actual flame, rippling from his palm up his wrist, setting his sleeve on fire. He clapped it out with his other hand, smoke rising between them.

The surprise in her eyes turned haunted. Lyssa reached out — slowly, tentatively. Her left hand was pale and delicate, smudged with color.

Inks, he thought. Or paint. His hand seemed so rough in comparison. Ugly and scarred.

Her fingertips hovered close to his. Heat touched his palm, warm and delicious, spreading deep into bone — down his wrist, into his arm. Slow and easy, and strong. A good heat, without the tumult of emotion that usually accompanied the fire inside him. A calm warmth that felt more right than anything he had experienced in a long time.

Do you feel it, too? Eddie almost asked, wanting to touch her so badly. Instead, he held his breath, and remained still. Waiting for her. Waiting for her not to be afraid.

Waiting for himself not to be afraid, too.

Lyssa’s gaze flicked to his face, then down again. Her cheeks turned pink. She lowered her hand, and that good heat faded, leaving him cold. Cold, and so empty, so alone, he had to take a moment to steady himself.

She clutched the jacket closed. “You’re not human.”

“Not a dragon,” Eddie said heavily, watching her flinch ever so slightly. “But human enough.”

“You know too much,” she whispered.

“Let me help you. It’s what I do.”

“Who are you, really?”

“I told you. My name is Eddie.” He felt at a loss for what else to say. Giving her a bullet point of his interests and hobbies seemed stupid, and he didn’t have much of a life outside work. Nothing that mattered here. “I could tell you other things about me, but that probably wouldn’t mean anything to you. I wouldn’t expect it to.”

Lyssa was silent a moment. “Who would do a favor for Long Nu?”

She said the name with quiet bitterness and resentment. Eddie wanted to know what had happened to cause such anger. It made him uneasy.

“The organization I work for helps people. All of us there are. . not normal. Long Nu came into our lives almost seven years ago. We don’t see her often unless she needs something. But let me be clear. I’m not here for her. I’m here for you.”

“I don’t need anyone,” she muttered, and tried to walk around him. Eddie blocked her again, and she looked at him with a great deal of wariness. That stung, but he buried it, buried his heart, until he felt nothing when he met her distrustful gaze.

Almost nothing.

She was so pale, the shadows under her eyes very deep. But there was defiance there, too — and strength. Her spine was straight. She would go through him if he didn’t set her free.

“Leave me alone,” she said.

He didn’t bother arguing. Not directly.

“There were two women,” he told her. “On the street, after the explosion. I think they were witches. Maybe even the Cruor Venator. They knew you were a dragon.”

A profound stillness fell over her, and the fear returned to her eyes — along with terrible, haunting dread. He could feel her terror, and it was almost more than he could bear. Eddie burned to comfort her. All of him, burned. Being near her set the fire loose inside him in ways he did not understand. He had never felt this way about anyone.

“Describe them,” she said, in a low, hoarse voice.

“One was tall, African-American, wearing a red leather jacket. She called herself Nikola. The other was named Betty. A little shorter, with long black hair and very pale skin.”

“How much did they say to you?”

Eddie hesitated. “They wanted me to. . carry you for them.”

“And you didn’t?”

“You seem surprised.”

“I am. If they’re who I think they are, you should have been too frightened to resist. That’s what women like them can do. Scare you into submission.”

“I was terrified,” he told her. “I’ve never been so frightened. All they did was look at me, and I wanted to give up. But that’s not the same thing as losing my mind.”

Lyssa looked as though she wanted to disagree. “What’d you say to them?”

“I told them no. And then I got into a stolen car and drove us out of there.”

“That’s it?”

“Isn’t that enough?”

“I. .” Lyssa stopped, staring at him as if he was new and strange. “Thank you.”

Eddie felt embarrassed. “They had been following you.”

She closed her eyes. . but when she looked again at Eddie, moments later, her gaze was clear and determined, and hard. “You resisted them. That will make you a target, too.”

Cold armor slipped over his heart. The quiet place welcomed him, and all his fear slipped away.

“I know,” he said.

She took a breath, blinking.

“Call me Lyssa,” she said, and moved around him to the door.

Eddie exhaled, briefly closed his eyes, and followed her.