Within the Flames

Chapter Thirteen

It was the knife. Lyssa looked at it, and for one precious moment, lost herself to memory. It was night, and she could hear the drip, drip, drip of blood on snow, and the rasp of sobs, and her mother’s quiet breathing as she begged, with dignity, for her daughter’s life.

And then the memory died, she blinked, and said, “Kill her. Quick.”

Eddie gave her a startled look, but Lyssa didn’t hesitate. She couldn’t. If Betty got away and told the Cruor Venator what she’d found, there would be another bloodbath. Lannes and his wife would never be safe. Neither would the witches, though frankly, Lyssa was a hell of a lot less worried about them.

She lunged toward Betty, claws out. An entire room separated them. Betty had time to blink, and raise her knife—

— and then Lyssa was on her, claws slashing downward as she aimed a blow at the witch’s perfect, startled face.

Betty moved aside at the last moment, graceful and inhumanly quick. Her empty hand turned into a blur as she tried to punch Lyssa in the gut — but her dragon reflexes saved Lyssa, and she blocked the blow.

Betty lashed out again in a series of precise kicks and hand-strikes. She did not use the blade. No permission. The first cut, and every cut after, would belong to the Cruor Venator.

She had training, though. Her fighting style was too polished. Time in a gym or dojo, no doubt at the encouragement of the Cruor Venator. Lyssa knew within moments that she was outmatched.

Betty’s fist caught her across the face — the blow hard enough to knock her back. She would have fallen if Eddie hadn’t caught her. His hands were strong and hot as hell, and his gaze was furious.

As he helped her stand, Lyssa caught a glimpse of the rest of the room. Lannes had dragged Lethe away from the door, holding her out of sight behind him. She could smell the stink of his fear — though it was a little less strong than the stink rolling off every other witch in that room, who stared at Betty like she was Satan personified: evil, more evil, and shitting in the pants evil.

It was just the projection — the infection of fear — but it was as potent as a death ray. Morgana was already sinking to her knees, sweat pouring off her face as she trembled so violently her teeth chattered.

Eddie, though, stepped in front of Lyssa. His hands were on fire.

“You,” he said a deadly soft voice. “Will never touch her again.”

Betty stared at him with total, unaffected calm, her gaze thoughtful, and assessing. “I told her about you. The Cruor Venator wants to know what makes you tick. Why you’re not afraid of us.”

Lyssa pushed past him, fire pulsing at her fingertips. “She’ll never find out.”

Betty frowned. “Lizard. Do you even know what she is? What I am?”

Prey, whispered the dragon, coming awake.

And Lyssa whispered, “Dead.”

Betty snarled, raising the obsidian blade. Lyssa stepped forward, ready. There was a sour taste in her mouth, bitter and metallic. A thread of power. The aftereffects of tasting Lethe’s blood.

She wanted more. More blood. More power. More than just a taste. It was like the lightest brush of an ice cube on her tongue after dying of thirst in a desert.

In other words, torture.

And here was Betty, served up on a platter. It was almost too easy.

It is too easy, she realized.

“Where’s your friend?” Lyssa asked, but Betty had already begun her attack in a frenzied blur of deadly movement. She braced herself, ready to block those blows—

— but they never came. Eddie stepped in front of her, fire still raging around his hands, and rained down one single blow that sent Betty to her knees. He was unbelievably fast — as if he were a shifter himself, or fueled with the same blood magic that infused Betty’s muscles.

The witch hit the floor, stunned, nearly unconscious. Lyssa heard, behind her, a deep release of breath — everyone in the room freed from that infection of paralyzing fear.

Do it, she told herself. Right now. End it. Betty can’t go free.

But once again, she was too slow.

Lyssa got knocked into Eddie’s side as Lannes stormed past and grabbed Betty off the floor.

His hands were massive around her throat, and she was limp as a rag doll, almost swinging from his grip. Half her face was burned. Her eyes cracked open, and she gave him a slack, half-conscious stare — just before he snapped — and then crushed — her neck.

The sound was loud, crunchy, and final. Lannes dropped Betty and backed away, staring at her body. Pure silence filled the apartment.

“Oh, my God,” someone whispered.

And then Lethe said, “Lannes.”

The gargoyle exhaled and looked at his wife. Gaze terrible, and haunted. He reached out to her with a trembling hand.

She went to him without hesitation. Lyssa released her own breath — realizing that Eddie did the same.

Without a word, Lannes picked Lethe off her feet and carried her over Betty’s dead body — which blocked the doorway. In a heartbeat, they were gone.

Eddie moved close. Fire gone from his hands, though his eyes were filled with the same haunted remorse that she had glimpsed on the gargoyle’s face.

“I was going to kill her,” he whispered, as if he couldn’t quite believe it.

“So was I,” Lyssa told him, just as softly — still able to taste the resolve that would have kept her fighting until the bitter end. A tremor raced through her, and she swallowed hard, feeling nauseated. Part of her was disappointed she hadn’t been the one to make the killing blow — but mostly, she was relieved.

Lyssa turned in a slow circle to study the witches behind her. The girls who seemed to be sisters had fled down the hall, and the woman seated beside the old man was helping him to his feet. Both looked pale, shaken. A heart attack, perhaps imminent.

Morgana had gotten off her knees. Ursula seemed surprisingly calm, except for the fine sheen of sweat on her wrinkled face. It was rare to see a witch who was physically old. Which meant Ursula was very, very, old, and accepting of it — enough, so that she felt no need to cast an illusion of youth.

Old witches usually also had balls of steel.

“We’ll take care of the body,” she said. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“Come on.” Eddie touched Lyssa’s hand, something in his voice and movements undeniably shaken. “We should leave.”

But she remained still. Morgana gave her a grim, wary, look. “What now?”

Cutting Betty and tasting her blood would only expose Lyssa to every murder Betty had ever committed. Unlike Lethe’s blood, which was easily read, the Cruor Venator’s woman would carry only one message in her veins: death.

And that would tell Lyssa nothing she didn’t already know.

“I need to find out where the Cruor Venator is taking her kills,” said Lyssa. “Have you heard anything? Even rumors?”

Morgana pointed. “Maybe you should have asked. As if you don’t already know.”

“Ma’am,” said Eddie. “Go to hell.”

Ursula touched Morgana’s arm. “You and the others should leave this room. Right now.”

For a moment, Lyssa thought there would be an argument. But Morgana took another look at Betty’s corpse — her gaze lingering on the obsidian knife — and she backed away, jaw tight, eyes slightly unfocused. The old man and his companion had already left the living room. Morgana turned, and staggered down the hall — leaning heavily on the wall.

Ursula sighed and rubbed her face. “My God. No wonder we are a dying race.”

“Because you’re cruel and stupid?” said Lyssa wearily. “Yes, that’s a problem.”

The old woman gave her a look that made her feel small and slightly ashamed.

Eddie flexed his hands. “I see suitcases lining that wall. You planned on running.”

“Of course. The Cruor Venator prefers to kill witches and those with power. It was only a matter of time before we became targets. We would have left already, except Alice. . Lethe. . chose today to visit, and it became clear after spending some time with her that she was with child. We could. . feel it. . even though she couldn’t.”

Lyssa didn’t want to be here anymore, and she really didn’t want to be near a dead body. Especially this one.

“Do you know where the Cruor Venator is?” she asked again, in a sharper voice.

“No,” said Ursula. “I have something else to discuss with you.”

“What?”

“Kara. Your mother.”

“My last name is Hadrada,” she said. “Is that familiar to you?”

Lyssa shook her head, unable to find her voice. Hearing this woman mention her mother by name had formed a knot in her throat that seeing Betty, fighting Betty, and standing over Betty’s dead body couldn’t come close to touching.

She seemed disappointed. “Ah.”

“How. .” Lyssa stopped, wetting her lips. “How did you know her?”

“Kara saved my life.” Ursula smiled. “Much too long a story for a time like this. But you have her face. When I saw you. . I thought at first it was her.”

Again, it was difficult to speak. “She’s dead.”

Ursula’s visible surprise — and regret — did painful things to Lyssa’s heart. No one had ever been sorry her mother was dead. Quite the opposite.

“I’m sorry,” whispered the old woman. “She was. . a good person. Few understood that, and she was unfairly treated because of it. As you are, I suspect.”

“She understood why.” Lyssa looked deep into her eyes, memorizing them. Some rainy day, when or if anyone ever disparaged her mother’s memory, she would recall this old woman, and her compassion. “So do I.”

“And yet, you haven’t fully embraced. .” Ursula stopped and looked past her at Eddie. “Never mind. I wanted to know if there’s anything I can do for you.” She looked down at Betty. “You’re here because of the Cruor Venator, aren’t you?”

Eddie’s shoulder brushed against hers, hard and warm. “She’s hunting Lyssa.”

“And so you become the hunter,” said Ursula softly, glancing down at Lyssa’s gleaming claws. “A formidable one, I expect.”

She pulled the jacket sleeve over her hand. “Not formidable enough to keep them from killing my friends, and. . tracking me.”

“Tracking you.” Ursula paled. “Ah.”

Lyssa thought about Estefan and closed her eyes. “I’m sorry. That’s how Betty found this place. We should leave, and so should you. Right now. Before anyone else comes.”

“We will,” said the old woman firmly. “But how are they tracking you? It shouldn’t be possible.”

Lyssa was keenly aware of Eddie listening, and was afraid of how much he might hear that would damn her. But the truth had to be told, because she sensed Ursula might be able to help. She had nothing to lose, at this point.

And, Ursula had spoken her mother’s name. She had looked Lyssa in the eyes, without fear. No other witch in that room had been able to do the same.

That had to mean something.

Lyssa swallowed hard, and looked at Eddie. “Can you. . bring out the. .”

Skin, she could not say. Estefan’s skin.

Compassion filled his eyes. He slid off the backpack and pulled out the paper parcel. When he began to hand it to her, she shook her head and backed away.

Tight-lipped, Eddie unwrapped the brown paper and revealed the leopard hide.

Ursula leaned forward but did not touch.

“A shape-shifter,” she said, after a moment. “And so are you. I understand now. That’s the blood they’re sniffing.”

“I need to break the link. I’m not sure how.”

“If you’re Kara’s daughter, you know how. But I think you know the medicine will be worse than the disease.”

“What does that mean?” Eddie asked.

Lyssa finally reached for the parcel. “It means I can’t just grieve like a normal person.”

He hesitated, holding it back. “You know what you’re doing?”

“No.” She tried to smile for him, but the burning had already begun in her throat and eyes. “I don’t want any more knocks on the door, though. Do you?”

Eddie gave Lyssa a sharp look but handed her the parcel. She sat down on the couch, just as his cell phone began ringing. He answered tersely, his gaze never leaving hers. She was dimly aware of him speaking to Lannes, but her focus was mostly on Estefan’s skin.

Betty’s body was a surreal exclamation point on the floor, but it was easier to ignore her — or feel nothing at all but relief. Especially while holding part of her friend’s corpse.

Ursula murmured, “If you need blood. .”

Lyssa gave her a sharp look. Eddie hung up his cell phone, and said, “If she needs blood, she can have mine.”

It was like offering cocaine to a drug addict. He had no idea what that meant to her. She closed her eyes and shook her head. The remnants of Lethe’s blood would have to be enough. Before she could change her mind, she placed her hands on Estefan’s skin and opened her mind.

Images slammed like a hurricane, stealing her breath and squeezing her heart until her world was reduced to nothing but endless suffering — a life teetering on the edge of death.

From this maelstrom rose the memories of two women: one of them tall, lithe, and dressed in crimson; and the other, whose pale face was surrounded by a tumbling mass of glossy black hair. Betty and Nikola.

Both held curved obsidian blades in their hands. Their eyes glittered, and their smiles were white and sharp.

“I wish you had a child,” said the black woman, Nikola. “I’ve never had the blood of a shifter-baby. It must be sweet. So. . succulent.”

Betty rose from her couch, and glided across the floor. “Would it taste like spring?”

In her memories, Estefan trembled. Lyssa trembled with him, lost in his skin, lost in the pounding fear that fell upon him in throbbing waves. A primitive, violent fear, overwhelming, paralyzing — and dehumanizing. No fear could match it. No fear could be as powerful. No one but a Cruor Venator and her women could tear a brave heart to pieces with nothing but a look.

Estefan was untied in her memories, but still helpless, wearing his leopard body as he pressed his belly to a concrete floor and groveled. Frightened into paralysis.

Betty and Nikola surrounded him, obsidian knives flashing.

The first cut was shallow, across his side. The second cut deeper, over his heart. Betty sank to her knees, licking his blood off her blade. Nikola did the same, throwing back her head with a shuddering sigh. Lyssa hated them with a terrible fury.

From behind Estefan a familiar, leathery voice whispered, “I will wear your skin as my own, leopard. I will hunt your kind and make them live as animals until I am ready for their blood. I will take their power, and my empire will stretch into the fire when the new world comes.”

His terror sank like a sick root into his soul. It did not matter that it was out of his control, nothing but an illusion induced by evil. Being forced to endure such a violation of emotion was the same as rape.

Her friend, tortured to death. Estefan, whose only crime had been showing kindness to a lost girl with no home, no family, and a lot of loneliness.

Leave these memories, whispered the dragon, finally stirring. Do what you came to do and let it be over. Find the link. Sever it.

Whatever spell the Cruor Venator had cast would be linked to Estefan’s skin. Not the physical skin, because otherwise, burning it to ashes would be enough. The spell was linked to the essence, to the spirit and blood.

Shifting magic was a unique magic. All shifters could sense one another if close enough. The Cruor Venator would now have the same ability, simply augmented by her own power.

Guide me, she said to the dragon. Please.

A wing stretched through her soul, gathering her close. Here. Follow.

Lyssa flew through a vast darkness dotted with golden stars.

Each star is a shifter, whispered the dragon. There are not many stars, but that could yet change.

How?

Time, replied the dragon. And those like your mate, who are their allies.

He is not my mate.

You will have babies with him.

Focus, she growled, and the dragon laughed with a sibilant hiss, before her voice dropped again to a whisper.

We cannot shield all these shifters from the Cruor Venator, but we can hide you.

That wasn’t good enough. No one could be allowed to suffer.

Then you will kill her, said the dragon, sensing her thought. And no one will suffer.

Lyssa ignored her, focusing on her own light. How do I shield myself?

Like this, it murmured, and spread its wings around her.

Darkness fell down. She fell with it.

And heard, on the other side of those wings, a pounding fist. It had to be the Cruor Venator. The witch knew she had lost the link and was trying to find her again.

Fear laced through Lyssa’s heart but lasted only long enough for her anger to consume it.

I want to see her, she told the dragon, and without a word of argument, warning, or caution, those wings pulled back — and let the Cruor Venator in.

Lyssa was ready for her, and attacked.

It was like trying to tangle with the breeze off a garbage dump. The witch’s spirit smelled like it was rotting. Except Lyssa was the wind, too, made of claws and fire, and she wrapped around that unclean spirit with a power born from grief, fury.

The Cruor Venator snarled, but before the witch could react, Lyssa bit her soul — and tasted a different kind of blood.

She drank, and a maelstrom blasted through her like dynamite exploding. Images flashed, forests and mountains, men in Nazi uniforms, a strange woman with black eyes and blood on her teeth. . Lyssa’s mother, except younger, much younger. .

Lyssa didn’t want to see any more. She tried to wrench herself away, but the Cruor Venator held tight with frightening resolve.

Your mother was so very pretty, whispered the witch, with satisfaction.As are you, I’m sure. After all these years, Lyssa. . what took us so long to find one another?

Go to hell, she snarled, but her heart was thundering, and hearing that smug voice reminded her too much of that night in the woods, when the witch had murdered her parents. Snow and moonlight flashed, the forest in a blur—

Suddenly, unexpectedly, she heard another voice inside her mind.

This voice was stronger than the Cruor Venator. . and surrounded her in a burst of fire and blazing light that cracked the shell of darkness.

Eddie.

Lyssa, she heard him think, as the connection bloomed between them. It was just her name, but that was enough.

His voice sounded like home.

Lyssa slammed the Cruor Venator, knocking herself free — and the dragon did the rest, tearing the witch away and tossing her beyond the protective circle of its wings.

Silence fell. A soft darkness.

Then the world returned.

She blinked, and suddenly there was a couch beneath her.

She was not alone. Eddie cradled her against his chest. A shimmering cocoon of heat surrounded them, making her feel safe, protected. As if nothing could hurt her while he was close.

Not pain, not loss. Not evil.

Blood dripped down her nose. Eddie pressed his sleeve against her nostrils. Lyssa pushed him away, gently.

“I’m okay,” she lied.

He gave her a haunted look. “You started to convulse.”

“I was fighting the Cruor Venator,” she whispered. “I don’t think she can track me anymore.”

“Good. Because we’re leaving this city. We’re gone.”

“No.”

He looked at Betty with her crushed neck and half-staring eyes. “Yes, Lyssa. Right now.”

She fought free of his arms, half-falling off the couch. “I’m finishing this. One way or another. I have to.”

“I won’t let you. I can’t. I don’t know if I can protect you, Lyssa.”

“I never asked you to.”

His gaze darkened, and those strong hands tightened with bruising strength. “Don’t. Not this again.”

“I’m not yours,” she snapped. “And you’re hurting me.”

Eddie stiffened.

Lyssa wished instantly she could take back those words. But she couldn’t even speak when he stood up and walked away from her.

Ursula swayed close, bangles chiming. Watching him, then her, with inscrutable eyes. She held the parcel with Estefan’s skin, having wrapped the paper around his remains.

“You dropped this,” she said, as Eddie stood at the darkened window, staring at Central Park. Smoke rose off his back.

Lyssa slipped her glove over her right hand, trying to keep her voice from shaking. “Your suitcases are packed. I wouldn’t let that go to waste.”

Ursula handed her the parcel but didn’t let go. “Your mother once told me she was afraid of herself.”

Lyssa stared. The old woman gave her a soft, sad look.

“She said it was always a struggle. But it was a struggle she mastered. Do you understand?” Ursula stepped closer, cupping her cheek with a soft, trembling hand. “You are her daughter. If your face hadn’t convinced me, your actions here today most certainly did.”

Lyssa tilted sideways, light-headed. Eddie turned, saw her swaying, and strode toward her with quick, urgent steps. His scent was dangerous. Angry.

His hand, though, was gentle when it found hers. Lyssa was a little surprised he even wanted to hold her hand, especially when he couldn’t even meet her gaze.

Ursula scrutinized him. “You. . are another mystery entirely.”

Eddie made no reply, but he didn’t need to. Nothing about him was soft, in that moment — or afraid. The old woman, who was a witch and held a hard power about her, had to look away first.

They had to walk over Betty’s body. Lyssa made a point to stare at the dead woman’s face, memorizing the emptiness of her eyes. Eddie waited beside her, silent. When she chanced a glance at him, he was also studying Betty. . but with no emotion, just a flat, cold remoteness that transformed him into different man entirely.

The obsidian blade lay on the floor. Lyssa did not touch it. Too much death.

Ursula did not follow them. Out in the hall, Lyssa gave her a last, lingering look. The old woman stood alone, a wrinkled hand held over her heart.

Lyssa was surprised at how reluctant she felt to leave her. If the old woman had known her mother. .

One day, she thought. One day, if I live through this. Another thing to do, on an already long list. A list she hadn’t realized she was keeping until now.

They did not take the elevator. Eddie waited for her just inside the stairwell. Lyssa’s head began to throb, and so did her right arm, down to the tips of her claws.

“Are you okay?” he asked, but his voice was distant, and he barely looked at her. His distance felt personal — and was at direct odds with everything she thought she knew about him. It bewildered her. It hurt.

“I’m fine,” she said, wondering how it had all gone wrong. And why it felt as though her heart was crumbling to pieces.

Lyssa pushed past Eddie to walk down the stairs. He followed, staying close. Silent, though the waves of wild heat flowing off his body said more than words.

Outside, the evening breeze off Central Park tasted sweet, and she glimpsed a handful of stars. Lyssa stood for a moment, soaking it all in. Their cab was gone. Eddie strode to the street to hail another. His movements were powerful, confident — not at all like the damage in his scent, the fear and anger. Lyssa didn’t realize she was holding her breath until there was some distance between them.

“I don’t want to ask this,” she said, speaking to his back. “But what the hell is wrong with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Is it because I don’t want to give up?”

“I’m not asking you to.”

“Yes, you are, if you ask me to leave. I’m terrified, Eddie. I’m scared out of my wits. But if I break now. . if I let myself run. .”

I’ll never stop, she wanted to say. I’ll run forever, until I die. Like a cornered animal.

“Safe isn’t the same as giving in,” he said in a low, hard voice. “Safe is buying time, coming up with a plan.”

“The plan is now,” she said, but even as those words left her mouth, the sidewalk began spinning. Sweat broke out, and so did nausea. She tilted sideways, lights dancing in her eyes — and something wet bubbled inside her nostril.

She touched the spot. Her fingers came away red.

“Damn it,” Eddie muttered, covering the distance between them in moments. “Hold on to me.”

Lyssa closed her eyes, dizzy. “I’m not an invalid.”

“You’re an Amazon,” he replied. “Here’s a cab. Get in.”

She tried to pull away. “No, I don’t think so.”

He didn’t say a word — just grabbed the front of her jacket, holding her still. But he didn’t need to touch her to do that. All it took was the look in his eyes. All the gentleness gone, replaced by a cold that sank through her, into her heart. It bruised her feelings and frightened her.

She stared at him, knowing full well she could hide nothing of what she felt — and as he stared back, a terrible darkness entered his eyes.

With what seemed to be a great deal of effort, he let go of the jacket. Lyssa let out her breath. Stepped back, and climbed into the cab.

After a moment, Eddie followed.

“Bayard and Elizabeth Street,” he told the driver, then glanced sideways. “We’re meeting Lannes and Lethe in Chinatown.”

The cab accelerated into traffic. Lyssa leaned against the door, aching and tired. “Can I talk about this without you freaking out?”

“Yes,” he said tightly.

“I’ve been hunted for ten years,” she told him. “Since I was twelve years old. I always knew I would be found. And I knew when it happened, I’d have to make a choice. Run. . or stand my ground and fight.”

The cabbie glanced in his rearview mirror.

“World of Warcraft,” Lyssa told him. “It’s a gaming thing. We’re very melodramatic.”

She turned back to Eddie, expecting him to say something. . anything. . but it was as if he hadn’t heard a word. He remained silent, staring at his hands, which were resting flat on his thighs. Lyssa stared, too — at his scars.

The cab driver rolled down the window, fussing with his heater. “Turning into an oven in here.”

She hadn’t noticed the heat rising off Eddie, but when the cab driver spoke, she felt an invisible flame wrap around her, from head to toe. It felt good, and she didn’t like that. Right now, she wanted to feel cold, resolved.

She tried to move away from him, but came up against the door. Eddie turned his head, and watched her. She looked away from him, out the window.

The cab ride seemed to take forever. Traffic was bad. Lyssa heard sirens all around them, far away and close, wailing through her until the noise was in her spine, and her heart beat to the rise and fall of that ominous sound.

Chinatown was run-down and gritty. Even the cover of night and neon lights couldn’t hide the dirty awnings and sidewalks. Five-and six-story walk-ups lined Bayard Street, those brick faces crowded with fire escapes, and cheap, glowing signs covered in a funky mix of English names and Chinese characters. There was hardly enough room to drive. Everything from delivery trucks to minivans parked on both sides of the narrow one-way street.

The cab dropped them off at the intersection of Elizabeth and Bayard. Lyssa got out first and put her face to the cold wind, inhaling exhaust and grease scents, and an undercurrent of sewage, slime. She smelled blood, too, but realized — as she pushed back her hair — that it was from her hand.

Nauseating twirling sensations hit her, as though she were going to vomit and spin at the same time. Eyes closed, she breathed even deeper, ignoring the tingle of power that rode up her right arm.

Before today, she would never have contemplated casting a spell — let alone three. I knew the price, she thought, with dread.

“Lyssa,” Eddie said, and she made room for him to exit the cab.

It was difficult not to limp along as she walked, hunched over and nauseated. Even her heart pounded too hard. For some reason, that made her think of Mandy, dying alone in the park. She felt like the same thing was happening to her.

Eddie slid his arm through hers. She tried to pull away, but even with her inhuman edge of strength, he didn’t budge.

“Lean on me,” he said.

“I don’t want to.” I’m afraid to. You’ll let me down.

He didn’t say anything or let go. Lyssa had no choice but to keep up, but it was easier than she expected to fall in at his side. Natural, as though she’d been doing it all her life. Heat flowed between them. Her heart began to slow. Breathing was easier.

Don’t be tricked, she told herself. This doesn’t mean anything.

Of course it does, replied the dragon, as the muscles of her right arm twitched. What would you say? Oh, yes. Loosen up.

Loosen up. She hadn’t been loose in ten years. She hadn’t even been flexible. Her heart was so stiff and brittle, it would break if anyone touched it.

Especially him.

They stopped in front of a narrow metal door crammed beneath the awning of a magazine store. Teen girls filled the small, well-lit clothing shop next door. One of them looked up, saw Eddie, and began nudging the others. She didn’t think he noticed until he turned slightly to put his back to them.

Lyssa peered around his shoulder. The girls were giggling, biting their bottom lips as they checked out his ass.

“They think you’re cute,” she told him. “Not a criminal.”

“It’s amazing how fine a line that can be,” he replied, unlocking the door.

They entered a dark corridor. The cracks in the walls were wide enough to stick her fingers into, and the pea green linoleum on the floor had been spray-painted with obscenities — as well as one giant heart decorated with a skull and crossbones.

Mold tickled her nose, but so did the dry, salt-breeze scent of the gargoyle — accompanied by notes of jasmine, vanilla.

“Lannes and Lethe are here,” she said.

They began climbing a narrow staircase so steep it was almost a ladder. Lyssa had to stop halfway up, breathless. Worn-out.

For the briefest, most terrible moment — she thought about cutting herself again. Just a little cut, a little blood, to give herself energy. Enough to get through this day.

Or I could cut Eddie.

Revulsion filled her. Lyssa leaned hard on the cracked wall and pressed her fist against her mouth. Memories trickled — memories of power, and being inside the Cruor Venator’s rotting mind.

Other memories strained: her mother’s smiling eyes, a splash of blood on snow. Her father’s scream of rage.

Both of them murdered. Estefan killed, and many others. All because power had become someone else’s addiction. Power and revenge. What had she said to those guys studying Macbeth?

Once you decide to use violence to get power, it’s difficult to stop.

Eddie hung back, two steps down — and leaned on the wall opposite her.

Silence fell. Just their breathing and the creak of the building. Muffled voices from outside, and the honk of a car horn. Her heartbeat. Her terrible thoughts.

Lyssa closed her eyes. “Something you want to say to me?”

She heard him climb the steps separating them. The stairwell was barely wide enough for her shoulders, let alone two people. His leg touched hers, and his hand slid past her arm to rest against the wall. Heat poured off him. Fire. Fire in her own skin, licking down to bone, and blood.

“Is it easier not to look at me?” he asked, in a soft voice.

“Yes,” said Lyssa.

“Okay,” he replied. “It’s about what you said in the cab.”

“I didn’t think you heard me.”

“I was listening.” His thumb brushed against her mouth, and she flinched, opening her eyes. . and meeting his. “I understand fighting. I understand the choice to run. . or hold your ground. I respect you for it.”

“So what’s the problem?”

His expression was so severe. “Lyssa. Don’t play dumb.”

She pushed against his chest. “Fine. Of course I’ll get hurt. There’s no win in this situation. I’m already hurt. I’m just not dead.”

“That’s not good enough. I want you safe, alive, and happy.” He caught her hand and held it against him, unmoving. “Is it such a bad thing for someone to care what the hell happens to you?”

Yes, she thought, suddenly exhausted. Yes, if I lose them.

Heavy footsteps on the landing. Heavy as a gargoyle. Lyssa sagged against the wall, heart sinking into her stomach as she looked away from Lannes and Eddie — staring down the stairs, desperately fighting for control over her memories, and grief.

Eddie said, in a rough voice, “Give us a minute.”

Silence. Then, Lannes replied, mildly, “Is everything okay?”

Lyssa closed her eyes, tears rolling down her cheeks. Eddie made a small sound, deep in his throat, and moved so that he blocked her from Lannes.

“We’re fine,” he said, in a gentler tone. “We’ll be right there.”

She couldn’t see their faces, but the hush that fell in that stairwell was immense, and charged.

Until, finally, she heard the rustle of wings and the groan of stairs.

Eddie let out his breath. Lyssa chanced a look and found his back turned to her. He stood one step above her, staring up at the landing. His hands curled in loose fists. Strong, broad, steady.

“I’ll be honest,” she murmured, closing her eyes again. “I didn’t like it when you were angry with me, back at the apartment building. And I don’t like it that I even cared.”

Eddie turned and sat on the steps. Then he held out his hand to her.

His hand looked so large and warm. Lyssa couldn’t help herself, and let him draw her down to the same step: crammed together, side by side, in that narrow space, cocooned in cracking walls and heat, and shadow.

He held her hand in a loose grip. “You know my worst nightmare? Losing my temper. I did that once, and it ended. . so badly. And, oddly, not as bad as I wanted it to.”

The wounds in her heart bled a little more. “Is that why you ran from home?”

“Yes.” Eddie looked down at their hands, turning them over so his scars were hidden. “And I wasn’t mad at you.”

“Yes, you were.”

He closed his eyes. “I’ll go insane if I can’t protect you. But. . I’m afraid I won’t be strong enough. I hesitated, with Betty, at the end. I knew what I had to do, but taking that last step. .”

“I know,” she said softly. “Part of the reason I’ve been running all these years is that I don’t want to kill.” Lyssa held up her right hand, oddly shaped inside the glove. “I was so close to taking Betty’s life. And then, when Lannes finished her. .”

“I felt relieved,” he said, and they shared a long look.

“Well,” Lyssa told him, finally. “I’m glad.”

The corner of his mouth softened. “That so?”

“I hate movies where the heroes just go around shooting people like it’s nothing. You know, bang-bang, right in the face — and then they get off some funny line and keep on going like it’s just another day, and oh — it’s time for lunch.”

His smile grew a fraction more. “But some people find that sexy.”

Lyssa struck a pose, aiming a gun with her fingers. “Pew-pew.”

A snort escaped him, and his eyes warmed.

“You’re right,” she said, blowing on her finger, concentrating on making actual smoke trickle from the tip of her glove. “It’s totally hot.”

Eddie laughed outright and covered her hand with his. His smile faded, though, and he bowed his head. . drawing her hand close to his chest, holding it with heart-stopping gentleness. Lyssa leaned in and kissed the top of his head.

Above them, the ceiling creaked. Someone big was pacing.

“Your friends are waiting,” she said.

“You’re my friend, too.” Eddie glanced up at the ceiling. “You saved Lannes and Lethe today.”

“It wasn’t that simple.”

“You saved them,” he said firmly. “You didn’t have to come with me, and you didn’t have to help them, but you did. I know it cost you something.”

Lyssa remembered the taste of Lethe’s blood. . and how good it had felt when she frightened those witches. Knowing she could own them, if she really wanted it.

She sighed. “I would do it again in a heartbeat.”

“But?”

“You’re right. It cost me.”

Maybe my soul, she thought.