by Keri Arthur
I slapped at it, saw something silver fly sideways, and realized with a sinking sensation that it was a dart.
I reached the building and grabbed at the window frame, my gaze swinging wildly to the left and right, looking for my attackers.
I couldn’t see them. Couldn’t smell them. But they were obviously there.
If I had wings, I could have flown somewhere safe. But I didn’t have wings and I never would, leaving me yet again stuck on land and cursing the lack.
It was a curse that died on my lips as unconsciousness snatched away all awareness.
Chapter Thirteen
Waking was a slow and painful business. My head felt as if it were stuck in the middle of two bass drums, and the reverberations were making my eyes water. The rest of me fared no better—it felt like I’d been hit by a truck. Again.
Add to that the fact that my flesh was so cold my fingers and toes were aching from it, and you had one big bundle of misery.
It was that factor, more than anything else, that had awareness surging. Why was I so damn cold? It was a hot day and I was draman. There was no way I should have been this cold.
I forced my eyelids open. Darkness greeted me. Darkness and air so cold every breath hurt.
Memories surged, reminding me of another time when the darkness had been all-encompassing and the air so cold it could freeze the insides.
I was in another freezer.
Oh, fuck.
I closed my eyes against the surge of panic. I wasn’t alone. Rainey might not be here to rescue me this time, but Damon was. He’d come. He wouldn’t let me freeze.
I just had to wait. I just had to remain calm. I gulped down several freezing breaths, then forced myself upright. My fingers stuck to the shelf and, as I tore them away, left flesh behind.
I swore and reached for my flames.
To find nothing but ashes.
It was a realization that hit like a punch to the gut. For several seconds, I couldn’t even breathe. Panic rolled through me, and it was all I could do not to start screaming. I’d only survived last time thanks to my flames; without them, I was dead.
No. I won’t die. I won’t let him win. He didn’t last time and he wouldn’t now. My flames had been stolen, not destroyed. The dragon still lay deep inside; she was slumbering, not gone forever.
She would recover, albeit slowly.
Damn it, I had to get out of this freezer.
I rubbed my arms to get some blood flowing back into my limbs, glad that my captors had at least left me fully clothed. I might not have woken otherwise.
My fingertips began tingling—stinging—which at least chased away the numbness. I thrust upright, but my feet felt like lead and I almost fell over again. I stamped them hard and wriggled my toes to get some blood flowing. After a few minutes, they came back to aching life. I raised my arms, sweeping ahead of me as I walked carefully forward. Three steps, and I hit a wall. I followed it along, feeling with my fingertips and wishing I could see something, anything. But the damn fridge was darker than night, and if there was a door then it was well and truly sealed.
I found a shelf, the metal as cold as the rest of this place, and felt along it. Plastic-wrapped packages and various-size boxes were stacked in what felt like an orderly arrangement. I continued along and found the junction of the walls. Following the second one soon had me touching rubber, then a door release. Relief slithered through me, and it wasn’t cold that had my fingers trembling as I hit the emergency release mechanism.
Only nothing happened. The door remained firmly closed.
God, no.
I hit it again, with the same result. The fear and panic rose again and I hit the door as hard as I could, needing to get out of this icy hellhole. And then I hit it again, and again, and again, until the door was dented, my knuckles were bleeding, and the pain was so bad that common sense crawled over the panic and I regained control.
Hitting the door wasn’t going to get me out of here, and the sooner I accepted that and concentrated on surviving, the better off I’d be.
Seth might want me dead, but Hannish wouldn’t. Not yet. Not until they knew what I knew and who I’d talked to. I had to believe that. Angus had said as much, and I had no doubt it was as true now as it was then.
So, this chill was merely their way of insuring I was kept scared and helpless. My past aside, dragons, darkness, and chill was not a good combination. Under normal circumstances, it would render any one of us helpless.
But my flames had been my only major defense for more years than I could even remember, and while my brother had taught me to fight, that skill had come later in life, after I’d learned control over my fire. And while even I couldn’t totally refuel myself in this kind of hell, I could keep myself alive longer than most.
I just had to stave off panic and think.
I felt my way back to the little metal bench and sat down. The chill wrapped around me but I ignored it, closing my eyes and reaching deep within to the embers of the dragon. She was my heart, my soul, and she could warm me, even in this state. All I had to do was channel energy back into her, feeding the flames and directing the heat of them outward to my extremities, keeping the dangerous cold at bay.
It took a while, but gradually the embers began to burn brighter, and the heat—though nowhere near even quarter strength—slithered through my body, chasing the cold from my fingers, making my toes ache with renewed life.
Enough to keep me awake.
Enough to keep me alive.
I couldn’t keep this up forever, though, and even as I concentrated on channeling the energy that fed the life-giving flames, part of me was praying that my captors came to check on me sooner rather than later.
It seemed like an age before my prayers were answered, but, eventually, the scuffle of movement came from outside my prison. In my disconnected state, it seemed like they approached and then moved away again. Something creaked harshly, then the heat of two men flooded the darkness, hitting me with all the force of an express train.
I breathed deep, sucking in the scent of them, letting the heat radiating off them slither through me. It wasn’t anywhere near enough to fan the fires to life, but it was a start.
“She’d better not be a popsicle. I will not be happy if you’ve killed her.”
The voice was rich and arrogant and oh-so-familiar.
Seth.
The urge to open my eyes was almost overwhelming, but I resisted.
After expending so much energy on keeping warm, I probably wouldn’t be much of a threat to them, but if I could just get them a little closer, I might be able to steal a little of their heat. And I needed that heat. Needed it bad.
So I kept still, my eyes closed, and waited.
“She’s alive.” It was the voice I’d heard speaking to Ralph over the speaker. “You can see her breathing.”
They came closer, their footsteps echoing harshly in the boxed stillness. I desperately wanted to jump up and grab one of them, but again I restrained the urge, even though the effort left me trembling. I could only hope it wasn’t showing. They might not get too close if they realized just how alert I was.
The two men halted. Their scents hit me, filling each breath with musk, sunshine, and sage.
The sage was Seth. Even smelling it had an echo of pain slithering along the long-healed, S-shaped scar down my back.
But then, Seth had never really played on the same sane team as the rest of us. He was probably grinning like a madman right now at the mere thought of what all this cold was doing to me, and what memories it was bringing back.
“Wake her up,” he said, his voice as cold as the air I was breathing.
The other man grunted and stepped forward. The heat of him was fierce against my skin and the inner trembling grew. I needed—wanted—that warmth.
He reached out—something I felt rather than saw—and grabbed my shoulder, shaking me roughly. My hand shot out and I latched on to his arm, gripping him so tig
htly I swear his bones cracked. But the moment my fingers touched his flesh, the dragon within sprang to life, sweeping into his body, sucking at his flames and drawing them back into mine. It was a fierce and ugly attack, because I didn’t have much time.
He yelled—screamed—then his open hand smacked into the side of my face. My head snapped around and darkness loomed, but I held on grimly—both to consciousness and his arm.
He hit me again, this time harder, breaking my grip and leaving my cheek aching and my head ringing. I swear I heard a roar of anger within that ringing, but as I blinked back tears, it faded, leaving only a distant touch of thunder rolling through my mind.
Damon, I thought, for no particular reason.
And yet, if he knew what was going on, why hadn’t he come to rescue me? What the hell was he waiting for?
Answers?
That had to be it. He was a muerte, first and foremost, and his allegiance lay with the council, not to any one person and certainly not to me. Given the basic choice between saving me and getting answers, there was no choice.
I blinked back tears, not entirely sure whether they were from my aching cheek or the stark knowledge that I would never come first in Damon’s world, and opened my eyes.
“Well, well,” Seth said. “It seems our little draman was foxing us.”
He’d changed in the years since I’d last seen him. His nose was sharper, his cheeks more angular, and his body more muscular. He was obviously wearing contacts, because his eyes were blue instead of gray, and his hair had also changed—deep red rather than the dark gold he’d been born with. But the cold, unfeeling air that clung to him like a storm cloud was the same, as was the thin, straight set of his lips.
“I should have realized from the beginning that this insanity had your mark, Seth.”
God, it hurt to remember that I’d once foolishly thought—however briefly—that this dragon had actually liked me. Stupid is the only word that adequately describes it—although even I was human enough to be flattered by the attentions of a dragon who, at the time, had been one of the “popular” kids.
“I have to admit to a little disappointment that you didn’t catch on sooner.” He crossed his arms, allowing a brief glimpse of his left hand—a hand that was twisted and scarred. My work, and one of the main reasons for his hatred of me. The other was my refusal of his advances. Seth didn’t like to be told no. Of course, it was his inability to accept that word that had led to the scarring.
“Especially,” he continued, a slight smile touching one corner of his lips—only it held no warmth, no compassion, just the chilling sense of superiority that was so much a part of this man—“after being locked in that metal-lined cellar. It was a particularly delicious salute to the past, didn’t you think?”
I didn’t say anything. There wasn’t much to say.
“And Leon certainly hasn’t changed that much, so it was surprising that you didn’t recognize him in the truck.” He paused, and something cold and cruel twitched his lips. “He did so enjoy ramming into the two of you.”
Something close to excitement leaped through me. “So you ordered the hit? Not Hannish?”
His smile was arrogant. Overconfident. It had been his downfall once before—and would be again, hopefully. “Hannish was foolish enough to believe it was better to let the two of you wander around aimlessly, but he doesn’t know your tenacity like I do.”
I briefly closed my eyes. One death stood between me and saving Rainey’s soul. I didn’t have to kill Hannish—didn’t have to kill a king’s son.
Only Seth, who might also be a king’s son, but as far as I knew, he wasn’t heir—even if he intended to be.
Seth added, “Of course, I did have to reprimand him for not checking that both of you were dead.”
“Which you no doubt enjoyed doing.” My smile was just as cruel and harsh as his. “But I bet you didn’t enjoy it half as much as we enjoyed killing his fire, breaking his body, and then flying him out to sea to drown.”
The barb hit home. His eyes narrowed fractionally and his anger stirred the air. Most people might have missed the signs, but I knew this man very well.
And he had cared for Leon, although he would never admit it. They weren’t mates in the soul-mate sense of the word, but as bisexual males who didn’t really care where they took their pleasure from, they’d been enjoying each other’s company for most of their lives.
“That,” he said heavily, “was a mistake on your part. I might have let you live otherwise.”
I snorted softly. Given our past history, I was never likely to believe that. “I’m sure Leon’s ghost will be pleased to see how badly you’re taking his death.”
He shrugged, a seemingly casual movement that was oddly edged with anger. “Sometimes sacrifices must be made if we wish our plans to come to fruition.”
Meaning that, even though he cared for Leon, not even the man who’d been his lover for over twenty years was going to get in his way.
“Of course,” he continued, “now that I have decided to kill you, I shall insure your death is a long and painful one. He’d appreciate that.”
I’m sure he would. “Was Leon aware that he was bait?”
“Of course. But he was extremely confident in his ability to handle the muerte.” His gaze pinned me. “Tell me, where exactly did you dump him?”
“That, I can’t say. I can’t fly, remember?”
“Ah, yes. It was such fun prodding Waylin to drop you mid-flight. A shame your brother intervened.” His voice was almost philosophical, yet the anger remained, burning deep in his eyes. “I shall try to retrieve Leon. He was a good lieutenant. Hell, I might even try and save his soul, once we kill the muerte.”
There was nothing I could say that wouldn’t actually get me into more trouble, so I kept my mouth shut and my arms crossed. They couldn’t see my hands and didn’t know that the heat I’d stolen now burned in readiness. I could protect myself if I needed to.
But I was no longer alone in this battle.
Damon was out there and on the move. The awareness of his presence was a distant but ever-strengthening song that made my inner dragon want to dance.
Seth glanced briefly at his watch. “As much as I’m enjoying reliving old times, I really need to get moving. Tomi, if she moves, shoot her.”
Shoot her, not kill her, I noted. But Seth was like that. Maiming always seemed to taste better to him than actual death. “Why am I here, Seth?”
“Two reasons,” he said, almost cheerfully. “First, you’re bait for the muerte.”
I laughed. “If you think Damon will go out of his way to save my butt, you’re chasing down the wrong street.”
“Maybe, but I do think he’d go out of his way to find the leaders of this little operation, and here I am, in a nice little package.”
“And if you think he’s dumb enough to simply walk into a trap, you’re deluded.”
“We caught him once, dear Mercy, and I believe we can catch him again.”
I didn’t. And we’d see soon enough which of us was right.
“So, just how do you plan to take over the Jamieson clique? Because that’s you’re intention, isn’t it?”
He raised an eyebrow. “You know more than we presumed. Or did Leon talk too much?”
“Leon couldn’t do much of anything once we’d finished with him.” They weren’t wise words, but I couldn’t help the urge to bait him.
He merely smiled. It was a cold, cruel thing, and a chill ran down my spine. “Those actions will haunt you when your time comes, Mercy.”
The chill increased. I ignored it, keeping my voice even as I said, “Our king is never going to name you heir.”
“Oh, but he already has. Even if he doesn’t know it yet.”
I frowned, and he laughed. “It’s always amusing how little you draman know about the culture you live in. Kings name heirs in legal documents kept in the council vaults. They are easy enough to access if you know the right peo
ple to bribe, and even easier to alter if you know a good forger.”
So one step in the plan was already completed. I wondered how much time our king had left; how much time Marcus Valorn had left. If we didn’t catch Hannish, he might yet go ahead with the plot, with or without the backing of the Jamieson clique. After all, we had no real evidence connecting him to any of this as yet.
But maybe Damon didn’t need it. Maybe Hannish would simply disappear again.
“So why kill the draman in Stillwater and Desert Springs? Couldn’t you have just relocated them?”
“They refused to sell their land.” He shrugged. “They paid the price for that refusal.”
“But why take that risk?”
He snorted. “What risk? Jamieson wiped out the Whale Point settlement years ago, and not one council member bothered investigating it.”
“You’re wrong. The council has been watching Jamieson—and our king—ever since.”
“Yeah? And done what, precisely?” His voice was mocking. “It was a draman settlement, like Stillwater and Desert Springs. We both know draman don’t matter.”
Well, he was at least right about that. “But how does killing them make anything any better? The land would be bequeathed to their heirs, not you.”
Seth raised an eyebrow. “Would you hang on to land on which your whole family had been slaughtered?”
The answer was no, and we both knew it. There would be too many ghosts living on this land for anyone with even a hint of dragon blood to remain.
I would feel them at night’s onset, because the time between day and night gave every dragon power, even those caught between worlds, but I wondered if Seth would. Could someone who appeared to have no connection to life really be aware of those who lingered in death?
My gaze flickered past him, studying the view beyond the fridge’s doorway. Flags of red and gold were beginning to tint the horizon, meaning the night and the shadows would soon be gone. If Damon was going to make a move, then he’d better do it soon.
I met Seth’s gaze again. “So you simply stepped in and bought the land from the surviving heirs? Where the hell did you get that sort of money? And how can you even sleep at night?”
