“It’s all the same,” he found himself saying, even though he wanted to stay quiet, and hold in that bitterness and bury it, again and again as he had been burying it for months. “A’Priori. Dirk & Steele. It’s just family.”
Family and lies. And that was hardest of all to reconcile.
A’Priori was one of the largest, most powerful corporations in the world. Run by a tight-knit family of men and women who possessed singular gifts of a paranormal nature, gifts that had been used almost exclusively for material gain.
But more than sixty years ago, members of that same family had broken away to form another, much smaller organization, one founded on values that had nothing to do with money or power…but instead, helping others.
That organization had become Dirk & Steele. To the public, it was nothing but a high-powered detective agency—but in private it functioned as a refuge. For people like Eddie. And others, who weren’t human by any stretch of the imagination.
Until recently, however, almost no one at Dirk & Steele had been aware that A’Priori existed, or that its connections to the agency ran so deep.
And no one, certainly, had known that Dirk & Steele’s worst enemy, the Consortium -- responsible for human trafficking and experimentation, bio-terrorism, mass murder—was part of that same family.
Your brother, Eddie said silently, looking at Roland, knowing he could hear his thoughts. Your brother runs the Consortium. You knew all along that it existed, and why. You never warned us, not even after it was too late.
Too late for me.
Roland flinched, but those bloodshot eyes showed nothing. And Eddie felt nothing except a dull ache when he looked at him.
At the other end of the room, a shadow detached from the wall: a slow, sinuous flow of movement made of perfect, dangerous grace.
Eddie had been aware of that presence from the moment he entered the room, but he still tensed; and so did Serena and Roland. It was impossible not to. The old woman who emerged from the shadows was deadly, in more ways than one.
Little of her face was visible, but her eyes glowed with subtle, golden light. She was Chinese, but so old—and so inhuman—that definitions based on ethnicity held no value.
“Ma’am,” Eddie said, with careful respect.
“Boy,” she replied, and the air seemed to hiss across his skin with power. “I’ve met immortals with younger eyes than you.”
He said nothing. Roland muttered, “Long Nu. Get on with it.”
The old woman’s hand flashed out, trailing light, and touched the corner of Eddie’s mouth. Not with a finger, but a claw—cool as silk, sliding across his lips, down his jaw. He smelled stone and ash, and a hint of sandalwood.
“You know what you have to do?” Long Nu said to him quietly.
“You want me to find a girl. A girl who can control fire.”
“A shape-shifter,” she murmured, as golden light continued to shimmer over her hand, and her flesh rippled with scales. “A dragon.”
Eddie reached up, very slowly, and pushed her hand away from his face. “I don’t understand why you don’t go yourself. One of your kind to another.”
“It would draw the wrong kind of attention. More than what is already focused on the child.” Long Nu glanced at Roland. “She is being hunted.”
Hunted. A girl, hunted. Eddie felt a cold, visceral disgust when he heard that. It made him think of his sister.
“No one told me,” he said.
“We were not sure. Now we are.”
“Who’s after her?”
Long Nu hesitated, and that was enough to convey to Eddie just how bad it was.
“They are called the Cruor Venator,” she said, in a cold, heavy voice. “Blood Hunters. Witches who steal power from blood.”
Serena sucked in her breath, a startling sound because it was filled with fear, dismay: two emotions Eddie had never, once, associated with her.
Eddie shared a quick look with Roland. “Witches?”
“Not just any witches,” Serena said sharply, continuing to stare at Long Nu. “Killers. Vicious, ruthless. They live for death. It’s their first, and only, pleasure.” She moved even closer to dragon woman, as though stalking her, hands flexing at her sides. “But it’s impossible. That magic hasn’t been seen in a hundred years.”
Long Nu shook her head. “I know what such a death looks like. A shifter in Florida was lost to a group of them only two weeks ago. The same shifter who contacted Dirk & Steele about the girl.”
A hard knot of unease hit Eddie’s gut. “I didn’t know he was dead.”
Roland rubbed a hand through his hair, and closed his eyes. “I only just found out. Long Nu discovered Estefan’s murder through different channels. When he stopped emailing me, I thought maybe he’d changed his mind about asking for our help in finding the girl.”
“I suspect he reached out to you because he had an idea of what threatened her. Except the Cruor Venator got him first,” said Long Nu in a cold, blunt voice—looking directly at Eddie as she spoke. “Estefan was ripped apart. Drained of blood. Part of his heart eaten. Skinned. It was a very bad death.”
Eddie did not blink or flinch. Long Nu, still watching him, added, “His wife is human, and was away when he was murdered. She explained that just before her husband died, Estefan told her that three women had been asking locals about a girl with golden eyes. It concerned him a great deal…especially when he learned that they were using her real name.”
“You think those women are witches,” he said, “and that they found the shifter, and murdered him, because they were looking for the girl.”
“I know it,” Long Nu replied, with chilling certainty. “And even if I am wrong, the mere possibility makes it urgent that we find her as quickly as possible.”
Serena’s eyes narrowed. “Did he know that she was headed to New York?”
“Yes. And everything he knew, the Cruor Venator now knows.”
Deep, dangerous, waters, thought Eddie, feeling that old familiar shift inside his skin, as though he was a shape-shifter himself, transforming into a different person.
That transformation had begun as soon as Long Nu said the girl was being hunted. After all these years, it was natural as breathing. Part of him was always quiet, always waiting, beneath the fire. A mindset, where nothing could be depended on, where violence was expected, promised, and always lethal. He had the scars to remind himself, if he ever forgot. But he never had.
His heart donned a cold armor: where he would feel nothing. Nothing, until this job was done.
Because it was obvious this job was going to require doing things he was going to regret.
“Just find the girl,” Roland said heavily, clearly reading his thoughts. “Serena, talk to your contacts. I’ll do the same here.”
Eddie didn’t need to hear more. He didn't want to.
He turned and walked away, descending the stairs to the kitchen. He did not look at the cage. He strode down a long hall, and then took another flight of stairs to the seventh floor.
He had an apartment half-a-mile from here, but a spare room had been given to him several years ago, after contracting an artificially constructed virus: the prototype of a bio-weapon. The infection had almost killed him, with one additional side effect.
Eddie had lost all control over his powers. All those hard-earned years of focus, sacrifice, and isolation—gone, meaningless. Literally, up in flames.
The way he lived his life until then had revolved around his ability to protect people from himself. Suddenly, in an instant, that was no longer possible. For almost a year he had needed to live in that glass cage, where he would be safe from others.
Confidence, shattered. Heartbreakingly alone.
Those first few times venturing beyond its glass walls -- terrifying. After that, months where Eddie did nothing but stay indoors or sit on the roof of the building, staring at downtown San Francisco. Watching people. Watching the world.
It had taken another s
ix months for his confidence to return…but only because he’d had no choice. A friend needed help. That had been motivation enough for him to test the limits of his new control, and after that…it had gotten easier.
Taking back his old life had felt like a miracle.
Now he wondered if he needed to return to the cage again.
The spare room that Roland had given him was nearly a thousand square feet in size. No interior walls. Just windows, overlooking the city. His bed was a mattress on the floor, and his clothes were stored in plastic bins. Stacks of travel books, language study guides, and science magazines surrounded his bed, along with a small lamp and a box full of bottled water.
Eddie found a backpack, and began stuffing it with underwear, a pair of jeans, and some t-shirts.
He found a small leather wallet, covered in stains and worn so thin with age it almost broke when he handled it. No money inside. Just photos. He hesitated, but placed it in one of the bins, carefully. He had enough distractions.
Free. He’s free. Good behavior. They let him out because he was a model prisoner.
Oh, my God.
Oh, my God, baby.
He’s free.
Eddie closed his eyes, and focused on his breathing. With a great deal of effort he pushed away the memory of his mother’s stunned, grief-filled voice.
But there was another voice inside his head. His own.
Don’t go to New York City. Go after Malcom Swint, instead.
Kill him.
For Daphne.
It would be so easy. All it would take was a thought.
Just one, little, thought.
Eddie shook his head in disgust. No. This was the perfect time to leave San Francisco.
He kept the lamp off. Old habit. He preferred working in the dark, unseen. The city lights were more than enough for going through the motions. He had packed this bag so many times he could do it in his sleep. It gave his brain time to sort through everything he had been told.
Find the girl.
Air moved across his neck. Eddie turned. Long Nu stood behind him, silent as a ghost. He was too surprised to speak—and then he was too busy keeping himself calm as heat flooded his bones and muscles, rising through his skin. The air warmed around them.
“One more thing,” she said.
Eddie never saw the old woman move. Suddenly he was falling, falling and falling until he hit the mattress so hard he bounced. Golden light flashed, and he heard a rough, rubbing sound; like the belly of an alligator dragging over the floor.
A huge clawed foot settled on the mattress beside his head. Heat washed over his body, but it was not from him.
“Look at me,” Long Nu whispered, her voice deeper now, almost a growl.
Eddie turned his head. It was too dark for details, but he glimpsed scales rippling over the muscles of a long, serpentine throat…the hard line of a jaw, the shine of a sharp white tooth. Golden eyes shone like fire.
“The Cruor Venator don’t just take the blood of shape-shifters,” she said, each word softly hissed. “Any blood will do. But yours…your fire…” A deep rumble filled the air, caged thunder, born in her throat. “Fire is elemental. Only dragons have fire in their blood. You will stir their hunger.”
“I’m no dragon,” Eddie whispered. “I’m human.”
Long Nu leaned away from him, a slow retreat, revealing a massive body that in the darkness resembled a sinuous coil of muscle and claws, and draped leather. Eddie did not look too closely. He began breathing again. His heart pounded so hard he was dizzy -- and that was dangerous.
Staying calm kept him cool. Staying calm was the key.
“You’re wrong,” said Long Nu. “What you bury only grows stronger, in time. This is true of what sleeps in blood.”
Eddie swallowed. “Stay out of my head.”
“I can’t,” she said simply. “You hide so much of your heart, even from yourself. Hide too long, and you will forget it’s there.”
He sat up, but had to shield his eyes as golden light flared bright as the sun, blinding him.
When he could see again, he found Long Nu on her knees, human and mostly naked. Her clothes were torn, hanging off her in rags. Eddie averted his eyes, and dragged the blanket off his bed. He handed it to her.
“Ma’am,” he said quietly.
Long Nu’s hand touched his fingers as she took the blanket. Her skin was hot -- just as hot as his. Even hotter, when she grabbed his wrist with her other hand, and held him tight. Smoke rose between them. Eddie set his jaw, and met her golden gaze.
“There are so few left of my kind,” whispered Long Nu. “Find the girl.”
“I will,” Eddie promised, and found himself adding, “Whatever it takes.”
Long Nu gave him a mirthless smile, and the smoke between them suddenly became fire. It did not burn him, but the flames flickered up both their arms, like tiny deadly fingers.
“If the Cruor Venator is hunting her,” she said softly, “it might just take everything you have.”
***
To read more of WITHIN THE FLAMES, and to learn about the Dirk and Steele series, please visit my website at www.marjoriemliu.com.
THE MORTAL BONE
The 4th Book in the Hunter Kiss Series
Nomad born and bred, demon hunter Maxine Kiss has always relied upon herself to fight the darkness that surrounds her, the predators—human, zombie, and otherwise—who threaten the earth. Haunted by the past, determined to change the future, Maxine soon understands that to save the man she loves, she has only one choice—to lose control and release her own powers of darkness…
CHAPTER ONE
What happens in Texas, stays in Texas. Except when demons are involved.
I was sitting on the sagging porch of the old farmhouse, sipping an ice-cold ginger ale, when a red pickup truck appeared around the last bend of the long, curving, driveway. I stood, shielding my eyes against the late-afternoon sun—noticing, as had become my habit, the gold glimmer of my wedding ring standing out in stark relief against the obsidian, mercury-streaked tattoos that covered my entire left hand.
Dust kicked up behind the truck, but not much. The driver was taking a slow approach.
I hadn’t lived on this land in years. Maybe it was a nosy neighbor coming to visit. Or a social worker who had heard that a teenage boy was in residence and not attending school. Could be someone lost—but the driveway was almost three miles long and blocked by a heavy gate. A bit out of the way, just to ask directions.
I felt a tug against my tattooed skin. A persistent ripple that traveled like a small shock wave from my toenails to the base of my neck, as though an electrical pulse was moving through Zee and the boys.
I set down my drink. Against my neck, the tip of Dek’s tattooed tail thrummed, like the quiet warning of a rattlesnake. When I flexed my fingers, the organic silver armor covering my right hand tingled. Everything, coming alive as that red truck rolled and rumbled down the driveway.
The driver parked in front of the barn, surrounded in a swirling cloud of pale, hot dust. I couldn’t see much behind the tinted windows, so I listened to the engine pop and groan as I stepped off the porch.
The door opened, and a foot dangled out. Fortunately, it was attached to a leg. I wasn’t always that lucky.
I saw a simple white sneaker with a thick sole, and an equally thick ankle that was so swollen the flesh seemed to sag over the top of the shoe. I walked sideways, peering into the truck to see what else that limb was attached to.
What I found was a demon having a heart attack.
That’s what it seemed like at first. The unfortunate host was a woman well over three hundred pounds, who wore a sleeveless blue sundress that clung to her round stomach and heavy breasts. Her arms were thick and wide, as was her soft neck, which was almost lost in her sagging jaw. She had pale skin—around her hands—but the rest of her was pink and red as a lobster, and dripping with sweat.
Soaked brown hair clung to her face, a
long with a thunderous aura that marked her as demon-possessed. Somewhere, deep inside, a human soul still resided . . . but it was impossible to tell just how long it had been buried beneath that seat of darkness. Some demons, the young ones, clung with only a light touch, a whisper. Others dug in, latching onto the flesh, sliding into lives and pulling every string.
Those clinging shadows rose and fell off the woman’s shoulders with each heaving breath, and she sat—half-in, half-out of her truck—with her eyes closed and mouth open, panting and clutching her chest.
It would be easy for me to exorcise the demon. Even a year ago, I would not have hesitated. Those gutter rats who regularly escaped the prison veil had no business possessing humans and feeding off their pain. Nothing had changed my opinion about that.
But I’d learned a thing or two about demons—and myself—that blurred the lines between good and evil. I could no longer cast stones. Not without asking questions first. Any demon looking for me was either very desperate—or coerced—and that was bad news, in more ways than one.
So I waited, silent. Wishing I had gum to chew. The aftertaste of that ginger ale had gone sour, right along with my stomach. I hated this so much. All the possibilities of all the bad things this demon might tell me, crowding my head, making my pulse thicken.
The possessed woman finally caught her breath and opened her eyes to look at me.
She didn’t seem to know where to settle her gaze, which flitted above and around, and on me, with such rapidness it made me dizzy. Finally, she settled on my eyes, then danced down to the tattoos covering my arms: an unbroken tangle of obsidian muscle and scales, knotted, curling, shimmering with veins of mercury that caught the light—though not nearly as much as the glinting crimson eyes that always remained open and staring.
I’d found some of my mother’s old white tank tops in the closet and hadn’t seen much point to leaving them there—or hiding the boys. I had few, if any, secrets from the people in my life. Which was another dazzling departure from the way I had been raised.
Where The Heart Lives Page 5
