Within the Flames d&s-11

by Marjorie M. Liu

Eddie tugged on Lyssa’s hand and made her look at him. Before she could say anything, he leaned in and kissed her — with all his strength, every ounce of passion he could muster, throwing open his heart.

  She leaned into him, her lips soft and hot as she grabbed the front of his sweatshirt. Desperate longing filled his chest — swelling, rising, until it was hard to breathe. He had never felt so lost in another person. He hadn’t thought it could happen to him — not so fast, with such intensity.

  Alone, for so long. Alone, with friends. Alone, in a crowd. Alone, in his heart, because some pain couldn’t be shared, much less spoken out loud.

  “Remember,” he murmured. “Whatever happens in there, you’re not alone.”

  Lyssa loosened her fingers from his sweatshirt. “When you say things like that. .”

  But she stopped, and a hard look flickered in her eyes as she looked at that door at the end of the hall. For a moment, Eddie lost himself in memories not his own, and saw knives pressed to her twelve-year-old throat. A chill raced over him.

  He heard a low groan, thick and heavy with pain. Dread prickled, a sickening anticipation. The bloodstains on the floor caught his eye. Nikola’s feet had been red and sticky. Walking through that much blood. .

  Lyssa took a deep breath and strode toward the door. Eddie followed.

  A cold rush of power rolled over him just before they reached the end of the hall. Like water, a river, flowing against his skin. Lyssa glanced at him and pushed open the door.

  Blood, everywhere. For a moment, it was all he could see. A small circular room, made of stone, and a floor that was crimson and wet, and reeking of death. He saw lumps in the blood-pool. It took several seconds for his mind to register them as bodies.

  Horror wasn’t big enough for what he felt in that moment. Some primal, primitive force clawed through him, tearing at his heart, ripping his soul. He wanted to scream, but his voice wouldn’t work. He wanted to run, but he couldn’t move. Part of him died, looking at that room.

  Something moved, on his right.

  It was a leopard.

  Again, shock filled him. The cat was huge, sitting on its haunches and grooming its massive, blood-soaked paw. Blood covered its entire coat, crimson streaks obscuring its spots. Its tongue made a low rasping sound — though it stopped, once, to stare at him with black eyes.

  Lyssa stepped past him, her shoes making squelching sounds.

  “How dare you,” she said to the leopard, in a deadly soft voice. “How dare you wear his skin.”

  The leopard blinked, and its mouth opened in a panting grin.

  Eddie heard another groan, turned — and his heart collapsed.

  Jimmy’s mother was slumped against the wall. Head hanging, chest rising and falling. Unconscious, but alive. Seated in blood, though it didn’t seem as if any of it were hers. Hard to tell if that was the truth.

  “You’ve grown,” said a rough voice, behind him. “I suppose I imagined you as a child, all these years.”

  Eddie turned, and watched as that leopard shifted shape: fur disappearing into flesh, bones lengthening, human features becoming prominent in a feline face.

  Lyssa stood beside him, very still, tense, as the leopard became a brown-haired woman: pale and slender, with small breasts and narrow hips, and deep scars across her torso that looked like claw marks.

  She seemed very young, hardly eighteen — until he saw her eyes. The pits of her eyes were black as a winter lake, bottomless and cold with death. He was afraid to look too long into that gaze, as if it would consume him — starting with his heart — swallowing his dreams, down to the last drop.

  He had managed to push away the crippling fear that Nikola and Betty had tried to infect him with, but Lyssa was right: the Cruor Venator was something else entirely.

  Her presence felt like a vacuum, sucking away on the edges of his soul — nibbling and tearing, and tugging with sharp teeth all the bits of himself that mattered. He wanted to scratch his skin and twitch. His heart pounded. Cold waves of power rushed over him, tendrils breaking through his immunity.

  It made him sick. Fear crept. He wanted to cringe.

  Instead, Eddie forced his spine even straighter and met her gaze. This woman, he told himself, was nothing but another Matthew Swint — a monster hiding in a human shell — and he was not going to be a coward again.

  He was not going to be cowed.

  The Cruor Venator smiled faintly. “You have balls, young man.”

  “Don’t look at him,” Lyssa whispered.

  “If I were not too old to breed,” replied the witch, ignoring her, “you would tempt me. I like how you stare into my eyes, as though it is a challenge.”

  An imaginary tongue raced across an imaginary wound in Eddie’s back, and he fought down the shudder that crawled up his spine into his throat.

  Lyssa stepped in front of him. “You found me. I’m here. I got your messages.”

  The Cruor Venator rolled her shoulders, dark eyes glittering. “You’re here, but you’re hardly ripe. Or perhaps you’re far more coldhearted than I gave you credit for being.”

  Lyssa quivered. “Ripe.”

  “You haven’t killed. I can see it in your eyes. You have not yet embraced your blood,” said the Cruor Venator, giving her a look filled with curiosity and disdain. “Your mother was never so stupid, but we were from a different age. Death was once a quiet thing, as accepted as water and air. To kill was to survive.”

  “I survive,” she whispered.

  “But you do not live. How many excuses do you need, little one? I show you the wounded body of someone you know. I kill your friend. I threaten the lives of others in your care. I practically give you Nikola and Betty, whom I know you could have killed with just a thought. Indeed, I thought you might have taken Betty’s life. . but alas, no.”

  The Cruor Venator smiled. “I murdered your mother and your father. And yet, you still pretend. You refrain from death.” Her gaze ticked left, to Eddie. “Perhaps you are ashamed. Does he know what you are?”

  Lyssa tensed. Eddie placed his hands on her shoulders, heat spreading from his palms as he summoned all his strength to make his voice sound steady, and calm.

  “She is a Cruor Venator,” he said, too gently. “And she knows she has nothing to be ashamed of with me.”

  Beneath his hands, Lyssa stilled.

  Then, in a voice that trembled, said, “Why are you doing this, Georgene? Why bait me? Why try to force my hand?”

  “Because we’re family,” she said, which didn’t surprise Eddie nearly as much as it should have. “And it has occurred to me, over the years, that it is a sad thing to be the last of one’s kind. I will make no pacts with a demon for immortality. And likewise, no fae would grant it to me. So when I die. .”

  “You should have thought of that before you killed my mother,” said Lyssa.

  “Your mother,” replied the woman, “had it coming. And if your father hadn’t stolen her from me before I was done—”

  The Cruor Venator never finished that sentence. Fire roared off Lyssa, a blast so furious the blood began boiling beneath their feet. Flames engulfed the witch, whose skin crackled and peeled, her hair lifting up as hot air slammed her face.

  But all she did was bare her teeth and smile.

  “Not yet,” she said, her voice almost lost beneath the hiss of fire. “You’re no Cruor Venator to kill me. Not until you take a life of your own.”

  The witch pointed behind them. Tina was still unconscious

  “Kill her,” whispered the Cruor Venator, holding Lyssa’s gaze. “Take her blood, then neither of us will be alone. You will be a true Cruor Venator.”

  “And me, as well?” asked a soft voice from the door.

  Eddie turned and found Nikola just outside, watching them. A blade in her hand. Gaze steady and cold.

  “Darling,” said the Cruor Venator softly. “Of course, you.”

  Nikola smiled, her feet making sticky sounds with each slow step. “An
d am I too late?”

  “For the killing?” murmured the witch. “No, dear. Not too late for that.”

  “Good,” Nikola said, and threw her dagger at the Cruor Venator. The blade sank hilt deep into her throat.

  Eddie moved in almost the same instant, grabbing Lyssa around the waist and swinging her away from the witch. He didn’t have to worry, though. Nikola snarled, leaping across the blood-soaked floor to slam fists into the Cruor Venator’s chest.

  “Tina,” Lyssa gasped.

  Fire filled his hands, racing up his arms as she squirmed away from him, slipping and sliding across the slick floor to Jimmy’s mother. The woman was unbound. Lyssa grabbed her arms and began dragging her to the door. Eddie moved to help her, just as a cold wave of power slammed into him.

  It was from the witches, who were engaged in an eerily silent contest of blood and wills. The Cruor Venator made not a sound as Nikola stabbed her, but he knew in his gut that no matter what damage they did. . she would survive.

  And then this would begin again.

  Without looking back, he went to Lyssa — picked up Tina in his arms — and they ran like hell from the nightmare.

  Chapter Twenty

  Another world, outside: a river breeze and starlight and the faintest hint of morning. No scent of blood. Lyssa shuddered when they ran from the house, full of her mother and the memory of that death-drenched room.

  A scream had been building from that first taste of her mother’s blood — a scream caught in her throat, growing with each moment spent in Georgene’s presence. But now, away from her, that silent scream was becoming something else — and the moment Lyssa stepped onto the driveway, she fell to one knee, burning up. Her skin split open in seams of golden light. Bones cracked. Her heart thundered so hard she clutched her chest.

  She was going to explode.

  “Lyssa,” Eddie said urgently, but she shook her head and stumbled sideways, away from him. He stood too close, and Tina was in his arms. The poor woman would burn and die if Lyssa lost control.

  A small, young voice rang out. Lyssa looked up, and saw Jimmy running down the driveway toward them.

  “No,” she croaked, backing away. “Jesus.”

  “Jimmy!” shouted Eddie. “Stay there!”

  The boy did not stop. Lyssa turned, fleeing back inside the house, trying to put walls between herself and the boy. Fire erupted over her skin, burning through her clothing — rising in her throat, filling that buried scream with terrible power.

  She heard a screech, far away — twisting into an inhuman note of agony. Nikola, dying. Blood-prints on the floor, stinking up her nose with death.

  Lyssa detonated.

  Fire slammed outward in a pulse so strong the walls exploded, and furniture splintered into toothpicks. The inferno enveloped the foyer and living room in a shimmering, unending blaze — turning the hardwood floors to crumbling ash.

  She watched, unable to move. Staring, lost, feeling fire swarm through the house like a long tongue, licking the air with blistering, explosive heat. Down, down the stairs into the basement, sucking out the air. .

  Hands grabbed her shoulders, dragging her backward. With that contact, a new fire rose in her blood, and she turned to find Eddie — staring into her eyes — surrounded in his own golden light.

  Fire in his gaze, fire on his skin, fire burning all around him — consuming them, together. In that moment, a choking ache rose from her heart, a hunger for him that ran deeper than her need to breathe.

  Somewhere distant, she heard more screams — filtered through the sizzling crackle of the burning house. Eddie’s mouth moved, but she couldn’t hear his voice. Just those twisted, strangled cries. None of them sounded like Georgene, but she couldn’t be sure.

  Eddie dragged her through the blaze. The floor groaned beneath them, half-broken, burning. Stone slabs glowed.

  Cool air blasted her face as they stumbled outside. Lyssa carried the fire with her, flames dancing over her naked skin. Not a stitch of clothing left, except for the stubborn remains of Eddie’s jacket.

  Eddie also burned, but some of his clothes were still intact. Lyssa tried to beat out the flames. It was a losing battle. He tore off the remains of his sweatshirt.

  Jimmy sat in the car, face pressed to the glass. Engine running, headlights blazing. Lyssa locked gazes with him, taking in his horror and shock, suffering the same emotions as the heat of the burning house rushed over her naked body.

  “Come on,” Eddie said in a rough voice.

  “I’ll frighten him,” she mumbled, trying to pull away.

  His grip on her arm tightened. “No. He worships you.”

  “He shouldn’t be here. What were you thinking?”

  “I was thinking that it hurts more to be useless.” Eddie leaned in, his gaze terrible with concern. “I know how he feels.”

  Jimmy shoved open the car door, half-tumbling out before stopping, staring.

  “Shit,” he squeaked.

  Lyssa tore her gaze from Eddie. “Watch your mouth. And get back in the car.”

  He cringed. “You’re burning.”

  Mustering all her strength, she focused on the fire flowing over her skin and took a deep breath, fighting to draw it down. Light sputtered, gasping in puffs and spurts — but after a long moment, the flames receded. The effort stole more strength than the explosion. Lyssa hunched over, barely able to stay upright. A chill punctured her bones.

  Somehow, Eddie got her to the car and pushed her into the backseat. Lyssa blinked blearily at the flames engulfing the house, feeling very distant from the blaze.

  An immense cracking sound filled the air.

  The burning house tilted sideways: roof sinking, collapsing, as the entire structure slid down the hill, burning chunks of wreckage breaking apart to tumble toward the river. Immense, ridiculous, as though from some movie.

  Except it was real. Her fault. She knew that. But nothing in her seemed to care. Instead, all she felt was a sense of deep satisfaction and rightness.

  Her mother had once said that dragon fire was pure. Pure enough to kill a shadow.

  Lyssa hoped that was true.

  At the first gas station they found, Eddie asked Jimmy to get out and use the pay phone to make a collect call. His phone had burned, along with his wallet. He parked the stolen car on the outskirts of the lot. The sky was growing lighter. Lyssa hoped no one could see them from the road. She was naked. Eddie a little less so, but this wasn’t a beach in Hawaii.

  Lyssa slouched in the back with her arms crossed over her breasts. Tina took up the rest of the seat. She was still unconscious and smelled like blood. The bitter scent made Lyssa sick, and she had the window rolled partially down. Even the nearby Dumpster smelled good in comparison.

  Icky sat in the front seat, whining. Eddie scratched his ears. There was a line between his eyes that hadn’t been there when Lyssa first met him. She wondered how her own face had aged. She felt older by a hundred years — mostly on the inside, in her heart.

  “I had my chance,” she murmured. “I looked Georgene in the face — and still wasn’t able to do what was required.”

  “You act as though not killing was a bad thing,” Eddie said softly.

  “She won’t stop. We’re back to square one. I told myself I was done running, that I’d finish it, once and for all.”

  “So, what? You would have killed a friend in cold blood? That would make things better?”

  She shuddered, unable to look at Tina. “No.”

  “Exactly. We’ll find another way.”

  “It makes me feel weak.”

  “I know,” he said. “But you’re not.”

  Lyssa leaned around to watch Jimmy at the pay phone. “How long do you think it will take him?”

  “Why?”

  “I want to erase Tina’s memories.”

  Eddie turned to look at her. “You can do that?”

  “It’s like cutting threads, then absorbing them. It’s what a Cruor Ven
ator does when she kills. She absorbs and steals, until, at the last moment of death, the victim doesn’t even remember his or her own name. Everything is gone.” Lyssa had trouble meeting his gaze. “Does that bother you?”

  “Be more specific,” he replied. “What you want to know is whether or not it bothers me that you’re a Cruor Venator.”

  “Okay, yes. Does it?”

  Eddie gave her an incredulous look. “Seriously? Get real.”

  Lyssa stared, then leaned forward to kiss him. She couldn’t quite reach his mouth, so she had to settle for a spot between his nose and cheek. Their breath mingled, rich and warm — and his sigh as she kissed him again, this time beneath his eye, was more healing than anything she could have imagined.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you, for being my dream come true.”

  “I’m no one’s dream,” he murmured gruffly.

  She tugged his ear, gently. “You’re mine.”

  Before he could say anything, she leaned back into the seat — heart pounding, cheeks flushed. “Do I have time?”

  He touched his face where she had kissed him. “A few minutes. Have you ever. .”

  “No. I’m not sure I should start now, but. . Tina deserves a second chance. So does Jimmy.”

  “You won’t erase his memory, will you?”

  “He can keep a secret.”

  Eddie smiled. “Every good detective can.”

  Lyssa rubbed away her own smile with the back of her hand. “I think he can handle what he saw. Even the fire and my arm. But Tina was down in that room, with the blood. .”

  She stopped, unable to finish, and reached out to cut the unconscious woman’s hand. Blood welled, tipping a claw. But instead of licking it off, she pressed her mouth directly to the wound.

  Power filled her, but it was easier somehow to accept it into her body. That, and the fact that Tina was only human, and the taste was different.

  Lyssa found the memories quickly: sharp, bright, floating on the surface of her mind. She felt Tina’s horror, her fear for her son. .

  . . she saw Flo’s face, covered in blood. .

  . . and heard the Cruor Venator whisper, “What I am. . is what will survive the world. I will grow fat on death and fear. .”