by Jory Strong
The ash resumed its migration.
This time only what was in the channels moved. It was more like a train now instead of water in an irrigation ditch.
When it reached its destination, it piled, recreating a pyramid, then flaming blue.
The astrologist looked up from the slab. “A phoenix egg was brought through the portal. You’ve got maybe forty-eight hours to get it contained or get it back home.”
“Not the confirmation I was hoping for,” Taine said.
“It could be worse.”
“That’s always the case with sorcerers.”
“True.” The heat returned to the astrologist’s eyes. “Come back anytime. And it doesn’t have to be business.”
His gaze shifted to her. “The same applies.”
Beneath the stone slab, Taine’s hand ground hers against his erection. She said, “I’ll keep the invite in mind.”
The astrologist laughed, and for a second time she thought she saw smoke at the corner of her eye. It could be her imagination—but on second thought, considering the astrologist might have seen Taine wearing the Got Fire? T-shirt, it was equally likely that their hot host was amusing himself with a magic trick.
They left, returning to the sedan as the astrologist stood in his open doorway. Saffron couldn’t stop herself from saying, “So, do you swing that way?”
Taine growled and penned her against the sedan. “The only way I swing is your way.”
His mouth slammed down and if the astrologist had seen the T-shirt before, he was getting the answer to Got Fire? now because she was going up in flames and Taine was the cause.
Taine wanted to huff and puff and burn the astrologist’s house down. The hug the arson investigator had given Saffron at ground zero was bad enough, but every fantasy-filled glance directed her way by the astrologist had nearly put him over the edge. The guy would be a pile of ash in his own doorway if recovering the egg wasn’t so important.
Mine! Taine silently snarled, recognizing that only the feel of Saffron’s body against his was keeping his fire at bay—or at least, the fire capable of torching the sedan and the astrologist.
A different kind of fire burned hot and hard—very, very hard in his cock.
Closing his eyes, he let his world shrink to his mate. His very intelligent, very beautiful, very desirable mate.
Her tongue twined with his. Her hardened nipples stabbed his chest.
The warm scent of her arousal drifted upward, slowly eradicating the traces of vanilla from the cactus the astrologist grew. Pleasure and no small amount of masculine pride pushed the aggravation of other men wanting his mate from Taine’s thoughts.
Her hands at his sides, holding him to her rather than pushing him away, made it possible to keep more primitive instincts at bay—though a low growl vibrated in his throat at remembering her outrageous warning.
I’m not into serious relationships, no matter how good the sex is, she’d said, as if she’d walk away, end this thing between them at the first hint that he was more than a casual lover.
He was not even close to being a casual lover and deep down she knew it! At every turn she forgot her ridiculous rule about keeping things professional. At every turn she welcomed his touch, the press of his body to hers.
Her little moan inflamed him further. He deepened the kiss, reminded himself that right from the start he’d known Saffron was going to be a troublesome kind of mate.
He wouldn’t have it any other way.
He smiled against her lips. In less than a day she’d accepted the concept of portals. That would make the next leap—that supernatural beings could take a human form and come through those portals—easier.
Ending the kiss, he said, “Time to return to our original destination.”
In dragon form he would have preened and purred at how long it took Saffron’s eyes to clear of desire.
Finally she said, “Visit the elderly couple.”
“And show them the six pack of sorcerers.”
She rolled her eyes. “Six packs, with an s.”
“Doesn’t sound as catchy.”
She laughed, her hands moving from his sides to his chest. He leaned in, his heart thrumming against her palm. He brushed his mouth against hers. “Want to take the lead when we visit the Leons?”
Surprise flashed in Saffron’s eyes, then pleasure. And that was something to remember about his mate. She was a woman of action.
“I’d like that,” she said.
Another kiss and he forced himself away from her, though as soon as they were in the sedan, he captured her hand.
She put the printed images on her lap, six pages of six photos each. A stack of six six packs. That was kind of catchy. He grinned. He still liked the sound of a six pack of sorcerers better.
Saffron paged through the stack. He said, “It’s unlikely that they saw the sorcerer’s true face. He’d have used an active spell or one tied to a charm to alter their perception. We already know that the name he gave them is false.”
“You talked to them earlier?”
“Crew did, over the phone.”
His mate glanced up from the six six packs, her forehead wrinkling adorably. “If we know the sorcerer is a he, why are there women in the six packs?”
“On the chance the couple drove by the house and saw someone other than the man they believe they rented to.”
“I wonder if the warehouses were torched to make sure there wasn’t any footage of comings and goings at the house.”
Taine’s pleasure and pride deepened. His mate was sharp.
“An excellent theory. Magic and tech don’t play nicely together. Cameras can’t be fooled.” Which was why only those beings with a true human form were allowed in places where their images could be captured by cellphones and surveillance.
“What name did the man who rented the house use?”
“Dirk Powers.”
The wrinkle moved from Saffron’s forehead to her nose. “Sounds like a comic book name. I wonder if he sees himself as a hero or a villain.”
“Hard to tell with sorcerers.”
“Even Kristof?”
Taine’s eyes narrowed. Was she interested in Kristof?
More than once the sorcerer had accompanied Crew, Gaige and him to a nightclub, and had held his own when it came to attracting women. Taine inhaled but didn’t scent increased arousal.
“Kristof is wearing a white hat at the moment,” he said, relegating her interest to curiosity.
A short time later they arrived at the retirement community where the couple who’d rented the house to Dirk Powers lived. Taine parked in front of a five-story apartment building with an ocean view. Smiled at catching his mate’s wistful glance toward the beach.
“Maybe we’ll get a chance to go tonight,” he said, thoughts of walking hand-in-hand at surf’s edge quickly giving way to images of lying naked beneath the stars and making love.
He adjusted himself in his jeans. Completely unsympathetic to his plight, Saffron said, “Time to be professional.”
He followed her to the front door. Shuffling footsteps preceded the door’s opening.
A woman with skin darker than Saffron’s and hair that was a tight nap of gray said, “May I help you?”
Saffron answered, “We’re here about the house—”
“I can’t believe Dirk is responsible for the fire! Come in. My husband is in the living room.”
They followed her into a room with two recliners and a loveseat positioned in front of a muted television. Her husband was white, his skin scented with age and illness.
He sat in a dark green recliner with a walker next to it. A crocheted afghan covered his legs though the room was warm.
Taine’s heart beat faster at being confronted by truth. He’d seen thousands of old people since entering this realm but had never contemplated what it meant to be human.
This would become his reality if he and Saffron bonded. Her lifespan would become his. Her m
ortality would become his. They would grow old together, die together—centuries for him compressed into a human lifespan.
They would ultimately be reborn together in his realm, as dragons. But this diminishment was why most of his kind waited, separating themselves from potential human mates every time they encountered one until the instinct and craving to bond could no longer be denied.
Taine joined Saffron on the loveseat. His gaze dipped to the wedding rings on the old woman’s hand, to the band on the old man’s. The gold was tarnished and the value of the rings themselves didn’t come close to what he’d paid for the one he continued to carry in his pocket, but they were priceless all the same, representing a lifetime of memories.
Mrs. Leon told her husband, “They’re here about the house.”
“We should have sold it when Lawson moved out,” he grumbled.
“I know.” Mrs. Leon grimaced and said to Saffron, “It seemed like a lot of bother when we had a renter lined up and hadn’t needed to advertise.”
“Dirk approached you?”
“Yes. Three years ago. He said he knew that Lawson was moving out.”
“Maybe Dirk was planning this all along and convinced Lawson to leave,” her husband said.
“You might be right. It was the strangest thing. A couple of weeks earlier Lawson had come by to pay his rent. He’d seemed perfectly content. He’d been in the house for nine years. Moved in when Nelson died.” She shook her head. “Hikers found him in Cleveland National Forest. He was always heading there, loved the outdoors.”
“Arrington was his last name. Had a heart attack,” her husband said. “But if he had to go, that’s where he would have wanted to do it. Not like this. Not in a hospital.”
Tears swam in his wife’s eyes before she blinked them away. Saffron said, “So Lawson seemed perfectly content…”
Mrs. Leon nodded. “He did. He was talking about replanting the yard with thoughts of drought in mind. And then suddenly, he couldn’t leave fast enough.”
“Did he give you a reason?” Saffron asked.
“Said he’d always wanted to live on a boat and see the world.” Mrs. Leon frowned. “And the way he talked… Fervent. Almost like a man who’d gotten religion. At the time I wondered if he’d been diagnosed with something terminal. But I didn’t pry.”
Taine thought it was far more likely he’d been hit with a spell.
“He sends us postcards from time to time,” the elderly man said. “Got one a week or so ago. He was in New Zealand.”
Saffron asked, “Did you ever visit the house while it was being rented by Dirk?”
“No. He sends a check through the mail and his payments arrive promptly. We haven’t seen or heard from him since signing the rental agreement.”
Saffron lifted the sheaf of papers that’d been on her lap. “I have some pictures for you to look at. Let me know if one of them is Dirk. Some of the pictures are of women, in case you might have seen one with him. But if anyone looks familiar, please let me know.”
The Leons exchanged a glance. Fear edged into their eyes and scent.
Taine wanted to ease their worry, wasn’t sure how until he zeroed in on the charm bracelet around Mrs. Leon’s frail wrist—magical charms all, most of them fighting off illness and pain.
“This is an IRE investigation,” he said and fear changed into avid curiosity.
They readily took the six packs from Saffron. Studied each picture before swapping the sheets.
There’s wasn’t even a glimmer of recognition.
Returning the last sorcerer six pack to Saffron, Mrs. Leon asked, “Was the fire intentional?”
Saffron handed the question off to him with a glance. He answered, “The fire resulted from a magical working. I’m not at liberty to say more.”
They left a few minutes later. Back in the sedan, Saffron said, “So it took three years to get the spell written?”
“It might have, especially if he was missing pieces of it. Or he might have been keeping tabs on the tenant and sensed a moment of weakness, when a little bit of magic would persuade the man to move, and decided to use the opportunity.”
“Makes sense. But that’d suggest the sorcerer knew he’d need to be in that particular location. How could he know that if the places where portals can be created vary and aren’t governed by physics?”
“Someone like the astrologist could predict it. But that kind of precision work would be expensive.”
“Does client confidentiality apply?”
“Good question.”
“So we’ll go back to the astrologist?”
Remembering the astrologist’s heavy-lidded and fantasy-filled perusal of Saffron, Taine felt a bellows-like squeeze in his chest. And where there was a bellows-like squeeze, another uncontrolled burst of dragon fire was a distinct possibility.
“Time for Gaige to step up and deal with the astrologist. He can handle that and we can get something to eat at The Deep.”
Chapter 8
From the outside The Deep was a windowless, hole-in-the-wall joint. It was close to the port and the naval base, nestled in among tattoo shops and bars that served military men.
It looked as if it’d been there forever though Saffron had never noticed it, not that that meant anything. She hadn’t been in this section of town since she was eleven or twelve, when she’d accompanied her father after he’d taken a call and come here to pull a drunk soldier from his unit out of a bar.
Her dad had been like that. Her mother like that too. Hell her entire family was big on service and duty.
“You want to go somewhere else?” Taine asked, making her aware that she was rubbing the place above her heart.
“No. I’m good.”
They reached the front door. A white sign with blood-red lettering warned: Neutral territory. Check your grievances and prejudices at the door. No mercy will be shown to violators.
“I like this place already,” Saffron said.
Taine grasped a brass knob and opened the door. The scent of fried onion rings and fried fish made her stomach shout with pleasure and her mouth water.
They entered The Deep. It wasn’t well lit, in keeping with the hole-in-the-wall external image.
A bar counter, lined with bar stools, ran most of the length along the left wall. Behind it was a long-haired blond with crossed arms. And behind him, a mirrored wall so that even with his back turned he could keep an eye on the customers.
Whoever owned this place, they obviously meant for the warning on the door to be taken seriously. She was betting they didn’t get a lot of bar fights.
Then again, it wasn’t set up like most places. Seating was limited to two choices—on stools in front of the bartender-bouncer-enforcer or in booths along the right wall.
Taine put his hand at the base of her spine and guided her past patrons whose focus on their dining companions gave the impression of deals going down.
Out of the corner of her eye, shadows behind the bar made it appear as if there was a trident resting against the mirrored wall an arm’s length away from the blond. She turned her head and the trident was gone.
Saffron huffed out a laugh. Of course the trident was gone. It hadn’t actually been there. But given everything she’d seen since obeying orders and going to IRE HQ, was it any surprise that her imagination was amped up?
They stopped next to an empty booth. She slid in.
Taine’s eyes hooded and she did not want to imagine what would happen if they weren’t separated by the table. “Other side,” she told him.
His slow smile said he knew he was getting to her. He sat and captured her hands. “We’re back to acting professional?”
Her gaze dropped to their hands. “I’m becoming more and more convinced that your definition of professional conduct has almost no resemblance to my definition.”
A shimmer at the corner of her eye, like sun off scales, preceded their waitress’s arrival though there was nothing fish-like about the svelte r
edhead with the dark green eyes.
Saffron had to wonder what their waitress was doing here when she should be in Hollywood or modeling glamorous, impractical dresses in Rome.
The redhead said, “The house special today is swordfish steak.”
The lyrical tone of her voice made swordfish sound like the perfect lunch choice. Saffron said, “That works for me.”
“I’ll have the same.” Taine said.
Their waitress moved away.
Two men passed the booth, shimmering at the corner of Saffron’s eye. This time there was an impression of large red scales, like Medieval battle shields.
Her heart thumped faster, harder. Either her imagination was going wild or there was some seriously strange lighting effects in this place. Or…
She leaned forward.
Taine mimicked the action, pressed his lips to hers and entered her mouth with the thrust of his tongue.
Heat speared straight to her sex. Her nipples went instantly tight.
Her tongue twined with his for more than a few heartbeats before she remembered where they were and jerked back. Damnit! How did he keep doing that? Making her forget her rules?
“That’s not what you were after?” he asked, radiating satisfaction.
She was torn between shaking her head or punching him. “The warning on the door should read: Check your grievances, prejudices—and ego before entering.”
He grinned, totally unrepentant. His gaze drifted to their still-joined hands. “It’s not ego to think you were interested in a kiss. It’s confidence. You want me. I want you. Can you deny it?”
“No,” she huffed then risked leaning forward to ask the question she’d intended to ask. She stopped close enough to nearly be whispering against his lips, and damned if she didn’t want to close that infinitesimal distance. “Is this a sorcerers’ hangout?”
“What makes you ask?”
Tell him she was seeing things? Maybe imagining them?
But, then, if this was a sorcerers’ hangout it’d make sense that she was experiencing something magical. He’d told her that spells and charms could alter someone’s perceptions.
“I’m seeing shimmering out of the corner of my eye when people pass, an impression of scales, and there was a trident near the bartender until I looked directly at it.”
