by Ciana Stone
They all started crying and jabbering at the same time, their fear prompting them to grab at Walker and Utah.
“It’s going to be okay,” Utah promised. “But you have to let go and calm down. Please, we have to move quickly.”
They quieted and Utah looked at Walker. “I’ll get her.” Utah indicated the woman on the floor.
Walker nodded and went to the man with the broken leg. “Put your arm over my shoulder.”
Once he had the man fully supported, he looked at the two women who could walk. “My partner’s going to go first. You follow him and we’ll bring up the rear. Whatever my partner tells you to do, do it. No hesitation, no questions. Got it? Okay, let’s move.”
It took longer to make the return journey. The fire had spread, and the cracks and groans of the supports above them sounded more frequent, louder, and more ominous. Walker moved as fast as he could, but it was slow going, having to support the man who was nearly unconscious. When he saw Utah and the two women reach the stairwell, he nearly sagged in relief. It was only a few more yards to safety.
That relief was short-lived. A screeching, tearing sound, followed by a loud whoosh had him dropping the man to the floor and diving over his body to shield him. The ceiling collapsed.
He could feel the fire on his back, eating at his protective clothing. He tried to push himself up but something had him pinned.
This was it. He was going to die.
Then he heard it. Utah’s voice. “Walker! Bro, can you hear me? Walker? Can you hear me? Answer me, bro.”
That was all it took to bolster his courage. “There’s something on me. Can’t move it.”
“I’m coming. Hang on.”
Walker forgot about the danger—the imminent collapse of the floor above that was inevitable. Utah was there. Together, they would make it.
Utah made it to him. There was a beam pinning Walker to the man he’d been carrying.
“He’s dead,” Utah announced. “I’m going to try and pull him out. When I do, move like greased lighting. You got it?”
“Yeah.”
Ten tense seconds later, he felt the body beneath him shift. Walker braced himself as if executing a pushup and gave it all he had. Just as his strength started to falter, the body beneath him moved.
Walker dropped and belly crawled from beneath the beam.
Utah grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet. “Okay, let’s bolt, bro.”
Walker nodded and together, they turned in the direction of safety.
A sound like nothing he had ever heard caused his heart to jump in his chest. Sorry bro was all he had time to think before the building came down on top of them.
Walker’s eyes moved back to meet his own reflection. That moment had changed everything. Changed his life. Changed him. He had been saved, but at a cost too high. Utah was gone. He’d sacrificed himself for Walker and Walker hadn’t even gotten to grieve the loss with the rest of his brigade. It had been two weeks before he was conscious again, and nearly three months before he could go a full day without the pain meds.
His entire back had been charred by the time help reached him. He would be forever disfigured, and maybe that was fitting. He should bear the marks of shame. They had lost Utah because of him. He didn’t deserve to be alive, be hailed a hero. He was nothing.
His life had spiraled down, days blending one into the other in a haze of pills and booze. He didn’t care. Life had nothing to offer him and he had nothing to offer it. He might as well take a long step off a high building.
Fate apparently had other plans. Six months after he was released, he’d walked into an herb shop out of curiosity, having been told that there were herbs to sooth anxiety. The doctors weren’t going to give him any more prescriptions for pills and without them, it felt like ants were crawling under his skin. He had to find something.
The woman he’d met was not just an herbalist. She was a horishi, a tattooist of the ancient arts. She’d given him some herbs and instructions on how to prepare teas with them.
A week later, feeling miraculously better, he’d paid her another visit. This time, they’d talked about her ink work. By his fourth visit, he’d told her about his life, about what had led to his disfigurement.
Walker would never forget what she’d said when he’d finished his tale.
“Given the chance to be anything you desired, to accomplish any goal, what would be your wish Ellis Walker?”
“To be able to walk through fire.”
She’d nodded as if she understood. If he’d been able to walk through fire, he might not have lost Utah. And unless he could find a way to go back to what he did and save every threatened life, how could he ever hope to pay back what he’d taken from his friend?
“If that is truly what you wish, then come back tomorrow and we will begin. But know this. Once done it cannot be undone.”
Walker shook his head, trying to dispel the memories. If only he could go back in time, say no when she’d asked if he was sure. Having the ink done had seemed like salvation at the time—a way to cover his shame, to try to reclaim the man he’d once been. She’d said it would define him, reveal his true nature and his destiny, and make him whole again.
Yeah, it had done that. Fire Walker. A man who could literally walk through fire and feel it like the touch of a lover’s caress.
A man who could spout wings and fly.
A man who just might live forever.
And a man who would always be alone because of the secret he had to protect.
Because he wasn’t just a man.
He was a dragon.
Chapter Three
Severin looked up a moment before the knock sounded at his door. This was not an uninvited guest, but someone he’d been expecting.
“Augustus.” Severin smiled upon opening the door.
“Good to see you, Severin.”
“And you. Come in.”
Augustus entered and at a gesture from Severin, took a seat. “In case you’ve not been told, we received a communication from Gabriel.”
Severin had heard the news. Gabriel and his beloved Nevaeh had returned through the portal to their own realm with Eldric Whitehorse in an effort to stop the dark forces from obliterating the light. It had been more than a year since they made the crossing, and in that time much had changed.
Despite all their vigilance, beings of the Darkness had crossed into this realm. One in particular had caused the Council a good deal of trouble. Nyah.
Even the thought of her brought a quick stab of pain to Severin, one he had no choice but to dismiss as best he could. Nyah was the enemy. Through her tattoos, she was creating an army of changelings.
“By your expression, I will assume you’ve heard the news,” Augustus commented.
“I have.”
Augustus leaned his head back, blew out a breath and looked away for a brief moment. When he looked at Severin again, there was a red sheen to his eyes, something Severin recognized. It signaled rage. Deep and possibly destructive.
Severin watched Augustus closely and with intense interest. It was near miraculous to see the red wash dissipate from Augustus eyes, feel the tension in the air around them abate. Few beings possessed the will power to force rage from themselves. Augustus was one of those few.
Lucky for Severin, his house, and probably half the neighborhood. When Augustus gave his rage free reign, destruction inevitably followed.
“Let us speak of the news from Gabriel,” Severin suggested and reclaimed his seat.
“Yes. Rather than me give you news you’ve already received, tell me what you know.”
“Of course. According to the report I was given—verbally, mind you—Gabriel has been officially crowned King of the Angels. He has successfully forged an alliance with the Daemon Lord of Light, Aharon and the Head of the League of White Wizards, Daelan. The others of our kind, Changelings and Weres have sworn allegiance to Gabriel. After many trials and testings, Eldric Whitehorse stepped
into the shoes his father left empty and now rules the Light Fae. Attempts to establish a treaty with the Dark Fae have met with failure.”
Severin fell silent and waited for Augustus to speak. When the silence stretched on, his thoughts turned to Nyah and the army she was trying to build. It was, without doubt, an army sanctioned by the leaders of the Dark Path. She could not, even with her considerable powers, accomplish the type of transformations she had achieved on her own.
No, Severin knew better than anyone that in order to transform a human into a changeling, the ink must be created from more than dyes. It must containthe blood of a Daemon, a Changeling and a Fae, all of whom possessed the ability to shape-shift.
Additionally, it required the blood of a Fae who could control the process of genetic transposition through magic. Securing the required blood was a Herculean task. He knew because he’d taken on the task himself the moment he became aware of what Nyah was doing. To combat her army, he was creating his own, and trying to subvert hers.
As if reading his thoughts, Augustus spoke up. “I am aware of the abominations she is creating.”
“It shames you to refer to them as such, Augustus. They are merely humans who have been taken advantage of, seduced by Nyah into believing something wondrous is being bestowed upon them, unaware of how the tattoos bind them to her, relegate them as slaves to her desires.”
“You are correct, of course. Forgive me. I—I’m frustrated and infuriated, Severin. It seems that every step forward we take, we are forced two back. There are times I long to let loose the hound of war, to lay waste to everything and everyone the Dark Path has touched, owned, controlled or coerced.”
“And thereby become that which you hate.”
Augustus blew out a harsh breath. “Yes, damn it all to hell. But this—this genetic manipulation. Severin, we must put an end to it. You must put an end to it.”
“Why does it fall to me?” Severin asked.
The look Augustus gave him brought a rush of shame. “Yes, of course, you’re correct. However, in the spirit of transparency between allies, you deserve to know that I am unsure I can undo all she has done. Her…creations number in the thousands. Some I’ve been able to neutralize, and some my own creations have destroyed because they could not be subdued. However, I have no confidence that the true number of her…children, let’s call them, are known or discoverable.”
“So what are you saying?” Augustus asked.
“That it will require calling upon the Council for help, upon the resources of the other tribes.”
“You do know that many of our people would see her destroyed.”
“I do.”
“And can you live with that, old friend?” Augustus’ voice carried a note empathy.
Severin could no longer meet Augustus’ eyes because he could not give the answer Augustus wanted to hear.
He knew beyond all manner of doubt that he could never stand by and see Nyah destroyed, watch her life come to an end, knowing that what made her unique would no longer be of this realm of existence.
Severin didn’t know if he could live knowing that she didn’t. As much as he detested what she’d done and what she’d become, the love he had always had for her had never died or diminished.
She was the only one for him. When she died, love died with her, and he’d be relegated to a lifetime without love.
As much as he wanted to stop her, he would never allow her to be killed, and to protect her meant switching allegiance to the Darkness.
It left him, as humans would say, between a rock and a hard place. He had to find a way to stop her without harming her and he needed to do it quickly, for there would come a time when the Council of Seven would grow tired of waiting for him to put an end to her and take matters into his own hands.
He couldn’t let that happen.
*****
Grace turned from the ATM and smacked into the man standing entirely too close behind her.
“Excuse me.”
He grinned down at her, then sidestepped to block her as she tried to maneuver around him. “Where’s the fire, gorgeous?”
“Get out of my way.”
“Or what?”
His taunt was probably meant as some ill attempt at flirtation, but it lit a fire inside Grace. She was sick and tired of men thinking they had the right to harass women simply because they had a penis.
“I said move!”
The man’s eyes widened in shock liberally laced with fear. “What the fuck? Fucking freak!”
Grace felt the rage collapse in on itself at the look on his face and the way he glanced over his shoulder as he hurried away. Hadn’t he been there to use the ATM? And why was the woman in the white minivan parked at the curb looking at her as if she’d suddenly sprouted horns?
She hurried to her car. Over the last six months, since the night of the incident as she thought of it, her life had changed in a lot of ways.
Nyah, true to her word had started to ink her.
Grace had never felt such pain. The first session, she’d lasted ten minutes before she was screaming. Nyah had mixed up an herbal concoction for her the next time and it helped dull some of the pain during the inking process.
But not the pain that came afterwards.
It was as her blood was on fire. She suffered chills and fevers, sometimes went for days with a raging headache and often was unable to stomach more than tea and toast.
And yet she kept going back.
Even now, two weeks after the final session, she wondered why she’d persisted. Maybe it was because she felt safe when she was with Nyah. And despite the pain and sickness , the more complete the tattoo became, the more whole she felt. Whole and strong. Almost a new and improved Grace.
She chuckled at that thought. More than one person had commented on the change. Some not so favorably. By nature a meek person, she’d found herself being far more assertive and aggressive, willing to take risks she’d have shied away from before.
Walton Friendly, the closest thing she had to family, had mentioned her newfound sense of self-confidence several times. Every time she gave credit to Nyah and the ink, he scoffed. She was more than the ink work that had been applied to her skin. It was Grace who deserved the credit for growing and becoming a strong, self-sufficient person.
She loved him for wanting to think it was all her, but she knew better. The ink had changed her. It might not make sense to anyone else, but she could feel it. It had given her the courage to try things she would have been too timid to attempt before.
Like the new job she was starting tonight. A very upscale men’s club had opened downtown and she’d been hired as a dancer. The pay was four times that which she’d ever earned, and with her tattoo she felt exotic and beautiful—more than equipped to earn some fat tips and thus stay solvent while she went to school.
Grace couldn’t wait to tell Nyah that she’d been accepted into the EMT, Emergency Medical Technician program at the Community College. She’d had to apply for financial aid and take out student loans, but what the hell? She’d been accepted.
Suddenly things were looking up and she had Nyah to thank. The exquisite dragon that circled her body had provided her more than simply a work of art. It was almost as if Nyah had given her the strength of a dragon—the strength to meet life head on and face up to any challenge.
There was just enough time to swing by Nyah’s before her class . Within minutes, she was pulling into a parking space across the street from Nyah’s shop. She fairly ran across the street, eager to tell Nyah her news. She grabbed the old-fashioned door handle and pushed.
And collided with the door when it didn’t open.
It was then she noticed the shop was dark. The small window beside the door had cardboard covering it from inside. Even the lettering on the door announced Nyah Ink was gone.
“What the hell?”
Grace backed up, looked at the window then to the shops on either side. She tried the nail salon to the
right.
“Hey,” she greeted the tiny Asian receptionist.
“You have appointment today?”
“No, not today. I just wondered if you’d seen Nyah? Her shop is locked and there’s cardboard over the window.”
“Huh?”
“Nyah, next door. The tattooist.”
“No tattoo next door. That place been empty three years.”
“Come on, I’ve been coming in here for six months talking about the tattoo she’s doing on me.”
“You crazy girl,” the receptionist said with a shrug. “We do you nails, listen to you tall tales.”
Grace couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Is this some kind of joke?”
“No joke. We do nails. You want touch-up today?”
“No. Thanks. No.” Grace backed up to the door, trying not to look at the curious faces of the technicians and clients. With tears threatening and fear making her stomach churn, she turned and fled.
Once on the sidewalk she stopped, looking one way, then the other. The woman in the nail salon had to be lying. Grace ran to the small cafe on the opposite side of Nyah’s. The elderly couple who ran it, Millie and Dean, were a nice old couple, very friendly. Grace had eaten there many times over the last six months, often with Nyah. Maybe they would know where she was.
Millie was sitting at the register when Grace entered, reading the latest novel by her favorite writer. “Hey Grace. You want a table or are you sitting at the counter today?”
“Actually neither. I have to get to work early tonight. I just wanted to know if you’d seen Nyah.”
“Who?”
“Nyah. From next door. You know, Nyah Ink?”
Millie’s smile faded. She put her book down and hurried around the counter to take Grace by the arm . Millie cut a look around the café at the curious patrons and pulled Grace off to one side.. “Honey, what are you talking about?”
Grace felt like someone who’d just had a rug jerked out from under her feet. The world tilted crazily and she had to reach out and grab Millie’s arm to steady herself. “Millie, Nyah and I have eaten in here a hundred times. You know her.”
