Heart of Fire (Alice Worth Book 2)

by Lisa Edmonds

  Niara came around the table. “I will walk you out,” she said.

  I wanted to glance at Charles but didn’t, since I didn’t want either of the vampires to think I was asking him to intercede with Niara on my behalf. I was puzzled, however. Niara was in another vampire’s territory, but Charles seemed to be allowing her to openly court me right under his nose, days after that little scene on my back porch. What game were they playing, and how could I extricate myself from it?

  I mustered what I hoped was a gracious smile as Adri opened the door for us. “Thank you.”

  Our walk down the hall was silent. When Niara and I got to the stairway door, we both reached for the handle. “Allow me,” she said, to my surprise. She pushed it open and we went into the stairwell.

  When I started down the stairs, she stilled me with a hand on my arm. “My dear, you are a well of grief and anger. I can help you and clear your mind of this pain.”

  Vampires never did anything for free, but even if she was offering to help out of the goodness of her heart, this was not a favor I wanted. “My anger helps keep me sharp. The pain motivates me.”

  That sounded strange when I said it out loud, but she nodded. “That I can understand,” she said, her voice like music.

  Niara reached up and stroked my cheek with her cool hand, her thumb brushing lightly under my bruised eye. I flinched and closed my eyes, expecting to feel pain, but instead a delicious warmth spread through me as the discomfort faded. Somehow, she was healing me simply with her touch. I hadn’t known vampires could do that.

  “My blood is within you,” she murmured in answer to my unspoken question. “I still command it. With it, I can do many things. I can heal.”

  Her hands traveled down my body slowly, as if she could sense where I still ached. She caressed my hand and the last twinges of pain from the burns vanished. Her fingers moved over my lower back and the soreness disappeared. Then her hands moved to my hips and I opened my eyes.

  Her gaze was amber fire. “I can also bring great pleasure.”

  “I am sure you can.” Carefully, I put my hands on hers. They were cool, but there was nothing cold in the way she looked at me. I eased her hands off my body. She didn’t resist. “I’m not free right now,” I said.

  “Yes, your werewolf and your federal agent. If they do not object to each other, surely they would not object to me.” Her brow arched. “I am not a jealous lover.”

  I didn’t correct her assumption about the current state of my love life. “No,” I said firmly. “I’m afraid my dance card is full.”

  She chuckled. “I was always so fond of that phrase. Do you know why?”

  I was instantly wary. “I can’t imagine.”

  She moved so fast that I swear I didn’t even see it. Suddenly I was up against the wall, her hands were on me, and her lips hovered a millimeter from mine. Her scent, like cinnamon and wine, made me shiver as she murmured, “Because there is always another time, and another dance.”

  She brushed her lips across mine, and then in a puff of air she was gone. The heavy soundproof door closed with a quiet thump, leaving me alone in the stairwell.

  I stood with my back against the wall while my brain processed that I was not bitten, not dead, and not in Niara’s bed, at least for the time being.

  “I guess I’ll see myself out,” I said to no one in particular. It was just as well there was no one else around since my knees were not exactly steady as I went down the steps.

  The downstairs seemed darker than when I’d arrived; maybe there were some streetlights that had gone out, or maybe it was just my mood.

  Instead of walking straight out the front door, I detoured behind the bar and reached for the bottle of Dalwhinnie on the second-highest shelf. I poured myself two fingers of Scotch, recapped the bottle, and took my drink to my usual booth in the back corner.

  “Hello, old friend,” I said as I slid across the familiar seat. I leaned against the wall, stretched my legs out in front of me, and sipped my drink in the eerie silence of the bar.

  I’d once been something of a fixture in this booth, but I hadn’t sat in it for almost two months, since the night I’d met Sean. It felt like almost a lifetime ago when I’d sat here, nursing a glass of whisky while I waited for an audience with Charles, and a good-looking stranger interrupted my reverie to ask if he could join me.

  I assumed someone was watching the bar on the surveillance cameras and expected someone—Bryan, Adri, maybe even Charles—to appear when I didn’t leave, but no one came downstairs to see what I was doing or to fuss at me for helping myself to a drink. Either they were all deeply engrossed in dealing with the fallout from Mark’s death, MDI’s defection, and the violent protests around the city, or they were just giving me space. Either way, I was glad for the seclusion after what had been, hands down, one of the worst twenty-four hours I’d had in recent memory.

  My peace and quiet was interrupted by my phone. I dug it out of my pocket and stared at the screen. Wolf Calling.

  I was keenly aware our conversation from this afternoon had been left unfinished. Part of me wanted to apologize for saying I was trying to protect him, and part of me thought I shouldn’t be sorry for trying to keep the people around me safe. He certainly wouldn’t need me to protect him from most things, but a demon wasn’t most things, and that was the problem. I didn’t know what kind of demon I was up against, but it wasn’t a lower one like the one who had come to my house, that was for damn sure. As strong as he was, I wasn’t sure Sean would survive an encounter with one, and there was way too much blood on my hands already.

  In my mind, I saw Sean’s golden gaze staring at me. It’s not your decision; it’s mine, he’d said.

  I thumped my head against the wall.

  When I didn’t answer, the call went to voice mail. I lowered the phone to the table, tipped my head back, and closed my eyes.

  The phone rang again.

  With my eyes closed, I reached for the phone, swiped at the screen, and raised it to my ear. “You’ll never guess where I am.”

  A pause. “I can’t even begin to guess,” Sean said dryly.

  “I’m sitting in the back corner booth at Hawthorne’s with a glass of Dalwhinnie.”

  Silence. I wondered if he was remembering our first meeting and our first night together—the one-night stand that had somehow turned into so much more.

  “I would have thought you’d had enough Scotch last night to last you for a while,” he said finally.

  I wondered what he would think if he saw all the empty bottles in my recycling bin at home. I finished my Scotch and set the empty glass on the table.

  “You shouldn’t be anywhere near Vaughan or the Vamp Court,” he added. “There have been almost two dozen attacks on vampire-owned businesses this evening. Even though it wasn’t on the list, it’s no secret a vampire owns Hawthorne’s. I’m surprised the bar is even open.”

  “It isn’t open. I came to see Charles.”

  I could practically feel the prickle of Sean’s anger over the phone. There was a lot of bad blood—pun intended—between him and the vampire. “Why?” he asked tightly.

  “Believe it or not, it was a safer option than going to Northbourne, which is apparently Ground Zero for anti-vamp protests right now. I needed to talk to Kim Dade, the analyst, and tell Charles what we found out today.” I toyed with my glass. “I know it’s late, but I don’t think I’ll be sleeping anytime soon. Do you want to meet and go over the case?”

  “Where do you want to meet?”

  “I have all my case files and notes at my house. Do you want to meet there?”

  “I can do that. I’m at home, so it will take me about a half-hour to get there.”

  “Same here. I’ll leave now.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you at your house in thirty. Be careful.”

  “You too.” We disconnected.

  I put my phone down on the table and sighed. I’d forgotten to ask how his pack was doing, but i
f he was able to meet me they must be all right. I’d find out more later. Empty glass and phone in hand, I slid out of the booth, put my bag over my shoulder, and headed for the bar.

  Tires screeched outside and the front window exploded in a shower of broken glass. I took cover behind a tall table as something heavy landed on the floor near the window. A dark-colored van sped away down the street.

  The light coming in through the broken window revealed the object on the floor: two metal pipes strapped together with zip ties, with multicolored wires connecting them. A red light blinked on one of them.

  “No,” I breathed.

  I dropped my glass and my phone and raised my hands in front of me. Every ounce of air magic I could muster erupted from my palms in a flare of bright white a half-second before the explosion.

  A wall of fire met my air magic shield and tossed me aside. I had a fraction of a second to register pain before my head hit something and then there was only darkness.

  I woke up coughing and gasping for air. Smoke burned my eyes, making them water. I blinked dazedly, trying to make sense of what I was seeing.

  Through the haze of pain, I realized I was in Hawthorne’s and what was left of the bar was on fire. My magic had shielded me from the initial blast, but now I was buried beneath a pile of debris crushing my chest, legs, and right arm. My legs hurt, but my arm was numb. I struggled to breathe.

  From beyond the beams, chunks of ceiling, and broken furniture piled on top of me, an enormous crash shook the floor. It sounded like the building was falling down.

  I tried to call out for help, but my shout turned into a fit of coughing. I was dizzy and disconnected from lack of oxygen. I didn’t have much time before I passed out from smoke inhalation and then died, either from suffocation or from burning to death.

  Through the growing fog in my brain, I wondered why no one had come to rescue me after the bombing. Surely they’d seen me on surveillance cameras as I sat in the bar with my drink. But what if they hadn’t? If they thought I left immediately, they wouldn’t have any reason to check the bar for victims. I’d parked so far away they wouldn’t see my car unless they were looking for it.

  The floor trembled as another, louder crash shook the building. Flames surged and heat swept over me. I was running out of time.

  I suddenly had an idea born of pure desperation. If Charles had drunk from me, we would share a telepathic bond. It would be weak, but I might be able to call for help if I could figure out how to reach him.

  Charles had spoken to me mind-to-mind when we were in physical contact, but it was more a case of him sending his thoughts to me and then listening to my replies. I’d only ever communicated telepathically with Malcolm, but I’d learned how to pull my ghost to me using the magic trace connecting us. If Charles had bitten me, there would be a trace of him in my mind, somewhere. I pushed the dizziness and disorientation aside and searched for something that might be a connection to the vampire.

  In a deep, dark corner of my mind, I found the tiniest thread that was strange and yet somehow terribly familiar. It was cold and gray, much different from the cool blue-green of Malcolm’s trace or the hot golden thread that had once connected me to Sean.

  I reached for the cold gray thread, pulled it taut with a yank that nearly sent me spinning into unconsciousness, and screamed with my mind: Charles! Help!

  At first, I heard and felt nothing. Then, a voice in my head: Alice? It was Charles. He sounded surprised.

  I sobbed once, relieved and horrified all at once. Help me. I’m trapped in the bar.

  This time, the response was immediate and forceful. We are coming for you. Five minutes.

  Another crash shook the floor. I don’t have five minutes.

  My stomach contracted almost painfully at the thought of dying alone in the ruin of Hawthorne’s. If only I’d thought of the telepathic connection earlier. If only I hadn’t stopped for a drink before I left. If only I’d insisted I go with Mark to the homeless camp.

  It would figure my last thoughts in this life were regrets.

  “No,” I rasped. I’d done the impossible and escaped my grandfather’s cabal compound; I could get out of this. I still had Niara’s blood in me. I was a high-level air mage, damn it. No pile of debris, no matter how heavy, was going to hold me down.

  Charles said something else but I shut the link between us so I could focus.

  I spooled my air magic and raised my left hand, directing magic into it until the pain became almost unbearable. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath of smoky air, and struck the pile of debris with my palm, unleashing the spooled magic.

  The debris blew away with a crash that I barely heard through the wave of disorientation that followed such an enormous expenditure of magical energy. I fought unconsciousness with everything I had and pushed the darkness back. When I opened my eyes, I could barely see through the thick smoke, but it was time to move.

  I staggered to my feet. My legs hurt, but neither seemed to be broken. Through the smoke and piles of debris, I could see a wide hole where the front windows had once been. I had to get to that exit; there was no other choice. I tried to lift my hands, but there was something wrong with my right arm. It hung at my side, bent oddly at the elbow. There was pain, but it felt distant.

  I raised my left hand and summoned what little air magic I had left. I pushed it out ahead of me, opening a path through the smoke and flames, and stumbled toward the gaping hole in the front of Hawthorne’s.

  Part of the ceiling collapsed, shaking the floor, and I fell to my knees, my air magic snuffing out. Fire surged around me and I screamed as it seared my back and right side. I got to my feet again and used the last ounce of air magic I had to clear a path the last dozen steps to the sidewalk.

  I emerged from the burning ruin and stood on the sidewalk in a daze. The night air was cold. Sirens wailed in the distance. Behind me, something very heavy collapsed and a blast of heat rolled over me. My ears buzzed. I tried to take a breath of fresh air, but my lungs didn’t seem to want to work. I could no longer feel my broken arm or the searing pain on my back and side.

  “Alice!” Over the ringing in my ears, I heard someone shout my name. I turned.

  Sean raced down the sidewalk, moving so quickly I was certain I was hallucinating. The buzzing grew louder. All other sounds faded away, and then even the buzzing was gone.

  He reached me just as my knees gave out. I pitched forward into his arms.

  There was a mouth on mine, hot and unyielding, forcing air into my lungs. My chest rose and fell several times and then the mouth moved away.

  “Come on, damn it.” It was a growl. “Breathe, Alice.”

  For one long terrible moment, I couldn’t remember how to inhale and my chest felt as if it was being crushed under an enormous weight. Suddenly, I sucked in a lungful of deliciously cold, smoke-free air and began to cough.

  Strong arms cradled my upper body and rocked me as I hacked and gasped. Through the smell of smoke, I caught the scent of forest.

  I opened my eyes and looked up into Sean’s bright golden gaze. Charles stood beside us. We were in the lot down the street from Hawthorne’s. Sean’s truck was parked next to my car, and he was on his knees, holding me. We were hidden from view by a large black SUV I recognized as belonging to Charles. Down the street, I saw red and blue flashing lights and the sky looked strangely orange. The fire must be massive.

  My clothes were tattered and bloody. I vaguely recalled thinking my arm was broken and I’d been burned on my back, but nothing hurt except my chest. Charles must have given me his blood to heal me; my mouth tasted like copper and wine. Unfortunately, neither the vamp blood nor a healing spell could clear the smoke from my lungs.

  “Hey,” I wheezed, then broke into another coughing fit. My throat and lungs burned and it felt like there was a tight band around my ribs, keeping me from drawing in a full breath. I closed my eyes and struggled to breathe.

  Heavy footsteps came running up t
o us. “Give her this,” Charles said.

  I forced my eyes open again. The vampire handed Sean a mask connected to a small portable oxygen tank that Bryan was holding. The enforcer was breathing hard, his face smudged with soot. There were medical facilities in the lower levels of Hawthorne’s. Charles must have sent Bryan back in through the parking garage entrance to get the tank.

  Sean put the mask over my nose and mouth. “Breathe slowly,” he said, his voice tight. I forced myself to inhale the oxygen, though I could only take small breaths. Gradually, the burning in my lungs eased.

  When I stopped coughing, Charles crouched next to us. Sean growled low in warning but the vampire ignored him.

  I still couldn’t get a full breath, but I pushed the mask aside and reached for him. “Charles.”

  Sean stiffened as Charles leaned over me. I touched the vampire’s face with a sooty and bloody hand, leaving streaks on his pale, cool skin. I slid my hand to his neck and drew him closer. He met my gaze with eyes that shone with silvery light. Everything else faded as we stared at each other.

  “You bit me,” I rasped.

  He tilted his head, his eyes boring into mine. “Yes.”

  Sean went perfectly still, his eyes flaring bright gold. A low, almost atavistic rumble started deep in his chest and the arms around me tightened. The air crackled with power from both of them.

  I made a choked sound that had nothing to do with my smoke-filled lungs. “You bastard.” I pushed my blood magic out through my fingertips like razors and ripped out Charles’s throat.

  Cool blood sprayed across my face and upper body as the vampire fell back, his hands on the wound. For the first time since I had met him, he looked shocked. Blood gushed down the front of his suit.

  Bryan started toward me, his face darkening. Sean braced himself and snarled at him, his muscles coiled as he prepared to fight.

  Unable to speak with his vocal cords torn out, Charles held out a hand.

  The enforcer stopped. “Sir, she attacked you. You could have been killed.”