Shattered Spirits

by C. I. Black

  Ryan’s heart leapt into a quick tattoo. Gunfire. Maybe this was where the future flash happened.

  He drew his sidearm and raced after the tracks. They led to rickety stairs. He took them two at a time.

  Bang. Bang.

  Someone yelled. It sounded like a man, but he couldn’t be sure.

  Another bang.

  He paused at the top of the stairs. Beyond lay a dark hall with doorways and partially opened doors allowing weak light to reveal mounds of debris. A large shadowy figure at the end of the hall, with a gun held at the ready, slipped from one room to the next.

  The urge to race to the end of the hall and confront whoever it was swept through Ryan, but he needed to clear the closer rooms first. Besides, he had no idea if that man was friend or foe.

  Another volley of gunfire. Close. But which room?

  Ryan eased to the first doorway and glanced in. Empty. Debris littered the room, and a partially blocked doorway indicated the rooms were interconnected.

  A man yelled, “Give it up.”

  Someone screamed.

  Ryan rushed to the next doorway. Silent, efficient, like he’d been trained.

  Another quick glance, and there was Jones, crouched behind an overturned desk, weapon in one hand and reaching into a pile of garbage on a shelf with the other.

  What the hell was she doing?

  Two more shots exploded in the room. Chips from the desk flew into the air. She didn’t even flinch.

  Movement to her right caught his attention. A heavyset man jumped out a doorway faster than Ryan would have thought possible, gun pointed at Jones’ head.

  She glanced up, hand still in the garbage, gun trained on the man in the other doorway.

  Instinct kicked in. Ryan squeezed off a shot and dove for Jones. The man’s shot exploded. Ryan tackled her, and they skidded across the floor through a pile of something foul. Chips of floorboard, shattered from the bullets, flew past his head.

  Another gunshot sounded. Ryan kicked the shelf, knocking it over for more cover, and garbage and debris tumbled behind them. Jones wrenched in his grip, rolling on top of him, her Glock pointed at his head.

  Her eyes widened.

  Time froze, suspended between one breath and the next. All sound vanished. The reek of rot and decay, even the threat of danger, disappeared. There was only Special Agent Jones… straddling him. The heat of her thighs, pressed tight against his, seeped through his jeans. Her hair had fallen free of its knot and framed her delicate face in a strawberry blonde halo. Bright blue eyes held him prisoner. Her surprise was clear. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She captivated him, and he couldn’t explain why, as if something deep inside him, something he hadn’t even known existed, flickered awake when she was near.

  Then her expression hardened.

  The world rushed back in, the smell, the gloom, and the roar of gunfire.

  She leaned close, nose to nose, the length of her body hot against his. “What the hell are you doing here?” she growled.

  Anticipation shivered through him. God, what did he say? That he’d seen her in trouble and thought she needed help. She was an FBI agent, for goodness sake. With a team. He didn’t doubt she was more than competent, and, now that he thought about it, his instinct had made him look ridiculous.

  Bang. Bang.

  Someone yelled and footsteps pounded away.

  Jones inched up and glanced over the fallen shelf, but didn’t move her gun from his temple, and didn’t stop straddling him.

  A man swore.

  “Let him go,” Jones yelled. “Not our job.” She shoved Ryan in the chest, using more force than necessary to get to her feet, and leaving him cold where her body had been.

  “Why are you following me, Miller?” Her gun stayed trained on him.

  “Saw the guys sneak in behind you. Thought I’d give you a heads-up.” See, he could come up with something intelligent, even with her gun pointed at him.

  “Oh, really?”

  He became aware of the silence in the room beyond.

  A man whose clean-cut look screamed federal agent—well-tailored coat, close-cropped blond hair, and hard profile—stepped into the doorway. Something dark glimmered against his shoulder like water or blood, but with the weak light and his black coat, Ryan couldn’t quite tell what. The man’s gaze slid from Jones to Ryan, then back to Jones.

  “We shot one,” the man said, “but he won’t be talking.”

  Capri rolled her eyes. “That’ll make Diablo happy.”

  “And I got the phone,” a young tenor said. A teenager shoved past Mr. Clean-cut, holding a mangled phone. It looked like it had gotten shot. The teen stumbled to a stop, staring at Ryan. “Who’s this?”

  “Special Agent Patterson, Special Agent Valverdis,” Jones said, “meet Detective Miller.”

  This was not the way he’d wanted to meet her coworkers: prone, covered in something disgusting, and held at Capri’s gunpoint.

  CHAPTER 5

  Swipe met Capri’s gaze. Blood seeped through the shoulder of his black coat, clear in the dim light because her night-sight had kicked in. He’d been shot. Just great. Not that it would kill him, but he’d be grumpy for days.

  His frown deepened. Definitely not happy thoughts. Well, she wasn’t particularly happy, either. Miller was going to need to do a lot of explaining for following her and then getting involved in the gunfight.

  As if he could hear her thoughts, he stood and holstered his gun.

  “Make it fast.” Swipe grabbed Gig by his collar and yanked him away.

  Right. She’d just rip into Miller’s mind so Swipe could get home sooner. She resisted the urge to bare her teeth. Neither a sign of aggression or sexual attraction was appropriate with the human watching. He wouldn’t understand either meaning of the action.

  She turned to him. “Detective Miller.”

  He squared his shoulders, not bothering to brush the dirt and goo from his clothes. His winter coat strained against his broad chest, as if he’d put on more muscle since he’d bought it. Nothing for a detective to do in Elmsville but work out? Mother of All, she’d love to see what lay beneath the heavy material.

  The memory of running her hands over tight muscles flashed through her mind. But it wasn’t his chest she remembered, it was Eric’s.

  And that just tossed cold water on the fantasy.

  “Special Agent Jones.” He stepped toward her, moving his face into a narrow beam of sunlight cutting through a crack in the boarded window. It struck his cheek and glanced across his eyes, making them glow as if he possessed magic that radiated from his green irises.

  “You’re interfering with a federal investigation.” Maybe she could just get him to go without messing with his mind.

  “I thought I was saving your life.”

  “I can take care of myself.” For a heartbeat she didn’t want to. It was foolish. She’d seemed to have lost all common sense the other week when she’d been in the coffee shop with him, too. But a gunshot wouldn’t kill her, even if it struck her heart. It would hurt like a bitch, but it wouldn’t kill her. She really didn’t need his protection.

  He reached for her cheek, but didn’t make contact. The heat from his fingers simmered along her jaw. If she leaned, ever so slightly, she’d complete the connection and touch flesh to flesh. Her chest ached with the need. But he was human, and there were rules.

  God dammit, there were rules!

  She shoved him back with her free hand and rammed her Glock into her hip holster. “Do I get an answer, or do I arrest you?”

  A hint of a smile pulled at his lips. “If you arrest me, do you pull out your cuffs?”

  Wouldn’t he like that. “Special Agent Patterson does.”

  His smile wavered. “I saw your car, heard the gunshots, and thought you were in trouble.”

  That was the stupidest thing she’d ever heard. “Your story isn’t getting any better. We’ve already established that I’m more than cap
able of taking care of myself.”

  Swipe growled in the next room. He was getting impatient. They still had a cleanup to do that now involved getting rid of a body. As much as she wanted to know why the detective had been following her, she didn’t have the time to find out.

  “I don’t doubt that.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Doubt what?”

  “That you can take care of yourself.”

  “And that’s why you came running in?”

  Miller pursed his lips. Obviously he didn’t want to tell her the truth. It was much more difficult to use her magic to get someone to do something they didn’t want to do—like tell whatever truth they were hiding. It was easier to suggest something they were going to do in the first place—like go home. It was also easier to make him forget something, just have it slip his mind—in this case whatever ridiculous reason which had motivated him to follow her in the first place.

  Fine. It’d be a slap-dash job, but it would do. A little suggestion, a small mental wall, and she’d be set. She wouldn’t get any answers, but Miller would be gone, and Swipe would be happy—more or less.

  She subvocalized her power word. Her earth magic flared, and she slid a thread of energy into Miller’s thoughts.

  Or rather, she tried.

  The thread slipped around him, brushing against his consciousness but not entering.

  She pushed a little harder, willing her magic to enter his mind. He was tired and needed to go home. Whatever he was looking for, it wasn’t worth getting on the bad side of the FBI. “Consider this your warning.”

  He pursed his lips. “Really, Special Agent, are we going to play that game?”

  The thread slipped past him again.

  Jeez, what was wrong with her? She really was losing her focus. It would be so much easier if she knew why the hell he was here. Yeah, and if she kept telling herself that—

  Swipe barked something at Gig. Miller glanced in the direction of their room, and Capri grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at her. His pale gaze met hers, and desire swept through her. Mother of All, he was so much like Eric.

  “This isn’t a game.” She shoved her magic harder, spearing it into his mind, locking it into place. Pain flared across her temples, and she ground her teeth against it and against what she wanted from him.

  “It’s not—” he said.

  She wove her magic into a blanket, forced it into his mind, and twisted the blanket over the last twenty-four hours of his memory.

  He gasped.

  She wrapped it tighter. It was a sloppy job, but in a couple of days the sense that he was forgetting something would pass, and he’d continue on.

  Miller’s eyes flickered shut, his neck went slack, and his chin pressed against her hand. His breath caressed her thumb and forefinger. She yearned to capture that breath with hers, return the caress with lips and hands and—

  She released his chin and slapped his shoulder. He jerked to attention.

  “It was good to see you again. Thanks for your assistance.” She forced a smile. Her gut churned at tearing into his mind and at how much she wanted him to be Eric—at how much she was willing to pretend he was Eric.

  But it was better for him to forget her and for her to keep her distance. The more encounters they had, particularly since he was on the threshold of dragon activities, the more evasive the changes to his memories would have to be. And that was dangerous. Too much, too soon, and the damage to his mind could be permanent.

  Miller blinked. A line formed between his brows, and he glanced left and right. “Excuse me?”

  She gave him a gentle pull and led him toward the staircase. “The FBI can’t thank you enough for your help.”

  The wooden stairs creaked beneath them.

  “Ah…”

  They shuffled down the narrow aisle toward the open area and the outside door. He looked like he was moving on autopilot. He’d probably be out of it for another couple of minutes, and slightly confused for at least a few hours, but instincts would still work. He’d still be able to drive a car and defend himself if he needed to.

  “Thanks again.” She held out her hand, not wanting to offer it, yet burning with the need for him to take it.

  “Sure.” His gaze dipped to her hand, but he didn’t capture it with his own, just stared at it as if he couldn’t remember what it meant. “Not a problem.”

  She crossed her arms, hiding her hands at her sides. Her chest ached at the thought that he wouldn’t even remember this parting, and that she’d never see him again. But this was for the best. She couldn’t abandon Eric a second time, and she certainly couldn’t go to his funeral again, no matter how long he lived.

  Miller crossed the lot to the road, his boots crunching in the slush and ice, and got into a navy Camaro. The engine started, and he drove away.

  Her uneasy stomach continued to churn. Messing with his mind like that was a new low and indelicately done. What she really wanted was to tell him everything, a way of making amends for having abandoned Eric. But that wouldn’t solve anything, and it wouldn’t heal the ache within her. It would probably make everything worse. The human mind could only handle so much. The truth usually drove them insane.

  She kicked a chunk of ice into a puddle a few feet away. Her day just kept getting better and better. Two mysterious beheadings which could be her Prince flexing his less-than-diplomatic muscles, and now she’d violated Miller’s mind, the twin of the man she’d never stopped loving. To top it off, she still had to go to the Dragon Court with all its political pitfalls and report.

  CHAPTER 6

  Four hours later, Capri pulled up behind Swipe’s van in the underground garage of their headquarters. The van’s door flew open and Swipe stepped out. His rage simmered around him, ferocious and deadly. Obviously he’d been holding it all in while he cast his earth magic to clean the scene. Which meant it was well and truly boiled.

  “You took care of the human?”

  He’d been too focused on his spell to notice when Miller had left, and she hadn’t been stupid enough to bother him them. “Do you really have to ask?”

  “The human?” Swipe growled.

  She got out of her vehicle and resisted the urge to check her sidearm. “Detective Miller is not a problem.”

  “Doesn’t look like it to me.”

  “He’s my problem, and it’s been taken care of.” Badly and without any kind of honor, but it had been taken care of.

  “I got shot. That makes it my problem as well.”

  She bit the inside of her cheek. Even on a good day, Swipe wasn’t a drake she wanted to piss off. He was bigger than her, his soul magic was just as fast at healing as hers, and he could gate as well as she between anchored gates. They were evenly matched until it came to size. At over six feet, he towered above her, and if she didn’t fight dirty, he could easily kick her ass. To top it off, she’d have to work extra hard to hide his corpse, while all he had to do to hide evidence of hers was cast his earth magic. And yet, if she wanted to remain in control of her team, she needed to prove she was still the dominant drake. “I said I’d take care of it, and I did.”

  “I know he’s that cop from Elmsville. I don’t know what’s going on—”

  She grabbed the front of his coat and yanked him close, nose to nose. “Nothing is going on. If anything was, I’d tell you. You’re the team’s Second, my Second. That’s the way Tobias assigned it. Besides, you healed within a minute of being shot.”

  “I still have a hole in my coat.”

  She shoved him, ramming his back against his van. “I’ll buy you a new one.”

  “You’ve got crappy taste.” Swipe bared his perfect teeth and growled—not a sexual invitation. “I’ll send you my bill.”

  He grabbed the dead mage in the body bag from the back of the van, slung it over his shoulder, and stormed to the stairwell. Guess he didn’t have the patience to wait for the elevator.

  Gig slunk around from the other side of the van a
nd shrugged, as if Capri and Swipe had this kind of argument every day. Okay, maybe as if they had it every sixty or so years, which was closer to the truth. Of course, Gig was so young, he might not have been able to remember her and Swipe’s last fight. That had been in the early 1940s, when Hunter had gone on an unsanctioned killing spree, just after Gig had been reborn. Before then, Gig had been Payne: team leader, older than her, and witness to dozens of spats with Swipe.

  Gig hit the button to call the elevator, crossed his arms, and rocked back and forth on his heels.

  He was waiting for her.

  She didn’t know why the Handmaiden had rebirthed him. It hadn’t been demanded by his coterie’s doyen or Regis—the only two ways for a dragon to be forced to have his soul reborn. He’d also been put back into the same body, something else that wasn’t done. Every time she looked at him, she saw her friend and mentor under all that teenaged clothing and haircut. Now Swipe was on her case, she couldn’t confide in Payne because he was now Gig, and she couldn’t stop thinking about Miller… no, Eric… no—

  Shit.

  She punched the car door, splitting open her first two knuckles.

  “Tobias isn’t going to like it if you break another car,” Gig said.

  Thin runnels of blood wound around her fingers, then the wounds scabbed over and healed. “I don’t care what Tobias thinks.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  The elevator door slid open.

  Capri got in, and Gig wisely remained silent for the ride down. Since Newgate was the preferred place of residence for most of the drakes living in the human dimension, the North American Clean Team had established a permanent base of operations here. Surrounded by hills and not much else, the one-story office building had been built on the side of a steep hill. Across the street sat a large truck mechanic shop and a deserted Victorian house that had seen better days. A mile up the road, and therefore down and then up another hill, was a struggling strip mall.

  Regardless of why the building had been constructed at least five miles from anywhere, it had been the perfect location for the team when Tobias had finally agreed they needed a base in the area, its isolation being the primary factor for suitability.