Lyssa was keenly aware of Eddie listening, and was afraid of how much he might hear that would damn her. But the truth had to be told, because she sensed Ursula might be able to help. She had nothing to lose, at this point.
And, Ursula had spoken her mother’s name. She had looked Lyssa in the eyes, without fear. No other witch in that room had been able to do the same.
That had to mean something.
Lyssa swallowed hard, and looked at Eddie. “Can you . . . bring out the . . .”
Skin, she could not say. Estefan’s skin.
Compassion filled his eyes. He slid off the backpack and pulled out the paper parcel. When he began to hand it to her, she shook her head and backed away.
Tight-lipped, Eddie unwrapped the brown paper and revealed the leopard hide.
Ursula leaned forward but did not touch.
“A shape-shifter,” she said, after a moment. “And so are you. I understand now. That’s the blood they’re sniffing.”
“I need to break the link. I’m not sure how.”
“If you’re Kara’s daughter, you know how. But I think you know the medicine will be worse than the disease.”
“What does that mean?” Eddie asked.
Lyssa finally reached for the parcel. “It means I can’t just grieve like a normal person.”
He hesitated, holding it back. “You know what you’re doing?”
“No.” She tried to smile for him, but the burning had already begun in her throat and eyes. “I don’t want any more knocks on the door, though. Do you?”
Eddie gave Lyssa a sharp look but handed her the parcel. She sat down on the couch, just as his cell phone began ringing. He answered tersely, his gaze never leaving hers. She was dimly aware of him speaking to Lannes, but her focus was mostly on Estefan’s skin.
Betty’s body was a surreal exclamation point on the floor, but it was easier to ignore her—or feel nothing at all but relief. Especially while holding part of her friend’s corpse.
Ursula murmured, “If you need blood . . .”
Lyssa gave her a sharp look. Eddie hung up his cell phone, and said, “If she needs blood, she can have mine.”
It was like offering cocaine to a drug addict. He had no idea what that meant to her. She closed her eyes and shook her head. The remnants of Lethe’s blood would have to be enough. Before she could change her mind, she placed her hands on Estefan’s skin and opened her mind.
Images slammed like a hurricane, stealing her breath and squeezing her heart until her world was reduced to nothing but endless suffering—a life teetering on the edge of death.
From this maelstrom rose the memories of two women: one of them tall, lithe, and dressed in crimson; and the other, whose pale face was surrounded by a tumbling mass of glossy black hair. Betty and Nikola.
Both held curved obsidian blades in their hands. Their eyes glittered, and their smiles were white and sharp.
“I wish you had a child,” said the black woman, Nikola. “I’ve never had the blood of a shifter-baby. It must be sweet. So . . . succulent.”
Betty rose from her couch, and glided across the floor. “Would it taste like spring?”
In her memories, Estefan trembled. Lyssa trembled with him, lost in his skin, lost in the pounding fear that fell upon him in throbbing waves. A primitive, violent fear, overwhelming, paralyzing—and dehumanizing. No fear could match it. No fear could be as powerful. No one but a Cruor Venator and her women could tear a brave heart to pieces with nothing but a look.
Estefan was untied in her memories, but still helpless, wearing his leopard body as he pressed his belly to a concrete floor and groveled. Frightened into paralysis.
Betty and Nikola surrounded him, obsidian knives flashing.
The first cut was shallow, across his side. The second cut deeper, over his heart. Betty sank to her knees, licking his blood off her blade. Nikola did the same, throwing back her head with a shuddering sigh. Lyssa hated them with a terrible fury.
From behind Estefan a familiar, leathery voice whispered, “I will wear your skin as my own, leopard. I will hunt your kind and make them live as animals until I am ready for their blood. I will take their power, and my empire will stretch into the fire when the new world comes.”
His terror sank like a sick root into his soul. It did not matter that it was out of his control, nothing but an illusion induced by evil. Being forced to endure such a violation of emotion was the same as rape.
Her friend, tortured to death. Estefan, whose only crime had been showing kindness to a lost girl with no home, no family, and a lot of loneliness.
Leave these memories, whispered the dragon, finally stirring. Do what you came to do and let it be over. Find the link. Sever it.
Whatever spell the Cruor Venator had cast would be linked to Estefan’s skin. Not the physical skin, because otherwise, burning it to ashes would be enough. The spell was linked to the essence, to the spirit and blood.
Shifting magic was a unique magic. All shifters could sense one another if close enough. The Cruor Venator would now have the same ability, simply augmented by her own power.
Guide me, she said to the dragon. Please.
A wing stretched through her soul, gathering her close. Here. Follow.
Lyssa flew through a vast darkness dotted with golden stars.
Each star is a shifter, whispered the dragon. There are not many stars, but that could yet change.
How?
Time, replied the dragon. And those like your mate, who are their allies.
He is not my mate.
You will have babies with him.
Focus, she growled, and the dragon laughed with a sibilant hiss, before her voice dropped again to a whisper.
We cannot shield all these shifters from the Cruor Venator, but we can hide you.
That wasn’t good enough. No one could be allowed to suffer.
Then you will kill her, said the dragon, sensing her thought. And no one will suffer.
Lyssa ignored her, focusing on her own light. How do I shield myself?
Like this, it murmured, and spread its wings around her.
Darkness fell down. She fell with it.
And heard, on the other side of those wings, a pounding fist. It had to be the Cruor Venator. The witch knew she had lost the link and was trying to find her again.
Fear laced through Lyssa’s heart but lasted only long enough for her anger to consume it.
I want to see her, she told the dragon, and without a word of argument, warning, or caution, those wings pulled back—and let the Cruor Venator in.
Lyssa was ready for her, and attacked.
It was like trying to tangle with the breeze off a garbage dump. The witch’s spirit smelled like it was rotting. Except Lyssa was the wind, too, made of claws and fire, and she wrapped around that unclean spirit with a power born from grief, fury.
The Cruor Venator snarled, but before the witch could react, Lyssa bit her soul—and tasted a different kind of blood.
She drank, and a maelstrom blasted through her like dynamite exploding. Images flashed, forests and mountains, men in Nazi uniforms, a strange woman with black eyes and blood on her teeth . . . Lyssa’s mother, except younger, much younger . . .
Lyssa didn’t want to see any more. She tried to wrench herself away, but the Cruor Venator held tight with frightening resolve.
Your mother was so very pretty, whispered the witch, with satisfaction. As are you, I’m sure. After all these years, Lyssa . . . what took us so long to find one another?
Go to hell, she snarled, but her heart was thundering, and hearing that smug voice reminded her too much of that night in the woods, when the witch had murdered her parents. Snow and moonlight flashed, the forest in a blur—
Suddenly, unexpectedly, she heard another voice inside her
mind.
This voice was stronger than the Cruor Venator . . . and surrounded her in a burst of fire and blazing light that cracked the shell of darkness.
Eddie.
Lyssa, she heard him think, as the connection bloomed between them. It was just her name, but that was enough.
His voice sounded like home.
Lyssa slammed the Cruor Venator, knocking herself free—and the dragon did the rest, tearing the witch away and tossing her beyond the protective circle of its wings.
Silence fell. A soft darkness.
Then the world returned.
She blinked, and suddenly there was a couch beneath her.
She was not alone. Eddie cradled her against his chest. A shimmering cocoon of heat surrounded them, making her feel safe, protected. As if nothing could hurt her while he was close.
Not pain, not loss. Not evil.
Blood dripped down her nose. Eddie pressed his sleeve against her nostrils. Lyssa pushed him away, gently.
“I’m okay,” she lied.
He gave her a haunted look. “You started to convulse.”
“I was fighting the Cruor Venator,” she whispered. “I don’t think she can track me anymore.”
“Good. Because we’re leaving this city. We’re gone.”
“No.”
He looked at Betty with her crushed neck and half-staring eyes. “Yes, Lyssa. Right now.”
She fought free of his arms, half-falling off the couch. “I’m finishing this. One way or another. I have to.”
“I won’t let you. I can’t. I don’t know if I can protect you, Lyssa.”
“I never asked you to.”
His gaze darkened, and those strong hands tightened with bruising strength. “Don’t. Not this again.”
“I’m not yours,” she snapped. “And you’re hurting me.”
Eddie stiffened.
Lyssa wished instantly she could take back those words. But she couldn’t even speak when he stood up and walked away from her.
Ursula swayed close, bangles chiming. Watching him, then her, with inscrutable eyes. She held the parcel with Estefan’s skin, having wrapped the paper around his remains.
“You dropped this,” she said, as Eddie stood at the darkened window, staring at Central Park. Smoke rose off his back.
Lyssa slipped her glove over her right hand, trying to keep her voice from shaking. “Your suitcases are packed. I wouldn’t let that go to waste.”
Ursula handed her the parcel but didn’t let go. “Your mother once told me she was afraid of herself.”
Lyssa stared. The old woman gave her a soft, sad look.
“She said it was always a struggle. But it was a struggle she mastered. Do you understand?” Ursula stepped closer, cupping her cheek with a soft, trembling hand. “You are her daughter. If your face hadn’t convinced me, your actions here today most certainly did.”
Lyssa tilted sideways, light-headed. Eddie turned, saw her swaying, and strode toward her with quick, urgent steps. His scent was dangerous. Angry.
His hand, though, was gentle when it found hers. Lyssa was a little surprised he even wanted to hold her hand, especially when he couldn’t even meet her gaze.
Ursula scrutinized him. “You . . . are another mystery entirely.”
Eddie made no reply, but he didn’t need to. Nothing about him was soft, in that moment—or afraid. The old woman, who was a witch and held a hard power about her, had to look away first.
They had to walk over Betty’s body. Lyssa made a point to stare at the dead woman’s face, memorizing the emptiness of her eyes. Eddie waited beside her, silent. When she chanced a glance at him, he was also studying Betty . . . but with no emotion, just a flat, cold remoteness that transformed him into different man entirely.
The obsidian blade lay on the floor. Lyssa did not touch it. Too much death.
Ursula did not follow them. Out in the hall, Lyssa gave her a last, lingering look. The old woman stood alone, a wrinkled hand held over her heart.
Lyssa was surprised at how reluctant she felt to leave her. If the old woman had known her mother . . .
One day, she thought. One day, if I live through this. Another thing to do, on an already long list. A list she hadn’t realized she was keeping until now.
They did not take the elevator. Eddie waited for her just inside the stairwell. Lyssa’s head began to throb, and so did her right arm, down to the tips of her claws.
“Are you okay?” he asked, but his voice was distant, and he barely looked at her. His distance felt personal—and was at direct odds with everything she thought she knew about him. It bewildered her. It hurt.
“I’m fine,” she said, wondering how it had all gone wrong. And why it felt as though her heart was crumbling to pieces.
Lyssa pushed past Eddie to walk down the stairs. He followed, staying close. Silent, though the waves of wild heat flowing off his body said more than words.
Outside, the evening breeze off Central Park tasted sweet, and she glimpsed a handful of stars. Lyssa stood for a moment, soaking it all in. Their cab was gone. Eddie strode to the street to hail another. His movements were powerful, confident—not at all like the damage in his scent, the fear and anger. Lyssa didn’t realize she was holding her breath until there was some distance between them.
“I don’t want to ask this,” she said, speaking to his back. “But what the hell is wrong with you?”
“Nothing.”
“Is it because I don’t want to give up?”
“I’m not asking you to.”
“Yes, you are, if you ask me to leave. I’m terrified, Eddie. I’m scared out of my wits. But if I break now . . . if I let myself run . . .”
I’ll never stop, she wanted to say. I’ll run forever, until I die. Like a cornered animal.
“Safe isn’t the same as giving in,” he said in a low, hard voice. “Safe is buying time, coming up with a plan.”
“The plan is now,” she said, but even as those words left her mouth, the sidewalk began spinning. Sweat broke out, and so did nausea. She tilted sideways, lights dancing in her eyes—and something wet bubbled inside her nostril.
She touched the spot. Her fingers came away red.
“Damn it,” Eddie muttered, covering the distance between them in moments. “Hold on to me.”
Lyssa closed her eyes, dizzy. “I’m not an invalid.”
“You’re an Amazon,” he replied. “Here’s a cab. Get in.”
She tried to pull away. “No, I don’t think so.”
He didn’t say a word—just grabbed the front of her jacket, holding her still. But he didn’t need to touch her to do that. All it took was the look in his eyes. All the gentleness gone, replaced by a cold that sank through her, into her heart. It bruised her feelings and frightened her.
She stared at him, knowing full well she could hide nothing of what she felt—and as he stared back, a terrible darkness entered his eyes.
With what seemed to be a great deal of effort, he let go of the jacket. Lyssa let out her breath. Stepped back, and climbed into the cab.
After a moment, Eddie followed.
“Bayard and Elizabeth Street,” he told the driver, then glanced sideways. “We’re meeting Lannes and Lethe in Chinatown.”
The cab accelerated into traffic. Lyssa leaned against the door, aching and tired. “Can I talk about this without you freaking out?”
“Yes,” he said tightly.
“I’ve been hunted for ten years,” she told him. “Since I was twelve years old. I always knew I would be found. And I knew when it happened, I’d have to make a choice. Run . . . or stand my ground and fight.”
The cabbie glanced in his rearview mirror.
“World of Warcraft,” Lyssa told him. “It’s a gaming thing. We’re very melodramatic.”
She turned back to Eddie, expecting him to say something . . . anything . . . but it was as if he hadn’t heard a word. He remained silent, staring at his hands, which were resting flat on his thighs. Lyssa stared, too—at his scars.
The cab driver rolled down the window, fussing with his heater. “Turning into an oven in here.”
She hadn’t noticed the heat rising off Eddie, but when the cab driver spoke, she felt an invisible flame wrap around her, from head to toe. It felt good, and she didn’t like that. Right now, she wanted to feel cold, resolved.
She tried to move away from him, but came up against the door. Eddie turned his head, and watched her. She looked away from him, out the window.
The cab ride seemed to take forever. Traffic was bad. Lyssa heard sirens all around them, far away and close, wailing through her until the noise was in her spine, and her heart beat to the rise and fall of that ominous sound.
Chinatown was run-down and gritty. Even the cover of night and neon lights couldn’t hide the dirty awnings and sidewalks. Five- and six-story walk-ups lined Bayard Street, those brick faces crowded with fire escapes, and cheap, glowing signs covered in a funky mix of English names and Chinese characters. There was hardly enough room to drive. Everything from delivery trucks to minivans parked on both sides of the narrow one-way street.
The cab dropped them off at the intersection of Elizabeth and Bayard. Lyssa got out first and put her face to the cold wind, inhaling exhaust and grease scents, and an undercurrent of sewage, slime. She smelled blood, too, but realized—as she pushed back her hair—that it was from her hand.
Nauseating twirling sensations hit her, as though she were going to vomit and spin at the same time. Eyes closed, she breathed even deeper, ignoring the tingle of power that rode up her right arm.
Before today, she would never have contemplated casting a spell—let alone three. I knew the price, she thought, with dread.
“Lyssa,” Eddie said, and she made room for him to exit the cab.
It was difficult not to limp along as she walked, hunched over and nauseated. Even her heart pounded too hard. For some reason, that made her think of Mandy, dying alone in the park. She felt like the same thing was happening to her.
Within the Flames Page 20
