Nite Fire: Flash Point

by C. L. Schneider

  I could have spared her. My punishment would have been the same either way.

  But I was an executioner, I thought. Killing was my purpose. I would never have spared a life I’d been commanded to take. My love and admiration for the elders, my belief in their will, had been too strong. I’d been raised to soak up their recognition and rewards, so I’d swallowed every spoonful of bullshit I was fed. I took one life after another, because it gave my own meaning. It made me feel alive. Until that damn human girl. Until the night my empathy woke and, for the first time, I felt what my victims had for years: the panic, the terror, the pain.

  I felt it, and I still killed her.

  With a long, slow drink, I dismissed the past. It was irrelevant and inconvenient. It had no bearing on the present. Victories and mistakes were to be shunned equally to best focus on the present. Each day was a new opportunity to serve. Let the elders be your conscience.

  Owning one will only slow you down.

  I cleared my throat, pushing the Queen’s advice from my mind. “I’ve adapted to my environment here. I didn’t have a choice. And I know every exit breach isn’t my fault. But if something nasty comes through here and breaks the law, I go after it because they can’t. Because we’re the reason they’re ill-equipped to handle these threats in the first place. We keep this world ignorant.”

  “We didn’t make the laws, Dahl.”

  “No, but we uphold them. For centuries, we’ve made this world believe fairy tales are for children. We’ve discounted reality until any who believe end up in straightjackets and mental wards. I can’t change that. But I can sure as hell do my best to keep them from being food.”

  “I guess betraying the Guild worked out fine for you, after all.”

  Annoyed at his jaded, woe-is-me tone, I snapped at him. “I didn’t ask you to follow me. Leaving Drimera, leaving the Guild, was your choice.”

  “You would have done the same for me.”

  “No. I wouldn’t have. It was a stupid move. I don’t care how good the sex was.”

  His jaw slackened with shock at my honesty, and I was glad. It had never been just sex between us, but I was happy to let him hurt for once.

  “I don’t understand,” I said. “How could you deal with the Guild after what they did to our squad, to us?”

  “I know the stories that filtered across the exits, about what happened after you left. After we left,” he added, always happy to remind me what he gave up on my behalf. “But a story has many sides. And the Guild isn’t our enemy. Right or wrong,” he threw in before I could voice the curse on the tip of my tongue, “they’re not some evil entity.”

  My glare told him I disagreed. “I’ve had decades to think about what they put us through. The conditioning, the training; it was nothing more than brainwashing and carefully disguised torture.”

  “By human standards.”

  “In case you’ve forgotten, Ronan, we’re half human.”

  “And half dragon…in case you’ve forgotten. Certainly looks like you have.” He paused to glance with disdain around my living room. When his eyes drifted back, there was no more judgment, only concern. “They’ve stopped sending retrievers to search for illegal crossers. They can’t spare the manpower. They have bigger problems now.”

  “Such as?”

  “I don’t have the details. All I know is their priorities have changed. Off-world missions have been suspended. Either the deed goes unpunished or they hire outside help; allied locals, or independents like me. It’s why they don’t care about Oren farming jobs to you.”

  “So the Guild is outsourcing their work. They’ve gone soft and don’t care about us bad little children anymore. Where do you fit in?”

  “Wherever they need me. Sometimes I bring back the strays. It’s all off the books, unofficial. They don’t give a crap what happens to me so they send me after the bad ones.”

  “You are one of the bad ones.”

  His perfect jaw went hard. “Mostly, I run messages, deliveries. When an elder has his eye on a potential birther, I research her background. I watch her. I keep the women safe until each tribe has made their choice.”

  “So you’re what…? A stalker? A pimp?”

  Anger deepened his voice. “I don’t find the women, Dahl. I protect them. Once a hybrid has been conceived I monitor the mother’s progress. I make sure she finds her way to one of our doctors. Then I let the Guild know when it’s time to take her. I’m not a fucking pimp.”

  “You’re right, I’m sorry. You’re a babysitter.” And I’m a maid.

  What’s happened to us?

  “Okay,” I sighed. “I get what you do for them. I want to know why.”

  Ronan ran both hands back over his hair. “A couple of retrievers caught up to me a few years back. After they beat the shit out of me, they made me an offer. Either I agreed to work contracts for the Guild, or they were going to execute my men and take me back to Drimera…a piece at a time.” Ronan drew a weary breath. Worry haunted his eyes in a way I hadn’t seen in a long time. “I saw you go inside that house this morning, where that family was murdered.”

  “You were watching me?”

  “Not you. Ella. She was under my protection.”

  “Well, you did a piss poor job, then.” He paled and I regretted my ire. “Why her?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “She couldn’t have been a birther. Dragons honor the vows of human marriage and motherhood. They don’t take those already claimed.”

  “I wasn’t told why. Only that Aidric wanted her watched. And I screwed up, Dahl. I screwed up and someone killed her. And now…”

  I sat back, pulling my knees to my chest. It didn’t matter how many decades went by. It didn’t matter that we were worlds apart. The mention of Aidric’s name still made the room go cold. “The retrievers that hunted me were his private squad. I didn’t think they’d ever stop.”

  “I know.” Ronan leaned in. A brown shaggy lock fell carelessly across one side of his face. He put a hand over mine. “I was there for some of it, remember?” he said, eyes and voice hopeful, like shoving his contributions down my throat might make up for all the times he wasn’t.

  Right now, I didn’t care either way. What I cared about was Aidric. King to Naalish and ruler of his own tribe; he was not a creature to be trifled with. As head of the Guild, it would have been on his order that my squad was punished after my escape. Ronan had been my second in command and my lover. If he hadn’t gotten away, he would have suffered the most.

  I hugged my knees tighter. “I’m sorry, Ronan. But I can’t protect you from Aidric.”

  “That’s just it…” Abruptly, he stood. Wandering to the window and back, Ronan paced in circles around my couch. “I failed the oldest, most powerful and revered of all the dragon elders. I should be dead, Dahl. But there’s been no blowback. No reprimand. No threats. Nothing. Does that sound right to you?”

  “It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours. Maybe he doesn’t know.”

  “Then he will soon. Aidric has lyrriken all over the Sentinel.”

  “How do you get your assignments?”

  “There’s a dead drop in Chinatown. I check it once a week for a delivery.”

  “What kind of delivery? A message, a person…a pint of lo mein?”

  “I get an envelope every couple of weeks. Sometimes there’s a new assignment inside. Sometimes money. If it’s empty, I send back a report on my current job.”

  “You write reports? Damn. Things have changed.”

  “This isn’t a joke, Dahl. Something is wrong.”

  “You’re right.” I checked my sarcasm. “Who do you deal with?”

  “Since I was hired? No one. It’s been messages only. Like I said, my work isn’t official.”

  “Great. So they can knock you off whenever they want.”

  “They’re the fucking Guild. They can do that either way.”

  I thought a moment as I finished my beer.

  M
y history with Ronan was no secret. If the female lyrriken at Nadine’s was looking for him, trailing me was a good place to start. Torching a sidewalk-full of people to keep me off her tail was excessive, but it was in line with the overkill of violence done to Ella and her children. Finding out why Ronan was hired to protect her might lead me to the killers.

  Taking my last swallow, I met his eyes. “You still have your orders on Ella?”

  He recoiled in insult. “I’m not stupid, Dahl. I don’t keep written evidence lying around. I burn everything.”

  “Of course.” I stood. Putting a hand on Ronan’s shoulder, I escorted him to the door. “When is your next communication with the Guild?”

  “I’m due to report in on Friday.”

  “Assuming Aidric’s in the dark, and stays that way, that gives us six days to solve this. Until then, I want you to find somewhere safe and stay there. If we can give Aidric Ella’s killer, maybe it’ll buy your life.”

  “I may not have six days. When this gets out, her picture will be all over the news.”

  “Oren will handle that. He has me consulting with the police, so I can stay on top of whatever leads they turn up. I also have the husband to deal with. He claims to have seen small dragon-like creatures flying away from the crime scene.”

  “Flying? He actually said that out loud?”

  “Screamed it, probably, seeing as he’d just found his family barbequed in the living room.” I studied Ronan’s eyes for guilt, or even sympathy, but there was only a glut of nervous anxiety. I opened the door. “Tomorrow is Sunday. Give me until Wednesday or Thursday to see what I can find out.”

  Ronan lingered in the doorway. He sunk his hands in his front jean pockets. “Thanks, Dahl. I knew I could count on you.” Smiling, his dimples made another appearance. His hand reached out and settled on my hip. It traveled around and he squeezed my ass like he owned it.

  I pushed him out into the hall. “Visiting hours are over.”

  He gestured loosely. “Make sure you get that living room window fixed.”

  “Let me guess. You busted it to get in?”

  “Busted it? I’m a professional.” Holding up a finger, Ronan blew on the tip like it was smoking. “I melted the lock. Real precise and quiet like.”

  I buried my frown as Officer Evans’ words came back to me. The lock was melted on the back door. Nonchalant, I asked, “You do that a lot?”

  “Breaking and entering?” He gave me a sexy, devious grin. “Every chance I get.”

  Ronan turned and headed down the stairs. Watching him go, I put a hand on the doorframe. I gripped the wood until my fingers hurt. It was the only way I could keep from going after him. And I wanted to. I wanted to look him in the eye and ask point blank if he was in the house, if he was one of the three bastards who butchered that family. I wanted to ask if he’d truly done something so heinous and public, that stupidly jeopardized the continued secrecy of our existence and put our entire race in danger.

  But I didn’t, and I wouldn’t, because it was Ronan. I’d known him my entire life. Our relationship had been fucked up nearly as long. There was no one else I’d ever loved and hated with equal passion. But smashing a bottle over his head was one thing. Having to execute him for breaking centuries-old dragon law was a whole other level of fucked up. I wasn’t sinking down to it without proof.

  Eight

  Captain Barnes closed the folder in his hands. He dropped it on his desk and tapped the ivory colored top with an impatient finger. As he rocked back and forth in his chair, thinking, I watched him from the other side of the desk, pretending I was waiting patiently and not screaming in my head for him to stop. Legs crossed, I watched the cuff of my jeans bounce against my boots as I bobbed my foot in time with his tapping. It was a distraction, a way to keep me from blowing a stream of fire across his desk like a shot across the bow. Imagining it, I smiled, and waited, and altered my focus to the throbbing in my temple.

  It was a familiar rhythm. Headaches were a common occurrence for lyrriken who spent too long in one form. The pain was worse when my empathy went on overload. This one, fatigue had placed there. No, I thought. Ronan had.

  After kicking him out, I’d cleaned up the broken glass and puddles of beer on my living room floor. Then I did what any respectable woman would after finding out her ex is involved in a brutal triple murder. I ordered a pizza, finished the beer, and tossed and turned on the couch until dawn. I’d been so groggy when I got up, I’d nearly forgotten about my meeting with Barnes.

  Ronan had an uncanny way of narrowing my focus down to him and him alone. He made the things that were important to me fade into the background, and I wouldn’t notice until he was gone. But it wasn’t the disruption Ronan caused in my life that I hated. It was my lack of defense against it.

  Captain Barnes sat up straight in his chair. “Spontaneous human combustion?” He gave me an odd grin. “I’d take that coming from the internet quacks. Even some spooked rookies whispering in the locker room. But that’s the best you can come up with?”

  I didn’t come up with it. Lyrriken had manufactured the term to cover up their murders of humans hundreds of years ago, using the phenomenon to hide our illicit activities in plain sight. Except, modern-day science had made the charge more difficult of late. And this time, it wasn’t about covering up. It was about being seen.

  “I’m still running tests, but signs of SHC are present,” I said, holding my ground. “The oily residue, the burn patterns, the lack of damage to the surrounding furnishings.” I stopped myself. Barnes had read my report. “It’s not a perfect fit. And it’s certainly not spontaneous. Their combustion was forced by something. Induced somehow.”

  “Somehow? Something? Is that your professional opinion, Miss Nite?”

  “These are only my preliminary findings. As I said, I’m still running tests.”

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you and our ME, Dr. Winters, were trying to drive me to an early grave, because her preliminary findings are just as wacky. I hate wacky.” Barnes caught my gaze and held it. “Wacky gives the press something to chew on. It gives the prick who did this far more attention than he deserves. And frankly, Miss Nite, it gives me a headache.”

  “Me too.”

  Cracking a commiserating smile, he took another folder from the stack on his desk. “This is what Dr. Winters has to say. I think she lives in the same imaginary world you do.” He handed me the file. “Take a look at it on your way.”

  “Where am I going?”

  “The hospital. Detective Creed is headed over now to talk to the husband.”

  “Great,” I said, but it wasn’t. Nobody liked hospitals, but my aversion was deeper than most. As an empath, it wasn’t simply a hospital. It was a minefield.

  Barnes got up from his desk. “Hopefully you two can make sense of what happened in that damn house. Otherwise, this thing’s going downhill faster than a freight train with no brakes.”

  “Understood.” I grabbed my bag, slid the file inside, and met Barnes at the door.

  He swung it open wide. “Good luck, Miss Nite. And for God’s sake, find me an answer I can repeat with a straight face.”

  I followed the captain out onto the floor. We traversed the maze of cluttered desks, swivel chairs, and plainclothes detectives, to the last desk at the back of the room. The nameplate on the side read: Detective L. Creed, but the desk was empty.

  “He’ll be back,” Barnes assured me. “Just sit tight.”

  He left me with a nod. There were no visitor chairs like the other detectives had, and the black cushioned chair behind the desk was currently home to a dark blue suit jacket. The fabric and cut of the jacket were nice, but middle-of-the-road nice. He hadn’t paid a fortune for it, yet it wasn’t bargain basement.

  Dropping my bag on the seat, I sat on the edge of the desk near a small mountain of neatly stacked files. Pens, rubber bands, and paperclips were all sorted in their containers. Beside them was an empty coffee mug.
The quote wrapped around the black surface was written in bold, white letters: If you’re going through hell, keep going.

  The only other personal item on the desk was the framed picture of two men on a mountaintop. Both in their twenties with dark-hair, both were wearing shorts, t-shirts, and hiking boots. Behind them was a hazy horizon. The surrounding mountains were bursting with trees, all displaying a stunning array of orange, yellow, and red. In the midst of a laugh, with arms around each other’s shoulders, the men’s features were similar. I put them as cousins or brothers. Both had dark hair, but the younger one had a rugged look, with a strong brow, and mud smeared on his chiseled face. He had the kind of open smile that was infectious. Yet, it was the man in glasses who caught my attention.

  Snatching up the picture, I took a closer look.

  He was older by several years, with a leaner build and a more oblong face. Despite the edgy look to his blond-tipped spikey hair, there was a solemn intelligence in his bookish, clean-shaven appearance. He was handsome enough, but what drew me in was something less tangible than his looks. There was tension in his posture and a stubborn set to his jaw. Behind dark- rimmed glasses, his blue eyes were deep-set and striking, almost turquoise in color, but dulled by a sense of distraction. They were introspective and cynical, like he’d pondered things the other man hadn’t. Darker things, I thought, things that kept the laughter from ever reaching his eyes.

  The closer I looked, the more I could see it. The recklessness he was hiding, the passion inside him; restrained, because he hadn’t yet found a cause worthy of unleashing it.

  That’s him.

  Hearing footsteps, I sat the picture down and stood. Dressed in dark blue slacks, a white shirt, tie, and black frames, the man approaching was definitely the same one I was just studying in the picture. Time had passed since the photo was taken, at least five to seven years. His build was stronger, his face harder beneath a careless dark scruff that accentuated the brooding intensity of his brow. There was still a bit of spike to his cropped black hair, but as he swept a preoccupied hand through the short strands across his forehead, I noticed a shock of early gray now graced the front.