Nite Fire: Flash Point

by C. L. Schneider

  “Really? That’s my nickname?”

  “Would you prefer dragon lady?”

  Burying my reaction, I waved her off. “Nope. I’m good.”

  Twenty-Eight

  Hands slid over my bare thighs. Lips caressed my shoulders. Fingers gripped my hair, digging in, keeping my head still. I didn’t mind their restraint. It was a moment of assertion I permitted. I had no worry of an advantage being taken. They knew: only when they filled me did I allow their aggression. The matter of my superiority was never in question with Coen.

  Relishing in the level of pleasure they provided my human form, I drew him deeper into my mouth. His second pushed into me as his third pulled out. Shifting my fingers into claws, I raked my hands over their well-muscled flesh. I savored their moans and their warm, ragged breaths blowing over my body. Blood pounded as I bounced between them.

  Coen was an indulgence few approved of, yet it had always felt right.

  Except… A wave of irrational thoughts flitted through my mind.

  What the hell am I doing?

  Where’s the forest? The nageun? This isn’t how I dream.

  Panic replacing my desire, I pushed Coen back. He slipped from my mouth, his golden eyes confused. I turned my head and wiped my lips dry. “Stop.”

  His other two complied, quickly pulling out of me. It was the last thing they wanted. But we were here for my pleasure, not theirs. That much I understood.

  I crawled out from between the three of them, my naked skin slick with sweat, my hair damp; my stomach queasy. Not recognizing my surroundings, I glanced around at what I’d first thought was an open-aired room. With a closer look, I realized it was merely a ledge, high atop a mountain’s summit. The once roughhewn surface had been polished to a smooth gray. Ivy wrapped columns circled the perimeter. Stone-bound pyres blazed in between, throwing off a generous heat that brushed my skin as I passed.

  Projecting calm to the three pairs of watchful eyes behind me, I wandered to the edge and looked over. The sides of the peak were coarse and jagged. Climbing would take great skill. But that wasn’t the way down. The perch was meant to be fled or reached by way of wings.

  Other such columned outposts graced the adjacent crests, but they were either empty, or too far away to see clearly. Below in the valley, morning sun glinted off the golden spires of the Capital. The yellow streams pierced the glaze of fog as easily as the dragons diving and coasting between the surrounding crags. Their movements spoke of freedom and bliss.

  The air called to me.

  Wistfulness choking my throat, I looked back at the three human versions of Coen. Two were sprawled out naked on the bed, seemingly uncaring for my attention. The other stood, watching me with a soulful golden gaze. He was the most loyal, the one who would bleed for me—the one who would sacrifice his heart if I asked it.

  But what he wanted from me, I couldn’t give.

  My flip-flopping thoughts confusing me, I turned from him with a whispered curse. It was an odd dream. I wanted it over. I wanted the usual, predictable memories. Yet, my need for the familiar, for the images that routinely invaded my sleep, became less important as the boundaries of my vision turned fuzzy and dark.

  The sky became star-laden and violet.

  It was evening now, and my soft human flesh had been replaced by sturdy lyrriken scales. The pyres blazed hot and bright. Their light, cast onto me, awarded an unusual deep, reddish-black hue to my scales. I wondered on the odd color, but I was too enamored by my abundance of sinew and muscle to care for long. Adrenaline-fueled confidence coursed through me. Drimera’s energy, her vitality, swirled around me. I could see it, flowing pure and vibrant, running through all things; the soil and the rocks, the sun and the water—the world’s health and potency balanced on the edge of an invisible needle.

  A screech pierced my ears and the ‘needle’ seemed to slide out of place.

  The landscape went unchanged, but there was an infinitesimal hiccup in the harmony. Ever so slightly, the colors of the world seemed to dim. Murk diminished the vibrancy, as if the land itself had suffered some grave wound.

  Yet as I breathed, the air filling my lungs was cold and sharp with potential.

  I moved from the edge. I crossed the slab to its center, where six lyrriken guards stood at silent attention. The humans they had brought me (three men and one woman) were bedraggled, wounded, and bleeding. Their ghosts poured off them like beautiful black cascades. Glistening fresh pain and fear overlapped the old, stale trauma that had been engrained in them a long time ago.

  “I’m pleased,” I said. “You’ve ripened them for me.”

  The lead guard dipped his horned head, acknowledging my approval.

  The woman whimpered softly. I reached out and touched her face. The fragility of their construct always struck me. How supple it was, how easily broken. How little it would take to crush her bones, making them rupture and pop up through the splits in her flesh.

  Scraping my claws in a gentle caress down her cheek and off her jaw, my hand closed loosely about her throat. It moved to the back of her neck. And I yanked her close.

  Lips trembling, too frightened even to cry out, the woman wet herself. She blubbered and shook, staring into my eyes with a level of begging that was shameful, even for a human.

  I squeezed harder, constricting her breathing, driving her panic up. Her ghost slid out further, enveloping my fingers, adhering to my scales with a staggering weight. It amazed me how they couldn’t feel what it did to them, how their pain dragged on their souls, tainting their lives and their thoughts, polluting their bodies.

  The woman shuddered as her trauma continued to roll out, over my hand and up my arm. She had much to give. Her life had been steeped in violence and distress. She should be glad for my kindness

  The last of it emerged. Her ghosts gathered around me, settling on my back and fanning out like a luxurious black mantle. It wanted me to feel, to see, to know what anguish the woman had collected throughout her life. But I’d long since steeled myself against such base temptations. It was an unfulfilling step—when giving was far more rewarding than receiving.

  I released her. The woman fell to the floor. Rid of its trauma, a sense of tranquility relaxed her body. Her open eyes reflected an emptiness too complete to care what I’d done.

  Moving to the next subject, then the next, I repeated my theft until only one man remained. He was fresh, new to our world. Defiance shined in his eyes. His body was healthy and strong. I approached, pressing against him. My tail wrapped around his legs. My scaled breasts pushed against his bare chest.

  He met my lustful gaze, curious but unafraid. Fool.

  I gripped his head and kissed him. Slowly, as I pulled back, I released the pain and the suffering I’d gathered. He trembled as it washed over him, infiltrating, saturating, drenching his mind and soul with far more blackness than one human could handle.

  The man threw his head back in a scream. It was a long, deep, sweet melody.

  Perfect, I thought. I’m nearly there.

  His body seized. Drawing fire into my hands, I gripped his head with a crushing force and set it ablaze; ending his pain.

  Breathless and exhilarated, I dropped his burning body to the floor. “I must eat if I am to hold this form any longer.” I stared down at the three whose ghosts I’d taken. “Prepare them.”

  I threw a hand over my mouth to stifle my cry.

  What the fuck was that?

  Calming my wild breath, my eyes darted around the room, reminding myself where I was—and where I wasn’t. I wasn’t having sex with Coen on top of a mountain, and I definitely wasn’t stealing the trauma from a human and forcing it down another’s throat.

  For decades, my empathy had pushed the same images into my dreams. I was always me. The places, the events, the people, were exactly as I lived it.

  I’d convinced myself the irregularities I’d experienced last time were a fluke. Now I knew better. But was my mind simply adapting to the
human life I’d been leading? Or were the ghosts of others influencing me in a whole new way?

  Once again, my attention settled on the bottle of pills on my nightstand.

  If my dreams were becoming more human-like, maybe the pills would help.

  Or maybe they’ll make it worse.

  Not that it could get much worse than some dream-twisted version of me, delighting in another’s pain as much as I had enjoyed the feel of Coen inside me.

  I wasn’t ready to take the chance.

  Leaning over the side of the bed, I opened the drawer, scooped the bottle inside, and slammed it shut.

  Sheets drenched and tangled, I pushed the nest of hair off my face as I got up. Finding my jeans on the floor, I pulled them on. The room felt chilled. I slipped on a long sleeved shirt over my tank top and buttoned it as I went out into the living room. It was quiet, but for the soft sounds of Casey Evans snoring on my couch. The lights were off. Someone had closed the blinds on the windows, dousing my apartment in dim light and shadows. The pale glow was reminiscent of early morning, and it took me a second to remember it was late afternoon. Merely hours had passed since my encounter with Brynne at the park. Hours since I’d let her get away. Again.

  I kicked the sneakers off my ottoman. Startled, Evans woke and shot to his feet. Scrambling, he grabbed the falling container of Chinese food that had been sitting on his chest. “Dammit,” he muttered. “You scared the crap out of me.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be guarding me?”

  “Sorry.” Dropping the crushed box on the side table, he fluffed his hair and pulled his rumpled t-shirt into place. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

  “You were unconscious for hours,” I reminded him.

  “Yeah, with half my skin burned off.”

  “It wasn’t half. And I told you not to pull the lever. Where’s your partner?”

  “Outside your door. Captain Barnes called about twenty minutes ago. He wanted to move you to a more secure location, but I told him we’d have better luck arresting you.”

  “You know me so well,” I smiled. “Any word on Detective Creed?”

  “He’s banged up pretty good. A concussion. Some ugly bruises. But nothing serious. He tried to go back to work, but Barnes wasn’t having it. Apparently, he told Creed he’d suspend him if he stepped foot in the station before tomorrow.”

  “Sounds like quite a show. Sorry I missed it.”

  “I’m not. I’ve heard those two go at it. Protective detail is much safer.”

  My responding laugh was fleeting. My mood was obvious, but Evans wouldn’t mention it. He was perceptive that way. He knew when to push and when not to.

  “I heard you on the phone before you laid down,” he said. “Are you still set on meeting Marshall Parish tonight?”

  Nodding, I looked at the clock on the wall. “In about ninety minutes. I assume Oren has someone watching him, as well?”

  “He does. And from what I hear, he’s as happy about it as you are.”

  Noticing my phone on the arm of the couch, I picked it up and turned it on. “I left this out here? I must have been more tired than I thought.”

  “Tired?” he grunted. “You were a wreck. Practically fell asleep in your takeout.”

  “Don’t suppose you saved me any?”

  He slapped his stomach proudly. “Not a bite. But I made coffee.”

  “Hmmm…maybe this babysitting thing isn’t so bad after all.”

  Grinning, Evans lost the expression as he eyed the location of the wounds Brynne had given me. “How are they?”

  I turned on the lamp and moved my shirt aside, letting him see. “Good as new.” I curled up on the couch beside him. Drawing my knees to my chest, I played with the frayed hole in my jeans. “Anything on the kids they took to the hospital?”

  “They’re keeping a couple of them overnight, but the rest are already home. It would have been a lot worse if you hadn’t been there to pull them out.”

  “It wouldn’t have happened at all if I hadn’t been there.” I dropped my head on his shoulder with a sigh. “I think it’s time you check the sidekick message boards. Maybe there’s an opening, one that comes with bonus checks instead of death certificates.”

  “If I was worried about workplace safety, I wouldn’t have taken the job,” he said, coaxing a smile out of me. “You didn’t say much when we got here. Want to tell me why this Brynne chic hates you?”

  Thinking back, I remembered her following me around the grounds, begging me to spar, to take her along when Ronan and I went into the city. She’d been underfoot and annoying at times, but all apprentices were eager to please. “I honestly don’t know,” I said, sitting up. “We weren’t close. Brynne meant no more than any of the others they sent to me for training. But to hear her tell it, I was like some damn pop idol and she was my adoring fan. Apparently, she took it hard when I left Drimera, like I didn’t leave anything else behind but her.”

  “We can’t always know the impact we have on someone. A casual word, a smile, a frown; we hand them out all day long without a thought. We have no idea what they might mean to someone else.”

  “Maybe if I’d been nicer or paid more attention to her.”

  “You can’t be responsible for how she interpreted your actions.”

  “I don’t feel responsible, Casey. I feel angry. All I cared about then was being the best. Nothing mattered but proving myself and impressing the elders. That was my life. It was the only one I knew.”

  “If you were unhappy, why didn’t you leave sooner?”

  “I wasn’t unhappy. I loved every minute of it.” Right up until the moment I didn’t. “You don’t know what it’s like. Lyrriken are born indebted to the elders. We love them, trust them. We worship them. Our species wouldn’t exist without them. Even if we were unhappy, it wouldn’t matter. We have trouble reproducing on our own. Without the elders our race would die. Impending extinction helps to create some pretty damn blinding loyalty.”

  “Even so, being angry at them for how you were, and how it affected Brynne, won’t change anything. It won’t lower the body count or make her see things any different.”

  I glared at him. “Do you have to make sense all the time?”

  “You didn’t check my resume, did you?”

  “It was a little hard when you were jumping up and down, yelling: ‘Pick me! Pick’ me!”

  He let out a snort and we both laughed. For a second or two, all the bad stuff floated away. I had everything I came here for. I had a home, a job, a friend. Then our laughter died, and my thoughts boomeranged back around.

  “You any good at puzzle games?” I said.

  “Ask my sister. She stopped playing anything with me years ago. I think she’s a sore loser, but Marnie thinks I’m too competitive. She says I gloat.”

  “You can gloat all you want if you help me make sense of this mess.”

  Evans turned toward me on the couch. “Let’s do it.”

  I pursed my lips, deciding where to start. “Reech said the Chandlers died because of Aidric. Brynne hinted that Aidric fathered Ella. She called her a lesser child, an atrocity.”

  “That’s harsh.”

  “Brynne also implied the same thing of Reech. But it was an offhand comment. I have no idea if there’s any truth to it.”

  “If there is, then it sounds like Ella’s death was personal.”

  “It looks that way, yes, but Guild operatives don’t let things get personal. At least they’re not supposed to,” I added when he made a face. “I want to say Ella’s death was ordered by the Guild, but the way it was carried out is too flashy. So either something got out of hand, or the brutality was on purpose.”

  “Because it was personal,” he said again.

  “Brynne was already fixated on me at that point. It seems farfetched that she’d be obsessed with Ella, too.”

  “I was talking about Reech. If he and Ella were siblings, then jealousy could be a factor. Maybe Reech felt
snubbed when Aidric gave Ella the house, the Bat Cave, and the necklace.”

  “Lyrriken don’t covet material goods like that.”

  “Then why do you own fifty pairs of boots?”

  “I don’t—”

  “And why did Brynne bash Creed’s head in for that necklace?”

  “Because it’s not just a necklace. I’m not sure what, but it does something.”

  “Just so I’m clear, Aidric is a dragon? The big-ass kind?”

  “Real big,” I nodded. “King-big.”

  Evans cracked a smile. “Well, if King Big-Ass is Ella’s father, then someone just took out the daughter of the top dog. Whether it was ordered, or Reech and Brynne went rogue, that’s classic retaliation. So whatever Aidric did, someone is pissed. But if Ella was lyrriken, wouldn’t something weird have shown up on the autopsy?”

  “If she died human, her body would appear human. Other than some elevated levels of adrenaline, maybe some unusual proteins. And her DNA wouldn’t match Carly and Scott. They would have to have been adopted. But even dead, I should have been able to smell the difference.”

  “Don’t take this wrong, but maybe you missed it? You said you’ve been here a long time. Could be you’re out of practice.”

  It was hard for me to admit, but he was right. My skills weren’t nearly as strong as they once were.

  “Either way,” he said, sensing he’d struck a nerve, “that house has seen a lot of action. The clothes, the ladder to the escape hatch in the shed hidden in the woods…whatever’s been coming through that exit of yours, doesn’t want to stand out. Though, if they all come piling out of that little shed at the same time, like clowns in a car, it might grab some attention.”

  “I was thinking the same thing. Minus the clown car,” I teased.

  “My guess is Reech used an ordered hit as a launch pad for some kind of vendetta against Aidric. You can’t deny that killing those kids, whether they were Ella’s or not, sent up a big flag. Add in Brynne, who’s obviously unhinged, and the flag suddenly becomes a neon sign.”