The Witch Thief (Harlequin Nocturne) (13 page)

Fafnir slipped his dagger into his sleeve and hopped off the couch. Without a backward glance at the couple he’d just terrorized, he stomped toward his new target.

In the center of the room, he stepped on one of the boards that lowered and rose from the ceiling. It lifted him until he was ten feet above the crowd. He stood there, his gaze locked on the unknowing trio—the pulsing lights of the club making him look bigger somehow, darker and much more dangerous than Amma would ever have thought possible.

Amma squeezed Joarr’s arm. “I don’t like this.”

He tilted his head toward hers, surprised that she would show concern for the humans that outside she’d seemed so willing to sacrifice for her own gain. His expression calm, as if discussing what drinks they were about to order, he replied, “Of course not. The dwarf means to harm them—thinking them you and I.” He nodded toward the couch where the first couple was still trapped, then glanced back at the dwarf. “The question is, do we interfere? And if so, for whom?”

Amma stilled, only her eyes giving away the emotion battling inside her. Finally, she glanced at the couch. The couple was standing now. One dwarf stood behind them and one on each side. They were obviously being herded somewhere—somewhere from which Joarr doubted they’d ever appear again.

* * *

Amma hated what she was thinking. Hated what she knew she was about to do. The human female had shoved her in the back, treated her with disdain, even called her old when describing her to Fafnir.

Three solid reasons to let whatever the dwarves had planned for her and her companion unfold undisturbed. Her sisters certainly wouldn’t have interfered with their plans.

But there it was again—she wasn’t her sisters.

She looked up at Joarr. “I’ll take care of them.” She nodded to the couple. “You watch Fafnir.” Then with her silver purse, which she had not given up in the name of a disguise, tucked under her arm, she strolled with deadly intent toward the couch.

As she got closer, her decision felt better. Power simmered under her palms. What she’d done outside, zapping a few humans to get them to move, even knocking the three teenagers unconscious for a while, had been completely unsatisfactory. It had only whetted her desire to battle for real. It had been so long…too long.

Of course, unfortunately, unless she could get the dwarves away from the room filled with humans she would still have to hold back. She and Joarr, while having decided to save the humans who had fumbled into this mess, weren’t ready to reveal themselves to the dwarf.

So, her fun would have to be contained somewhat, yet again.

She sighed, but didn’t let the realization totally fade her anticipation. A fight was a fight, after all.

Her bag open and her hand fumbling inside as if searching for a lipstick, she stopped directly in the group’s path.

“Move,” one of the dwarves grunted, and he slammed his shoulder into her hip.

She looked to the side. “That,” she said, “was rude. Very, very rude.” She placed her hand on his forehead and zapped him with as big a stream of power as she could get away with without drawing the attention of every being in the bar. He stopped, his mouth already open to utter some insulting comment back. His eyes widened, then fluttered. And without another noise, his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell backward with a rewarding thump.

The human couple jumped and stared down at the dwarf who had just landed on their toes.

The other two dwarves blinked and glanced at each other.

Amma smiled and tucked her purse back under her arm. “I hope it wasn’t anything I said.” Then before the remaining dwarves could move, she zapped them, too.

Three down—just two very stupid humans left. Amma flipped her hair over her shoulder and stared at the girl who had shoved and insulted her. “Remember me?”

The girl took a step back. Amma took a step forward. The heel of her boot caught on one of the downed dwarves’ arms. That reminded her why she was here, and that the human, annoying as she was, was not her intended victim.

She sighed and pointed toward the stairs. “Now would be a good time to leave.”

The female grabbed the man and they scurried for the exit. As they wove through the crowd, Amma scanned the room searching for Joarr. He was only a few feet from the trio now. Even in his dark clothes he stood out. He was taller and broader in the shoulders than any other male here, but it was more than that. Power, now that he’d loosened the control he kept on it, flowed from him. It was tangible. Amma could feel it, taste it, even smell it, and it attracted her like iron files to a magnet.

Her mouth suddenly dry, she went to join him.

She had no idea how the dwarves, how any of the beings in the room, could look at Joarr and not realize what he was. There, quite simply, was no one else to compare to him…in this room, in this world, anywhere.

Her fingers tightened around her bag, and she swallowed hard. Unhappy with the direction her thoughts had taken, she focused instead on Fafnir. He was still on his board, but it was lower now, hanging directly over the trio’s heads, almost over Joarr’s. He stood that close. The two girls and the boy were looking up at the dwarf talking and by the expression on their faces all at least seemed well.

But Amma knew that couldn’t last. Intent on getting close before she missed out on any fun, she began weaving her way through the crowd.

Chapter 12

J
oarr kept his head turned, watching the dwarf from the corner of his eye. Fafnir squatted on a board overhead, eyeing the man and woman who were dressed in Joarr’s and Amma’s discarded clothes. The girl who had been with them outside had been approached by a dark elf and gone off to dance. Leaving the pair alone with the dwarf and, based on the smiles on their faces, completely unaware of the potential danger.

Fafnir fingered his sleeve, where Joarr knew the dwarf had stored his blade. “What brings you to Tunnels?” he asked. He seemed to be more careful with this couple, more suspicious. He sniffed loudly and frowned. A furrow between his brows, his gaze darted over the crowd surrounding the couple.

Joarr tensed. Dwarves didn’t have a sensitive sense of smell, not like forandre. There was no reason to believe Fafnir could discover that Joarr, a dragon, was hiding in plain sight so close by—but there was something about the way the little male twitched, the way his interest in the couple immediately began to fade, that made Joarr distinctly uncomfortable. Actually, there was something about the dwarf in general that didn’t seem right. As a dragon, Joarr did have a good sense of smell and there was an odor, a brackish edge to the dwarf’s scent, that did not fit.

Concentrating on the dwarf, Joarr didn’t see Amma approach. He did, however, feel her. He turned, moving so his back was to Fafnir, blocking the dwarf’s view of the witch. “All well?” he asked.

She tilted her head. “Could have been better, but yes, I guess it went well.” Her gaze jumped to the dwarf. She frowned.

Joarr looked behind her, to the couch where he had left her. A group was gathering. A few knelt; the rest stared down as if something or someone lay on the ground. “You left them there?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Incinerating them was my first choice, but with the humans…” She made an annoyed motion with her hand.

He slid his arm around her waist. “Well, let’s just hope our dwarf friend makes his move soon.” He angled his head toward Fafnir, but she was already looking at him, the frown firmly in place.

The dwarf was standing again and scowling. “You’re no dragon. Who are you?” he asked the male half of the couple.

“Dragon, dude. I am.” The man lifted Joarr’s shirt, revealing a dragon tattoo that wrapped around his torso. “Got it three weeks ago.”

Fafnir’s blade appeared in his hand. He swung his board forward and grabbed the man with stubby but powerful fingers by the back of his head. With the tip of his knife shoved under the man’s chin, he said, “Who gave you my invitation?”

“Invitation?” The man’s eyes had grown huge. His hand dropped, but his shirt stayed up, the tattooed dragon’s head leering into the crowd. “What invitation?”

“There is something about him…” Amma shook her head, then held out one hand.

Joarr could tell she was doing something…feeling for something.

Wondering if what she had noticed was related to the dwarf’s strange scent, Joarr waited for her to continue, but after a few seconds she shook her head and lowered her hand.

The dwarf pricked the skin under the man’s chin with his blade. Blood ran down the man’s neck. He yelped and jumped, but the dwarf held steady. His gaze locked on the tip of his blade, Fafnir held the knife up and studied how the blood ran down the metal. Then carefully, as if afraid to waste even a drop, he touched it to his tongue.

Fafnir spat. “Human.” He twisted the man’s hair and shoved the blade back against his throat. “You are no dragon.”

This time the man didn’t reply. Blood flowed down his neck and soaked into his white shirt, forming a red, glaring stain. His hands were at his sides and he rose on his tiptoes to keep Fafnir’s blade from digging deeper into his skin.

“Should we…do something?” Amma murmured.

Joarr had been wondering the same thing. After stealing the couple’s clothing, it hardly seemed right to let Fafnir dice them into tiny pieces.

“Fafnir!” A second dwarf stood on another hanging board, this one halfway across the bar, but in his hands were opera glasses and they were pointed at Fafnir.

Fafnir cursed and dropped his hold on the man’s head. He wiped his knife on his pants and slipped it back into his sleeve in one easy movement. Without so much as a scowl at the man he’d almost skewered, he flipped off the board he’d been standing on and onto another. He repeated the move three more times before landing on the top of a bar at the back of the room.

The second dwarf yelled again, but Fafnir continued his trek, scurrying down the bar’s length. A group of dark elves pulled back, sacrificing their beers as the dwarf kicked full mugs out of his way.

As he dropped to the ground behind a group of stalagmites, Joarr grabbed Amma by the hand, and with Amma clearing the way, they made their way through the crowd.

“What now?” They were next to the bar. One of the dark elves lay across the top, refilling his and his companions’ mugs from the tap. When the human bartender approached, electricity flashed from the dark elf’s hand. The bartender’s gaze zipped to the weapon, then with studious care, his face went blank. He stared over the crowd—as if he couldn’t see the one-hundred-fifty-pound male stretched across his bar, stealing the club’s beer.

“Wonder what else he has learned to ignore?” Amma murmured.

“Hopefully, guests disappearing out the side door.” Joarr held open a metal door that had been painted to match the stone-gray walls. “Fafnir must have gone out here.”

The door opened and closed without so much as a click. And they were outside in what appeared to be an alley—dark, narrow and stinking of trash.

* * *

The door Joarr had opened led to an unlit alley. Amma glanced around, surprised her eyes had adjusted so quickly. Of course, it had been dark in the bar, so not that much of an adjustment. Still, it was a relief to be able to make out more than just shapes. She could see both Joarr in his dark clothes and the wheeled Dumpster
that sat a few feet away.

Perhaps pregnancy was affecting her skills. If so she hoped this lasted past birth. She placed her hand on her stomach.

“Are you feeling well?” Joarr asked.

She started. “Yes, why?”

He shook his head. “Nothing, just…” He touched his own stomach with two fingers. “You do that a lot.”

A lump formed in her throat. She laughed, low, little more than an expulsion of air. “Nervous habit.”

There was a clank in the distance, then cursing. They both froze. Then without speaking they crept toward the noise.

Twenty feet down the alley there was another door. This one stood open. From inside there were more noises—someone rustling around.

“Has to be one. Has to be,” Fafnir mumbled to himself.

Amma looked at Joarr. “What?” she mouthed.

He motioned her to the side, where a concrete portion of the building jutted out. Behind it, standing perfectly still, she would be invisible to the dwarf. She nodded and took her position. Beside her, Joarr disappeared—literally and suddenly. Her shock must have shown on her face. A hand grabbed hers, warm and full of power—dragon power. Joarr. He was still beside her; she just couldn’t see him.

Another dragon skill she hadn’t known of. She squeezed his hand, even as her mind whirred, and she wondered what other talents the dragon had—what he could possibly be capable of that she had yet to discover. She licked her lips and stared at the spot she knew Joarr had to be. She could see him then. He was still beside her, not invisible but just shrouded in fog that blended with the night, hid him from her and, hopefully, the dwarf’s view.

He smiled and pointed upward.

For flying, he meant. How dragons managed to fly in their dragon forms without those below seeing them.

There was another crash from where Fafnir stood just out of view. “Damn Regin,” the dwarf muttered. A can filled with what sounded like nails rolled out the doorway, followed by another can that fell open. The smell of wet paint filled the alley. A few seconds later, Fafnir appeared, a knapsack over one shoulder. He kicked both cans back in through the door and clicked the door closed. Then with the knapsack hitched higher on his shoulder, he took off down the alley. His short legs moved at a steady pace, but he didn’t run.

Joarr and Amma waited, silently agreeing to let the dwarf get far enough ahead he wouldn’t notice them behind him. When he was again twenty feet ahead, and his mumbles could only barely be heard, they stepped out of hiding.

“Are we still following?” Amma asked. Her instinct said they should, but she realized it was Joarr’s game. And the dwarf was not acting as she’d expected—not that she knew what she’d expected, but this…mumbling to himself while rooting around in a dark alley…was definitely not anything she would have foreseen.

And while she wasn’t sure it had registered with Joarr, she’d seen the dwarf’s face when he’d gouged the human male in the neck with his knife, seen him lick the blade and heard his disgust when he had declared the male was not a dragon. She pressed her palms against her legs and darted her gaze around the alley. Fafnir had been alone, but she couldn’t shake a growing feeling of unease.

None of this was normal. None of this made sense. And she was beginning to suspect none of it had anything to do with the chalice—but had everything to do with dragons and whatever the dwarf’s plans were for them.

“We could go back to the club,” she suggested, her voice low. “We didn’t look around. I didn’t get a chance to look for the Collector—if he’s there, this—” she gestured to the end of the alley where Fafnir had disappeared from sight “—may all be unrelated and unnecessary.”

Joarr cupped her chin in his hand. “Unrelated perhaps, but I doubt it. The dwarf is up to something.”

Heat radiated from his hand into her body. She didn’t know if he did it on purpose, or if it was something he couldn’t control without concentrating. Either way, it relaxed her, like sinking into a tub filled with hot, scented water.

“And, I think he has a bit too much interest in dragons for me to stop now.” Joarr leaned forward and breathed on her lips. She breathed in, pulled his heat and magic into her lungs. Joarr spoke again. “You, however, are right. I don’t know where he is headed, but I doubt it is to this Collector. There’s no reason for you to continue. Go back to the hotel. Wait for me.”

Amma’s knees weakened and her head nodded. Languid and content, she wanted nothing more than to go back to the hotel and curl up on the bed. His lips hovered over hers. “Go,” he whispered.

She closed her eyes, almost drifting off for a second. “You want me to wait there?” she asked.

“Very much.” His mouth was over hers now. Her head tilted toward him and her lips opened.

Wait. She could wait. Her body swayed and she could feel herself turning, or being turned. Being turned. The dragon was using his fire somehow to seduce her. Suddenly aware of what was happening, she jerked and stepped back, away from his touch and his heat.

She turned her back on him and walked away— following the dwarf.

Behind her, Joarr cursed.

Within seconds, he was beside her. “You don’t have to go,” he muttered. “This isn’t your problem.”

She didn’t reply. Her steps quiet but determined, they walked on, leaving the alley and turning onto a street.