Within the Flames (12 page)

Chapter Eight

T
hey walked. Eddie didn’t ask where they were going. Questions seemed to make her prickly. Just being with her now was a hard-won victory.

“You haven’t told me much about the people you work for,” she said, as they left Lannes’s block-long neighborhood and crossed over to Leroy Street. “They sound . . . eclectic.”

“I suppose they’d have to be. Some of them aren’t human.”

She glanced at him. “How many?”

“When I was first discovered seven years ago, there were none. Since then, we’ve found quite a few. Or they’ve found us.”

“Found.”

“Dirk & Steele looks for people who need help. Regular people. And people like you and me. We investigate crimes no one else can solve.”

Lyssa frowned. “Dirk & Steele.”

“You’ve heard of us?”

She shook her head. “No. Probably not.”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

Lyssa gave him a dirty look, but that only made him smile—and suddenly she was smiling, too, just a little. “I’m
incredibly
sure.”

Eddie shoved his hands in his pockets and grinned. “Okay, then.”

He took a risk as they crossed another intersection and bumped her gently with his elbow. She shot him a look, but he kept his gaze locked straight ahead. Pretending he didn’t notice. That it was an accident.

Not every touch is a threat,
he wanted to tell her.
Not every person is out to get you.

A moment later, she bumped him, very lightly.

Eddie’s gaze jerked sideways, but she was looking down at his jacket draped over her arm. With a surprising amount of reluctance, she held it out to him.

“Keep it,” he told her. “I don’t feel the cold.”

“Neither do I.”

They stared at each other a moment.

“When,” began Lyssa, and hesitated. “When did you know? About . . . the fire?”

When I killed a man.

Eddie looked away. “There was an accident.”

It was an accident that I killed the wrong man.

Matthew Swint’s face swam into his memories, but he pushed it away as hard as he could.

“You?” he asked, inwardly wincing at how sharp his voice sounded.

“I was ten,” she said, with particular softness. Eddie finally met her gaze and found her looking at him with knowing, gentle, eyes. His breath hitched in his throat, caught behind a hard, aching knot.

“I got angry,” she continued. “I was a clumsy kid and tripped down a couple stairs. I set the whole thing on fire as payback.”

“Really.”

“I had a temper. My parents were not amused.”

He smiled to himself and looked down at his feet. “You could talk to them, though. They weren’t . . .”

“No,” she finished for him. “They weren’t frightened. What about . . .”

“My mother,” he said. “No, she doesn’t . . . know. I don’t think she could handle it.”

“Is she your only family?”

“I have a grandmother. I had a sister. But she’s not . . .et. [.&ndth="1em" Eddie couldn’t say the words. He never spoke of Daphne.

“It’s okay,” said Lyssa.

He chanced another glance, but she was looking down at his jacket again. Her gaze lost, thoughtful.

“You could throw that out,” he said.

She smoothed her gloved hand down the charred leather. “No. That would be a waste. You really don’t want it?”

Eddie shook his head, and she gave him a shy, hesitant smile that made his heart stop.

And then he stopped breathing altogether when she slid his jacket on.

It should have meant nothing. She had worn his coat earlier. He’d had girlfriends who slipped on his shirts. Cute and fun.

But seeing Lyssa wear his clothing . . . even just his coat . . . now, out in broad daylight with the hint of a smile in her eyes . . .

He couldn’t think of a word for it. “Sexy” wasn’t good enough. A parade of naked women could have been marching up the street, and it would have meant nothing compared to seeing this woman lost in his jacket. The sight hit him with breathtaking force—making him suffer some primal, guttural, ache that he hadn’t realized he was capable of feeling.

Not like
this.

Her hair was still damp, tangled around those intelligent, golden eyes. Everything in her face was smart and alive—and tempered with the vulnerability that had haunted him from the first moment he had seen her in Columbus Circle.

“Thank you,” she said.

He blinked at her, unsteady. “It looks better on you.”

Lyssa’s cheeks turned pink. Eddie wondered when she’d last been given a compliment. Not that he was much better. He suddenly felt awkward and shy—like he was eleven years old with Suzie Mitchell on the school field trip, helping her catch insects while hoping, maybe, if nothing else, she’d say,
I like you.

It’s better if she doesn’t like you.
It’s better if you don’t like her.
Keep your distance.

< if yo="en-us" height="0em" width="1em" align="justify">
Words that Lannes had spoken, right before leaving to pick up Lethe.

She’s dangerous
, said the gargoyle.
Maybe you can’t feel it, but I can.
There’s something inside her that isn’t right.

In what way?

I don’t know.
I’m not wrong, though.
If my brothers were here, they would tell you the same thing.
But not as nicely.

So, what?
I turn her loose?
I don’t help her?

Does she even need your help?
Lannes had been so grim.
Let me put it another way, Eddie.
I only get this itchy feeling around witches. Lyssa Andreanos is not
just
a shape-shifter.

She’s something else
, Eddie told himself, watching Lyssa check her scarf and adjust it around her throat. Her movements were quick, delicate. An old habit, he thought. Always hiding. Even inside his jacket. She wanted to get lost in things, he thought. Like armor.

Lannes might not trust her, but Eddie’s life depended on reading people. Instincts mattered. Small gestures. This woman was hiding something, that much was clear. Was she a danger to be around? Probably.

But did any of that make her a bad person?

She’s no Matthew Swint.

Matthew Swint, who was free. Matthew Swint, who was free and knew that Eddie had killed his brother.

He exhaled and rubbed his forehead. “Why are the
Cruor Venator
hunting
you
? There must be other people in the world who would be just as attractive.”

She shot him a look he’d seen in the mirror a time or two: afraid, angry, and desperate. But just as quickly as it appeared, the mask fell down, and all that raw emotion vanished—replaced by cold wariness.

“You should be more concerned about
how
they found me. I’m worried they might have gotten to Estefan.”

Eddie looked away, chilled. [way"0em">< Her friend
had
been murdered. A fact that had been burning a hole in his heart since first invoking the shape-shifter’s name. He had wanted to tell her the truth from the beginning, but their few moments together hadn’t seemed right.

How could he tell her now? How could he say the words?

The Cruor Venator killed your friend, and that’s how they tracked you to this city.
They drained his blood, skinned him, and ate his heart.
But don’t worry, because I’m here to take care of you
.

Right. Like hell.

She’ll blame herself.
She’ll run from me.
I can’t let her do that.

But silence stuck in his throat like a claw. It wasn’t honest. She had a right to know.

“Why you, Lyssa?” he asked hoarsely, hating himself. “It sounds personal.”

She was silent a moment. “They’re hunting me because that’s what they do. My . . . blood . . . is valuable to them.”

“Because you’re a dragon.”

She made an exasperated sound. “Don’t say that out loud.”

“No one’s around us.”

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t like you knowing what I am.”

“You know my secret.”

“I don’t know anything about you.”

“You’ve been hiding for years. It’s a hard habit to break. I understand that.”

“No,” she muttered, looking down at the sidewalk. “No, you don’t. How could you?”

Because I killed a man when I was thirteen years old, then ran away from home.

Lyssa stumbled. Eddie caught her elbow, and heat roared up his arm. He let go, startled, and she gave him a haunted, troubled, look.

It was so quiet. Every sound, muted. Every car engine, every voice, dull in his ears. His beating heart was louder than it all.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he whispered.

Lyssa let out her breath. “Like what?”

Like you heard what I thought
.

Eddie backed away and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I left home after the first time I lost control of . . . of the fire. I was just a kid. I lived on the streets for years until it was safe enough for me to be around the people I cared about. So I know about hiding. About . . . holding back.”

“You were homeless,” she said.

“About as homeless as a person can be,” he replied. “I think about it every day.”

Lyssa swallowed hard and looked away. “Hard not to, isn’t it?”

“You have some experience with the street?”

“You could say that. It was the only option for a long time.” She spoke with particular brittleness and gave him a lingering look full of doubt. “You said Long Nu told you about the
Cruor Venator.
”

“Some. Not enough.” Eddie started walking again, needing to move, to focus on something other than her. “I asked Lannes to help me gather more information.”

Lyssa matched his pace. “You shouldn’t have. You’ll make him a target. Maybe I did already, by being in his home.”

Maybe,
he thought. “I need to know what the
Cruor Venator
are. What they
do.
”

Lyssa walked faster. “Witches have the blood of the fae in them. That’s what gives them their power, diluted as it may be. Sometimes it doesn’t even manifest, or if does, it can be mistaken for intuition or good luck.”

Eddie stared. “I . . . the fae?”

“You know.” She wiggled her fingers and raised her brow. “Faeries. Sidhe.”

He had thought there was nothing left that could surprise him—but he was wrong. Crazy or not, though, it wasn’t worth arguing over. Not after all the other strange things he’d seen in his life.

“So why does everyone act as though the
Cruor Venator
are different from other witches?”

“Because they’re descended from a specific bloodline.” Disgust twisted her mouth. “Not fae. Demon.”

“No.”

“Yes. If you don’t believe me, that’s fine. But—”

Eddie touched her arm, stopping her. “I was told the
Cruor Venator
haven’t been seen in one hundred years. How come
you
know so much about them?”

Lyssa grimaced. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Can’t you just answer the question?”

“No. I shouldn’t even be here with you. I wasn’t . . . thinking.” Her voice was sharp, but he heard a hint of pain that was all too familiar. Before he could say anything, Lyssa walked into the street and hailed an approaching cab.

Eddie stepped in front of her. “Not without me.”

She gave him a haunted look. “What is your problem?”

“You,” he said, and grabbed the front of her jacket, pulling her close with gentle, firm, strength. Lyssa made a small sound of protest, staring at him with huge, troubled eyes. The cab slowed, then drove past.

“You,” he said again, quieter.

Her hands rose to cover his, but she didn’t try to free herself. Her touch was soft and warm, and a terrible prickling heat rose beneath his skin, behind his eyes. It scared him, but only because she slipped so easily behind the walls he’d worked hard to build. Years of keeping his heart quiet and calm, segregated from emotions that were too strong.