Authors: Marjorie M. Liu
Within the Flames (28 page)
His hand moved. She held her breath as he tugged down the sleeping bag, revealing her full breast—and when she saw his eyes darken even more, an ache spread through her, slow and heavy, pooling between her thighs.
Eddie’s expression was haunted, pained—his voice, little more than a rasp. “You’re beautiful.”
“No, I’m not—” began Lyssa softly, but once again he stopped her voice, only this time with his lips pressed against the reptilian flesh of her shoulder. He moved before she could stop him—but the tenderness of that kiss made tears spring to her eyes.
“You,” he whispered, “are beautiful.”
Lyssa sighed, and struggled closer, letting the sleeping bag slide down again. Eddie’s breathing roughened, a wave of heat pulsing off his skin—so much heat it could have been fire.
“Where else do you want to kiss me?” she whispered.
His gaze snapped to hers. “Are you sure?”
“You started this.”
“I wanted to . . . make you feel safe.”
Lyssa brushed her lips over his jaw. “Neither of us is safe. We’re going to break each other’s hearts, remember?”
Eddie swallowed hard, heartbreak already in his eyes. “Tell me what you need.”
“This,” she told him. “You.”
“Yes,” he whispered, and covered her mouth in a searing kiss, his hand sliding beneath the sleeping bag to rest against the full curve of her breast. Pleasure shot through her, and she strained against him, reaching for his hand.
Before she could touch him, his thumb found her nipple, stroking it in sharp flicks that made her cry out in shocked pleasure. He replaced his thumb with his hot mouth, suckling hard, and even as she writhed against him, he cupped her breasts in his large, warm hands, pushing them together and squeezing as he ran his tongue and thumbs over her nipples, caressing them ires as she wrn an unrelenting rhythm that sent wave after wave of pleasure through her body.
She gasped his name, and he slid down her body, one hand lingering on her breast while his other trailed a blazing path against her side until his palm rested lightly between her legs. He kissed her hip, her thigh, then deeper, making her spread her thighs as his finger glided between the wet folds of her body, stroking—lightly at first, then with more pressure, slipping inside her in another kind of rhythm that tore a low moan from her throat.
His fingers pushed deeper, harder, and his mouth pressed hot against the hard nub of her clitoris, making her shake with such intense pleasure that Lyssa thought she’d explode. Her hips moved against his hand and mouth, her moans growing sharper, shorter. Desire built in throbbing waves, and just when she thought she could take no more, he slipped a third finger into her body and scraped his teeth against her.
Lyssa shattered, blind and lost, feeling all the threads of her soul unravel in one moment of pure pleasure.
Even when she came back to herself, it was slow and languid, her entire being focused on those heavy, blissful throbs that continued to wrack her trembling frame. Eddie’s fingers remained inside her body, rubbing her gently, and she tightened her thighs around his hand. He chuckled, making her shiver.
“That was . . .” she whispered. “That was . . . incredible.”
“Mmm,” he said, his voice so deep it was almost a purr. Lyssa hadn’t known he could make a sound like that, and she wanted to hear it again.
Slowly, with a great deal of reluctance, she tried to pull away from him. He grabbed her hip, holding her still.
“Not yet,” he murmured.
“I want to taste you,” she told him, and his eyes darkened.
Breathless, trembling—her heart pounding with dizzying force—she made him roll over on his back. His body was beautiful. Hard muscle, lean lines. His jaw was rigid, and so was the rest of him.
Lyssa wished she could be patient and explore every inch of his body, but right then, all she wanted was one thing.
His shaft was thick and heavy in her hand, and even before her mouth touched the tip of him, his chest started heaving for air. Sparks flew off his skin, along with a wave of terrible heat that only made her burn hotter for him.
Lyssa stroked him with her tongue, pulling away just enough to blow on his wet skin. He cried out, arching his hips, and she took him in her mouth again, more deeply, sucking hard. She kept her right hand balled in a fist, but her left hand touched the base of his shaft, caressing him with a featherlight touch as she ran her tongue up and down his entire length, again and again.
His hips jerked in rhythm to her tongue and hand, and he sat up, burying his fingers in her hair as she tried to move faster, harder. A groan tore from his throat, sharp pants, and when he said her name in his broken voice, it only excited her more.
Fire raced over his skin, flares of light. Lyssa sucked hard on the very tip of him, and at the same moment, squeezed his shaft in a tight, stroking grip.
Eddie fell back flat and let out a wordless cry as his hips bucked upward. Lyssa felt something wet and hot hit her cheek, but she stayed close as he continued to thrust hard against her hand and lips. She wanted very much to know what it would feel like for him to come inside her body.
When he was finally reduced to little more than a twitch, Lyssa crawled up his side and flopped across his body. She felt slick and hot, and wonderful. Especially when he made a low groaning sound that traveled from his chest into hers.
“Oh, my God,” he said.
Lyssa began to laugh, and Eddie rolled over on his side, making her do the same. He hooked his leg over her hip and slid his strong arm under her arm across her back, hitching her hard against him.
“Twenty-four/seven,” he said, looking into her eyes.
She wasn’t sure what she had expected him to say, but it wasn’t that. “What?”
Eddie kissed her, slow and gentle.
“Twenty-four/seven,” he murmured against her mouth. “I would stick with you. I would look over my shoulder with you. Every day, for the rest of my life.”
Her breath caught. “Wow. I really was good.”
He laughed and buried her against him. Lyssa melted into his embrace, savoring his heat and strength, and his soft, rumbling voice.
“Rest,” he said. “I’ll make sure nothing happens.”
Well,” she mumbled, suddenly shy. “If you’re the soouhing mething that happens, that’s okay.”
He laughed again, more quietly, and pulled the sleeping bag over their bodies. She knew he didn’t feel the cold, and neither did she, but it felt like a cocoon, a nest, a real bed . . . and she liked that.
Twenty-four/seven,
she thought, closing her eyes and listening to his heartbeat.
I could love that.
F
or once, Lyssa did not dream. She didn’t even know she slept until she opened her eyes, and found herself in an entirely different position than the one she’d started in.
She lay on her back, sleeping bag partially tugged down. Eddie was on his side beside her, propped up on his elbow. At first she thought he had been watching her sleep, but his other hand was stroking her right arm. Just his fingertips, light and easy, tracing circles against her crimson scales.
Lyssa’s first instinct was to pull away, but his gaze was thoughtful and soft, and she forced herself to remain still.
“I’m sorry I woke you up,” he said.
“I’m not sure you did,” she replied. “What are you . . . thinking?”
He pressed his palm flat against her muscled forearm, and the contrast between human skin and her scales was stark. “I was wondering how this happened.”
She was distracted a moment by the round burn scars on the back of his hand. “I’ve never had an easy time shape-shifting. For some, it’s as simple as breathing. But . . . stress . . . at the moment of a shift can . . . make some aspects permanent.”
Eddie went quiet. “Did this happen when your parents died?”
“Yes,” she whispered, and looked away from him. “I was trying to fight.”
He kissed her shoulder. “At least you tried.”
Something in his voice made her turn back to face him. He was looking at his scarred hand.
Round, dime-sized scars. Dark, slightly ridged on the edges. At least five of them, but some were bunched close together, so it was hard t it
Sorrow filled her, and horror. “Why would anyone do that to you?”
Eddie stilled . . . and then slowly, carefully, pulled away from her. Lyssa watched him, recognizing the sudden flatness of his gaze, the tightness of his mouth. How many times had she given him the same look when he asked her questions she didn’t want to answer?
He rolled over on his back and stared at the ceiling. Lyssa, after a moment, relaxed on her side, cushioning her head on her arm as she watched his jaw flex and his eyes go dark with memory.
“When my mother called . . . do you remember
that man I mentioned?” Eddie held up his hand. “He did this.”
“No one stopped him?”
“No one knew. I would bandage up my hand and say I hurt it at school. He made me promise not to tell. He said he would . . . hurt my mother and sister.”
Lyssa let out her breath. “Does this have to do with the man you killed?”
A grim, bitter smile touched his mouth. “Shoe’s on the other foot now. Next time you don’t want to answer my questions, I’ll remember this moment.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’ve never talked about this.”
“It hurts too much.”
“Don’t forget the shame.” Lyssa saw the glitter of unshed tears in his eyes. “I could have . . . done things so differently, if I’d just been braver.”
Lyssa’s heart broke for him—and for herself. “I understand.”
He turned his head, finally looking at her—grief in his eyes, such terrible pain. “I know you do.”
“M
y dad died when I was ten,” Eddie said, feeling hollow when he said those words. “He was a really good guy, but cancer got him. He was a little older than my mom. I guess, in his late forties, or ea it
Lyssa shifted closer, and Eddie wrapped his arm around her, taking comfort in her presence. He couldn’t believe he had told her this much already, but it felt okay. For the first time, safe. He could say the words without his throat locking up. He wanted to say them.
I’m going to spend the rest of my life telling you my secrets,
he thought, but instead of being filled with fear or unease, all he felt was relief.
“Matthew was big, like my dad, and a little older. I guess there were some other physical similarities. He was a good mechanic. He owned a garage north of San Francisco. I liked going there at first. He taught me about cars, which . . . came in handy later.”
Eddie covered his eyes with his other hand. “He began molesting my sister about three months after my mom started dating him.”
Lyssa sucked in her breath but said nothing. For which he was very grateful.
“She didn’t tell anyone,” he said, his voice finally breaking. “Maybe for the same reason I didn’t tell anyone about the cigarette burns, or the . . . the humiliations. I don’t know. We never got a chance to talk about that.”
“Your mother . . .” she said.
All he could do was shake his head, as grief knotted his throat. Tears burned, too many to hold in. He shut his eyes and felt them break free, rolling hot down the sides of his face.
Lyssa made a soft sound, and her lips brushed his skin. Kissing away his tears.
It was too much. Too gentle. Too tender. Eddie turned over on his side, away from her—curling into a tight ball as despair shuddered through him. Lyssa immediately pressed against his back, her arms sliding under his, over his chest. Between them, heat, fire . . . soothing away the worst of the tremors.
He found her hand, and held it tightly. “She never noticed. I really don’t think she had a clue. She was at work so much, and she . . . trusted him.”
“But there must have been signs with the two of you.”
“I don’t know.” Eddie bowed his head even more. “My mom and I have never discussed it.”
Another scar. Another resentment. Unfair, maybe, because he could have pushed the issue and opened up . . . but then, so could she. And both he and his mother had always danced around her failure to protect them. And his failure, as well, to protect Daphne.
Lyssa kissed his shoulder. “Did your sister tell you?”
“No. I walked in on . . .” He stopped, as memories burned through him, so offensive and terrible that he remembered, too, why he never talked about this.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, feeling ill. “I can’t . . .”
“It’s okay,” she whispered.
He dragged down a deep breath. “I loved my sister, but knowing that
I
knew what was happening . . . humiliated her. She couldn’t look me in the eye after that. And I . . . promised myself that I wouldn’t let it happen again. But before I could come up with a plan, Matthew . . . strangled her to death. I found him and his brother trying to hide her body.”
“Eddie.”
“Something . . . snapped inside me. I can’t even tell you. I’ve never . . . never felt anything like that. I mean, I always ran hotter than other kids, and sometimes I’d get these fevers. When Matthew would hurt me . . . my skin would tingle, pins and needles. I blamed it on the abuse, but now I know differently. It was all just building.
“But right then . . .” He shook his head, heart beginning to pound. “The fire broke inside me. And Matthew’s brother, who was standing closest . . . he went up in flames.”
Eddie could still hear the man’s screams. He would
always
hear his screams.
“Matthew couldn’t put his brother out,” he whispered. “He stayed, trying—and that’s what got him arrested. A neighbor heard the screams and called the police. When they arrived, they found my sister’s body and . . . other evidence of the murder. At trial, it was revealed that she was pregnant. That’s why he killed her.”
Lyssa was so quiet behind him. Then, softly: “What was her name?”
“Daphne,” he breathed.
“Daphne,” she repeated.
Eddie closed his eyes. “That’s the first time in years I’ve heard anyone say her name.”
She propped herself up on her elbow and slid her hand beneath her cheek. She didn’t try to make him look at her, but he did, anyway. It was difficult. He was afraid of what he’d see in her eyes.
What he found, however, were tears . . . and a compassion that was raw and grim, and solely for him.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he whispered.
“Like what?”
“Like I did nothing wrong. If I’d talked . . . if I had told my mother, or
someone . . .
if I hadn’t been so afraid of making it worse . . .” Eddie choked on those words and dug his palms into his damp eyes. “How could it have been worse?
I was so stupid.
”
“You were a kid.”
“My father taught me better.”
Lyssa pressed her lips to his cheek. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“My mother taught me not to be a coward. But what have I done? Spent ten years running, tail between my legs.”
“You were just a kid when you lost your family. No could have expected you to start a war.”
Lyssa’s mouth softened. “Yeah?”
He shook his head. “Don’t use logic on me.”
“Logic doesn’t exist, times like these. You react from the gut, then pay for life.” She lay back down again, snug against his side, naked and warm. “So. Based on the way you spoke to your mom on the phone . . . that man, Matthew Swint . . .”
“Is out of prison.”
“And you’re here with me. Jesus. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. If I had stayed . . . I think I might have killed him. e kt="0em" wIt could still happen.”
“You’d be justified.”
His smile felt crooked. “No warnings to be a better man?”
“No.” Lyssa stared him dead in the eyes. “You’re already the best man I know. You can take a dent and still be the best.”
Her words almost killed him. A hot bolt of tenderness and wonderment shot straight through his raw, broken heart.
“But I’m the only man you know,” he said.
Lips quirked. “Don’t get uppity.”
Eddie leaned down and kissed her—gently at first, then deeper, harder, overcome by desire for this woman who could listen to his darkest secrets and just . . . take them. He could hardly believe, or trust it . . . but when he pulled back just enough to look at her . . .
Lannes can go to hell,
he thought fiercely.
She’s no demon.
Lyssa paled. “What?”
He hesitated, taken aback by the shock in her eyes, “I didn’t say anything.”
But I
thought
something,
he realized
.
She struggled to sit up, movements jerky, rushed. He held out his hands. “Hey.”
Her gaze refused to meet his. “We should probably find some clothes.”
Eddie gripped her shoulders. “Can you read my thoughts?”
She tensed and gave him a reluctant look. “Sometimes.”
“Well,” he said, then stopped, staring at her. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“Like what?” Lyssa batted him away with her left hand while keeping her right tucked in a fist against her stomach, a return to her defensive posture. “No one wants to hear that their mind is . . . exposed. Besides, it only happened a couple times.”
“A moment ago?”
Her mouth tightened.
“Listen,” Eddie began, but she stiffened, then swung around to stare at the partially open door behind them.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Someone’s coming.”
He pulled away. “Stay here.”
“Like hell,” Lyssa muttered, standing with him and searching for clothes. Not much was still intact, except for his jacket. She slid it on and wrapped the remains of a charred blanket around her hips.
Eddie didn’t bother with clothes at all. He crept to the door, listening as gravel crunched. Light footsteps, careful.
But Lyssa suddenly made a small, pained sound—and ran past him, out the door. Eddie couldn’t catch her in time, and chased her.
Only to find himself staring at Jimmy.
The boy stood at the bottom of the stairs, clutching a flashlight in both hands. Huge eyes, as he stared at Lyssa. When he saw Eddie, his mouth dropped in shock—but that lasted only a moment. He was trembling, his hair stuck to his sweat-soaked forehead. Eddie saw a dark smear on his cheek.
Blood.
Lyssa crouched and grabbed his shoulders. She didn’t seem to notice or care that her right hand was exposed, and Jimmy fell into her arms, hugging her with a choked sob. She sat back on the step, holding him tightly, silent and tense.
“Tell me,” she said. “What happened?”
“They took my mother,” he whispered.
E
ddie went back inside to find clothes. His options were limited. He jammed his feet into his boots and found another blanket that he wrapped around his waist. While Lyssa went to dress, he sat with Jimmy on the stone steps.
“Details,” he said.
“We got to the airport,” he whispered, and Eddie heardnd ="0em">
Jimmy’s voice choked, and he drew in a shuddering breath. Hands shaking, he fumbled beneath his sweatshirt. He wore a T-shirt underneath, tucked into his jeans, and there was a squirming bulge against his belly.
He pulled his T-shirt free, and Icky tumbled into his lap. Eddie bowed his head, rubbing the back of his neck as the boy hugged the panting dog. Tears streamed down his face.
“Jimmy,” he said, as softly as he could. “What else can you tell me?”
“They put us in a car,” he said haltingly. “And took us across the river out of the city. There was a big house in the middle of trees, and it was quiet.”
Lyssa emerged, dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. Her left hand was full of a fluttery pale scarf that she wrapped around her neck. On her other hand, a glove—and his jacket.
Jimmy twisted to look at her, and his face crumpled. Lyssa tried to smile for him, but Eddie could see the strain on her face. She sat down beside the boy and wrapped her arm around his shoulders.
“Icky,” she rasped, as the dog whined.
“I hid him,” he whispered, and dug into his pocket for a piece of paper. “I was told to give you this.”
Lyssa hesitated before she took it. “You were telling Eddie about a house?”
“Some ladies were there.” Jimmy stopped, swallowing hard. “They were scary. They separated me from my mom, then c-cut me.”
Eddie watched rage flit across Lyssa’s face, quickly swallowed into a flat mask. “Show me.”
The boy pulled up his sleeve, revealing a thick white bandage wrapped around his forearm.
“They used a black knife.” Jimmy shuddered again, and gave Eddie a desperate look. “Then licked off my blood. It was . . . g-gross. They said they’d kill my mom if I didn’t find you.”
“Those women knew you would,” Lyssa said, her eyes glowing faintly in the darkness. “It’s okay, baby. We’re going to get your mom back.”
She pushed off the step, fingering the still-unread note. “Eddie, wait here. I’ll get you some clothes.”
Without another word, she walked into the darkness of the subway tunnel and was swallowed up almost immediately by the endless shadows. He couldn’t even hear her feet on the gravel.
“How did you get here?” Eddie asked.
“Two men drove me back into the city. They’re waiting above.”
“And because those ladies have your mother . . . they don’t think you’ll go to the police?”
Jimmy looked scared. “It was the police who drove me.”
Cold sweat broke out over Eddie’s body. “They took orders from the women?”
“Yes.”
“Do they know how to get down here?”
“I don’t think so.”
He stood and stared into the darkness of the subway tunnel. “I need you to be brave again, Jimmy. Can you stay here?”
The boy hugged his dog tighter. “No. I need to help.”
“You are.”
“No,” he said again, more firmly, rubbing tears from his eyes. “I have to be there.”
Eddie stared at him. “How old are you?”
Jimmy straightened. “Twelve.”
Twelve was still a kid. Twelve years old meant he should be
nowhere near
this kind of danger.
But he was also old enough for heartbreak. Old enough to start living with regret. Making a kid feel helpless was another kind of crime.